Emma's eyes turned to absolute ice. She straightened her spine and glared at Sterling.

She pointed her finger right at his nose. Her voice rang out sharp and clear over the street noise. "You are not only a snob, but you are an uneducated idiot."

Sterling's face turned purple. He stepped forward, lowering his voice into a threat. "Don't push me, Emma."

Emma didn't back down an inch. She laughed coldly. "Even bankrupt, Alek's tech patents are worth ten thousand times more than a parasite like you living off a family trust fund."

Sterling lost his temper. "He's a piece of trash! He can't give you anything!" he yelled.

Emma stepped right into his space. She stared him down. "Marriage vows are not toilet paper. Running away when your partner hits rock bottom is the act of a coward."

She raised her voice so everyone could hear. "I am not divorcing him. I am going to stay by his side and help him rebuild. I don't need a loser like you telling me what to do!"

Across the street, the black bulletproof SUV had just circled back. It idled by the curb. The dark tinted windows hid the passengers inside.

Alek sat in the back. He had rolled his window down just a fraction of an inch. Every single word Emma shouted carried through the cold air and hit his ears.

When she yelled that she would help him rebuild, Alek's heart skipped a hard beat. His fingers gripped the tablet so tightly his knuckles popped.

In the front seat, Dale glanced in the rearview mirror. He was shocked to see the usually ruthless Alek Holden looking genuinely moved.

On the sidewalk, Sterling was humiliated. He raised his hand, his face twisted in rage, ready to shove Emma.

Inside the SUV, Alek's eyes turned murderous. His hand slammed onto the door handle. He was ready to tear the man apart.

Before he could open the door, a loud voice boomed down the street. "Hey! Put your hands down!"

Mr. Gable, a neighbor from the building, marched over. He was holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and the leash of his Golden Retriever in the other. He stepped right between Emma and Sterling.

Mrs. Gable hurried up right behind him. She glared at Sterling. "Are you harassing women in broad daylight?" she yelled.

Sterling panicked. "It's just a fight between friends!" he stammered.

"He is not my friend," Emma stated loudly. "He is harassing me and trying to ruin my marriage."

Mrs. Gable's eyes widened in outrage. She pointed at Sterling. "You disgusting homewrecker!"

People on the street stopped walking. They pulled out their phones and started recording the scene.

Sterling saw the cameras. Panic seized his chest. A public scandal would cut off his trust fund. He threw his hands up to hide his face.

He shot Emma a venomous glare, muttered a curse, and practically dove into his Porsche.

The engine screamed as he slammed on the gas. The car sped away like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.

Mrs. Gable patted Emma's shoulder. "Good for you, honey. Don't let trash talk to you like that."

Emma smiled warmly. "Thank you both. I was just heading to get some coffee."

Mr. Gable nodded. "Alek is a lucky man to have you. You two will get through this."

Emma waved goodbye and walked into the corner coffee shop. She ordered the cheapest black coffee on the menu.

Across the street, Alek slowly released his grip on the door handle. He leaned back against the leather seat and exhaled a shaky breath.

He turned to Dale. His voice was deadly calm. "Cut off the latest funding round for the Astor-Vance family. Consider it a warning."

Dale nodded. The SUV merged silently into the traffic. Alek kept his eyes glued to the coffee shop window until Emma's figure disappeared from view.

Alek pulled his gaze away from the window. "Take me to the temporary law firm. I need to finish the liquidation paperwork to keep up appearances," he ordered Dale.

Half an hour later, Emma pushed open the heavy door to the penthouse. She was holding the cheap, bitter Americano.

The apartment was dead silent. She kicked off her shoes and walked straight to the dining table. She opened the laptop and got back to work.

She took a sip of the bitter coffee. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She translated her past life's marketing campaigns into a believable portfolio for her new identity.

Time slipped by. The sunlight moved across the floor and warmed her feet. She was completely absorbed in the screen.

At twelve-thirty, the electronic lock beeped. Alek walked in carrying his briefcase.

He took off his coat. His eyes immediately searched the room. He found Emma sitting at the table, typing furiously.

The sunlight hit the side of her face. The tiny hairs on her cheek glowed. The face that used to look so calculating now looked entirely peaceful.

Alek stood frozen in the entryway. Her words from the street echoed in his head: I am going to stay by his side and help him rebuild. The words registered, an unexpected variable in his complex equation. He filed the data point away, his suspicion warring with a flicker of morbid curiosity.

He walked quietly toward the table. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. The legs scraped against the floor.

Emma jumped slightly. She looked up from the screen and quickly closed the laptop. She rubbed her wrist. "You're back early."

Alek's eyes dropped to her wrist. He saw the faint red marks where Sterling had grabbed her. His jaw ticked, but he forced his face to remain blank.

He cleared his throat. The freezing edge was gone from his voice. "The lawyers are done for the day."

Emma noticed the shift in his tone. She relaxed her shoulders. "Are you hungry? Do you want lunch?"

