Chapter 1 1

The heavy velvet drapes smelled of dust and old secrets.

Eveline Delacruz pressed her spine against the cold oak of the library door, her lungs burning as if she had just sprinted a mile. She hadn't ran, though. You didn't run in the Horn manor. You glided. You smiled. You pretended you weren't suffocating.

Downstairs, the muffled strains of a string quartet filtered through the floorboards. Mozart. It was always Mozart when Alistair Horn wanted to pretend his family wasn't built on blood money and ruthless acquisitions.

Her phone vibrated against her thigh, a violent buzz in the silence. Eveline fumbled with the clutch, her fingers slick with sweat.

Hessie: Where are you? Janiya is looking for Fulton. Don't embarrass me tonight. We need this month's allowance.

Eveline stared at the screen until the words blurred. Her mother didn't ask if she was okay. She never did. The allowance. The trust fund. The golden leash that had been wrapped around Eveline's throat since her stepfather died and left his nephew, Fulton Horn, as the executor of their lives.

The brass doorknob turned.

It was a slow, deliberate sound. Metal grinding against metal.

Panic, sharp and cold, spiked in her chest. Eveline scrambled backward, her heels sinking into the plush Persian rug, and ducked behind the thick burgundy curtains just as the door creaked open.

Heavy footsteps entered. They didn't hesitate. They owned the floor.

The air in the room shifted instantly. The scent of old paper and wax was obliterated by a sharper, darker smell. Cedarwood. Expensive scotch. And the faint, lingering trace of cold tobacco.

Fulton.

Eveline held her breath until her chest ached. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying to a God that had abandoned this house years ago. Just get a drink. Just get a drink and leave.

The clink of crystal against crystal echoed like a gunshot. Ice hitting the glass. Liquid pouring.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"Come out, Eveline."

His voice was low, a deep baritone that vibrated in her bones. He didn't shout. He never shouted. He didn't have to.

She didn't move. Maybe he was bluffing.

"I can hear your heart beating from here," he added, his tone bored. "Don't make me drag you out."

Eveline's trembling hand gripped the velvet fabric. She pushed it aside.

The library was dim, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the French windows. Fulton Horn stood by the antique liquor cabinet, his back to her. He was a shadow cut from the darkness, broad-shouldered and imposing in his tuxedo.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, not bothering to turn around.

"Who gave you permission to wear backless tonight?"

The question was casual, but the threat underneath was razor-sharp.

Eveline took a step forward, her legs feeling like they were made of water. "I'm done, Fulton."

He paused. The ice in his glass settled with a soft clink.

Then, a low, dark chuckle escaped him. It was a sound devoid of humor. He turned slowly, his grey eyes locking onto hers. In the shadows, they looked black. Predatory.

"Done?" He took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. "Done with what, exactly?"

"This." She gestured vaguely between them, her voice shaking. "Us. You. I won't be your mistress while you parade Janiya Tanner around as your fiancée."

Fulton set the glass down on the mahogany desk. The sound was too loud. He began to walk toward her.

"Janiya is a business arrangement," he said, closing the distance. "You know that."

"I don't care!" Eveline backed away until her hips hit the edge of the heavy desk. There was nowhere left to go. "I won't be a shadow in her life. I won't be a cheap copy of Arlena."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Fulton stopped inches from her. He loomed over her, stealing her air, stealing her light. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw. His fingers were calloused, rough against her soft skin.

"Do not," he whispered, his thumb pressing hard against her cheekbone, "say her name."

"Why? Because I look like her?" Eveline's eyes filled with hot tears. "Because I'm just a placeholder until you find a way to bring her back into the fold?"

Fulton didn't answer. He didn't deny it. That was the cruelest part.

Instead, he moved his hand from her jaw to her throat, his thumb resting over her pulse point. He could feel it fluttering like a trapped bird. His grip was a manacle, the pressure just shy of crushing, promising a bruise that would bloom by morning.

"You are what I say you are," he murmured. "And you belong where I say you belong."

"I'll leave," she choked out. "I'll take my mother and we'll leave New York."

"With what money?"

The words were a bucket of ice water.

Fulton leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Hessie has six figures in gambling debts this quarter alone. The medical bills for her 'migraines' are astronomical. You leave, and I cut the trust. Tomorrow, your mother is on the street."

Eveline's stomach twisted. He knew. He always knew. He held the strings, and she was just the marionette.

"You're a monster," she whispered.

"I'm your trustee," he corrected. His hand slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. "I'm your owner."

He kissed her then.

It wasn't romantic. It was a claim. A branding. His mouth crushed hers, demanding submission. He tasted of whiskey and dominance. His teeth grazed her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang filled her mouth.

Eveline's hands balled into fists against his chest, pushing weakly, but her body betrayed her. It melted into him, conditioned by two years of this toxic dance.

A knock at the door shattered the moment.

"Mr. Horn?" The butler's voice was muffled but clear. "Miss Tanner is asking for you."

Eveline gasped, tearing her mouth away. Panic flared in her eyes. "Let me go," she hissed. "If she finds us..."

Fulton didn't flinch. He didn't even look at the door. He kept his arm locked around her waist, staring down at her swollen, red lips.

"Let her wait," he said loud enough for the butler to hear.

"Sir?"

"Tell her I'm busy."

Fulton released Eveline abruptly. The loss of his heat left her shivering. He straightened his tie, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on his jacket. In a second, the beast was gone, replaced by the impeccable Wall Street tycoon.

He reached into his pocket and tossed a plastic key card onto the desk. It slid across the polished wood, stopping right in front of her.

"Penthouse. Tonight."

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

Eveline stared at the white card.

A wave of nausea rolled over her, violent and sudden. It started in the pit of her stomach and clawed its way up her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, dropping her clutch, and sprinted for the adjoining bathroom.

She collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving dryly, her body rejecting more than just the fear.