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?

Emma pressed her ear closer to the heavy wood of the study door. The soundproofing muffled the words.

She only caught fragments. "...Level One..." "...medical records..." Her stomach tightened into a knot.

Alarm bells rang in her head. Medical records? Was he hiding a serious, life-threatening illness brought on by the immense stress of his sudden bankruptcy? Or was he secretly investigating someone else's past?

She raised her hand to knock, but heavy footsteps approached the door from the inside.

Emma panicked. She spun around and sprinted down the hall on her tiptoes. She grabbed her purse and slipped out the front door just as the study door swung open.

Alek stepped into the hallway. His sharp eyes scanned the empty space. He saw the front door slowly clicking shut.

He walked to the entryway. Her flat shoes were gone.

He instinctively reached to adjust his Patek Philippe watch, but remembered he had hidden it. He tapped the invisible earpiece in his ear. "Target is moving. Follow her," he ordered his security detail downstairs.

Emma walked out onto the busy street. The afternoon sun was blinding. She pulled her trench coat tighter and walked three blocks to the nearest Chase Bank.

Halfway there, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She felt eyes burning into her back. She whipped her head around. She saw nothing but tourists and businessmen.

She shook her head, blaming her paranoia, and walked into the bank.

She sat down in the VIP office. She handed over her ID. "I need to open a brand new checking account. Cut all ties to my previous accounts."

The banker typed quickly. Within twenty minutes, the funds from The RealReal were transferred into her new, secure account.

Emma stared at the five-figure balance on the printout. Her lungs expanded. She finally had a safety net in this crazy world.

She walked out of the bank. She passed a small florist on the corner. A bucket of bright yellow sunflowers caught her eye.

She thought about the depressing, cold, gray walls of the penthouse. She bought a large bouquet.

She walked to Whole Foods across the street. She bought two thick ribeye steaks and a bunch of asparagus.

Across the street, a man sat in a parked black sedan. He aimed a camera with a telephoto lens at her. He snapped photos of her holding the flowers and the groceries.

The photos instantly transmitted to Alek's encrypted phone.

Alek sat at his desk. He stared at the screen. He looked at the bright smile on Emma's face as she held the cheap sunflowers.

She didn't go to see a lover. She didn't go to a luxury spa. She opened a bank account and bought dinner.

Alek's thumb traced the edge of her smiling face on the glass screen. The massive wall of defense he had built around his heart crumbled a little more.

As the sun began to set, Emma pushed the apartment door open with her shoulder. Her hands were full of heavy bags.

Alek heard the noise. He walked out of the study. He saw the plastic handles digging into her red fingers. He immediately walked over and took the heavy bags from her.

Emma blinked in surprise. "Thank you," she smiled. She pulled the sunflowers out and dropped them into a glass vase on the living room table.

The bright yellow petals instantly brought life to the dead room.

Alek stared at the flowers. He watched her walk into the kitchen and start prepping the steaks. He swallowed hard.

He walked over to the kitchen island. He watched her sprinkle sea salt over the meat. "Where did you go today?" he asked quietly.

Emma didn't hesitate. She looked up at him. "I went to the bank. I opened a new account and deposited the money from the bags. It's our emergency fund."

Alek's pupils dilated. The word our hit him like a freight train. His heart clenched so tightly he couldn't breathe.