Alek wanted to say no, but the sheer exhaustion of the day caught up with him. He unconsciously pressed a hand against his hollow stomach, the physical toll of his fasting undeniable. He rubbed the back of his neck, his rigid posture deflating just a fraction, and nodded.

Emma hid a smile. She stood up and walked to the kitchen. She pulled the leftover bread, bacon, and lettuce from the fridge.

She dropped the bread into the toaster. She threw the bacon into the skillet. Her movements were smooth and practiced.

Alek sat at the table and watched her back. A strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. It felt like coming home.

Ten minutes later, Emma carried two perfect BLT sandwiches to the table.

She slid a plate in front of Alek. She picked up her own sandwich, took a massive bite, and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

Alek picked up his sandwich. He took a bite. The crunch of the toasted bread and the juice of the tomato mixed perfectly. It tasted incredible.

They ate in silence. The heavy, suffocating tension that usually filled the room was gone. The only sound was them chewing.

Halfway through the meal, Alek stopped. He looked at her laptop. "What were you doing on the computer all morning?"

Emma swallowed her food. She looked him right in the eye. "Sending out my resume. I'm trying to get some freelance writing jobs for extra cash."

Alek stopped chewing. He searched her eyes for any sign of a lie. He found nothing but honesty.

He looked down at his plate to hide the storm of emotions in his eyes. "You don't have to do that," he said quietly.

Emma grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth. "We are in this together now. I'm not going to sit around and watch you starve."

The blunt words hit Alek hard. He couldn't argue with her logic. A very faint smile touched the corner of his lips.

When they finished eating, Alek stood up. He grabbed both empty plates and walked to the kitchen sink.

Emma stared at him in absolute shock. The billionaire tech mogul, who had never done a chore in his life, was turning on the faucet to wash dishes. She realized right then that their dynamic had permanently shifted.

Alek stood in front of the sink. He grabbed the dish soap and squeezed way too much into the water. A mountain of white bubbles instantly exploded out of the basin.

He frowned. He picked up a sponge and scrubbed the plate aggressively. He pushed too hard. The wet, soapy plate shot out of his hands like a slippery fish.

It plummeted toward the stainless steel bottom. Emma gasped. She lunged forward and reached into the sink to catch it.

Her hand clamped down right over Alek's hand. Their skin pressed together under the warm, soapy water.

An electric shock ripped through Emma's arm. Her breath hitched.

Alek froze completely. He looked down at their hands. Her fingers were pale and slender against his. His heart skipped a violent beat and started hammering against his ribs.

Emma realized how close they were standing. The heat radiating from his chest warmed her shoulder. Her face burned red. She yanked her hand back as if she had been burned.

"I... I can wash them," she stuttered, reaching for the sponge.

Alek shifted his body, blocking her reach. His voice was low and rough. "I've got it. Go do your work."

Emma took two steps back. Her pulse was racing. She watched him awkwardly but stubbornly clean the soap off the plates and set them in the drying rack.

Alek grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands. He turned around. His dark eyes locked onto hers. The air in the kitchen grew thick and heavy.

Emma couldn't handle the intensity of his stare. She cleared her throat loudly. "I'm going to take a nap," she blurted out. She turned and practically sprinted down the hall.

Alek watched her run away. The corners of his mouth lifted into a real smile. He listened until he heard the bedroom door click shut. Then, the smile vanished.

He walked into his study and locked the door. His face turned ice-cold.

He walked over to the window and stared down at the Manhattan traffic. His brain processed every detail of the last two days.

Her cooking skills. Her absolute refusal to keep the luxury bags. Her violent rejection of her ex-boyfriend. And that instinctive dive to save a cheap plate.

Alek came to a terrifying conclusion. This was not PTSD. This was not a trauma response. It was as if a completely different soul was living inside her body.

He walked to his desk. He unlocked a hidden drawer and pulled out a black satellite phone.

He dialed an internal encrypted line. It rang twice before it was picked up.

"Yeah, boss?" a familiar voice answered. It was Dale Cooke, his head of security.

"Drop everything," Alek ordered, his voice hard. "I need a Level One background check on Emma Obrien."

Dale let out a low whistle. "Your wife? Level One?"

"Everything," Alek demanded. "Medical records before and after the suicide attempt. Psychiatric evaluations. Find out every doctor she ever spoke to."

"You got it, boss," Dale said, hanging up.

Alek tossed the phone back into the drawer. A dangerous light burned in his eyes. Whoever she was, he was going to rip off her mask.

In the master bedroom, Emma tossed and turned on the bed. She couldn't sleep. The ghost of his touch still burned on her hand.

She slapped her own cheeks. Stop it, she told herself. He is the villain of the book. He will get his money back and leave you.

To distract herself, she checked her phone. The second Hermes bag had sold.

The money gave her a sense of security. She decided to go to the bank to open a new account that the original owner's creditors couldn't touch.

She got out of bed, put on a black trench coat, and grabbed her sunglasses.

As she walked past the study, she heard the low murmur of Alek's voice through the heavy door. She stopped. Her brow furrowed. Who was he calling if he was totally bankrupt?