Chapter 2 No.2

Sunlight hit Francesca's eyelids like a physical blow.

She groaned. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

She rolled over. The sheets were silk, cool and expensive.

Memory crashed into her.

The sushi. The shoes. The video.

The penthouse.

Grafton.

She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. A wave of cold dread washed over her as she realized she was naked. Her mind raced, a chaotic slideshow of the night before. He had carried her in here, thrown her on the bed... and then? She frantically scanned her own body, her hands trembling. There was no soreness, no bruises, no trace of violation. Her clothes were folded neatly on the armchair in the corner. He had undressed her, but he hadn't touched her. It wasn't an assault. It was a statement. A demonstration of power.

The bathroom door opened.

Steam billowed out.

Grafton walked out.

He had a towel wrapped low around his hips. Water droplets ran down a chest that was defined by hard, functional muscle.

He walked to the wheelchair parked by the dresser.

He sat down.

His posture changed instantly. His shoulders slumped slightly. His legs went slack.

It was a terrifying transformation.

He looked at her. "Coffee is on the bar."

Francesca flushed. "Last night... what you did... was a mistake."

Grafton wheeled himself toward the bed. The motor hummed softly.

"Which part?" he asked. "Being discovered by your fiancé's brother? Or finding out I'm not a cripple?"

"Both," she said. Her voice shook. "I'm leaving. I won't say anything. Just let me go."

Grafton reached for a folder on the nightstand.

He tossed it onto the bed. It landed near her hip.

"Sign it."

Francesca opened the folder.

It was a Non-Disclosure Agreement. And a rider to a prenuptial agreement.

She scanned the legal jargon. Her eyes widened.

"You had this ready," she whispered. "You want the voting rights. You want to control the Pearson shares through me."

"Julian is an idiot," Grafton said. He picked up a tablet. "He'll bankrupt your father's company in six months."

"I won't help you steal my family's legacy," she said. She tossed the folder back.

Grafton didn't blink. He tapped the screen of his tablet.

He turned it toward her.

It was a video from the hotel security feed.

It showed the hallway outside this room. It showed Francesca stumbling in.

Then it cut to the interior.

It showed her grabbing his wrist. It showed her pulling him down for a kiss.

"You initiated," Grafton said calmly. "If Julian sees this, the wedding is off."

He paused.

"And if the wedding is off, who pays for your mother's care facility?"

Francesca felt the blood drain from her face.

He knew.

He knew about the secret account. He knew about her mother's early-onset dementia. He knew the Pearson family had cut her mother off.

"You're a monster," she whispered.

"I'm a pragmatist," he corrected. "Sign the paper, Francesca."

She looked at the pen.

"If I sign," she said, her voice trembling, "will you help me ruin Lila?"

Grafton's lips quirked. "Consider it a signing bonus."

She grabbed the pen. She signed her name. The ink looked like blood on the white paper.

Grafton took the folder. "Get dressed. Julian will be here in five minutes to take me to physical therapy."

Francesca froze. "He's coming here?"

"Unless you want a threesome," Grafton said, "I suggest you hide."

He pointed to the balcony.

The doorbell rang.

"Grafton?" Julian's voice came through the heavy wood. "You in there, bro?"

Francesca scrambled out of bed. She grabbed the clothes Grafton had thrown at her.

She ran for the balcony doors.

She slipped behind the heavy velvet curtains just as the main door opened.

She pressed herself against the glass.

"Hey," Julian said.

Francesca peeked through the crack in the drapes.

Julian was standing in the middle of the room. He sniffed the air.

"What is that smell?" Julian asked. He frowned. "Is that... Chanel No. 5?"

Grafton sat in his chair. He looked weak. He looked harmless.

"My night nurse," Grafton said. "She wears too much of it."

Julian looked around the room. His eyes lingered on the unmade bed.

He took a step toward the balcony.