Chapter 3

Three days later. The morning air in Long Island was crisp.

Cynthia stood in the glass greenhouse behind the Bowers estate. The heavy, bitter scent of medicinal herbs clung to her clothes. She carefully poured the dark, boiling liquid into a ceramic bowl. It was the final dose of the stabilizing compound for Almon.

A sudden, aggressive roar of multiple car engines shattered the quiet morning.

Cynthia frowned. She picked up the hot bowl, holding it carefully by the rim, and walked out of the greenhouse. She crossed the manicured lawn and stepped into the long, shadowed hallway of the main house.

Barnaby, the elderly butler, sprinted past her, his face flushed with sweat. "The Church family!" he gasped, out of breath. "The matriarch is here!"

Cynthia stopped at the edge of the hallway, keeping her body hidden in the shadows. She looked out into the grand living room.

Over a dozen men in black suits stood like statues around the perimeter. In the center, on the plush velvet sofa, sat Eleonora. Mountains of expensive gift boxes were piled on the floor around her.

Inger was practically vibrating with greed. She hovered over Eleonora, holding out a tray with a cup of Earl Grey tea, her face stretched into a sickeningly desperate smile.

Standing off to the side was Dominic. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and his face was a mask of pure, freezing indifference.

Eleonora waved away Inger's tea. She reached into her designer bag and slammed the broken silver bracelet onto the glass coffee table.

"Who in the Bowers family purchased this specific bracelet?" Eleonora demanded, her voice ringing with authority. "It is a limited edition, serial number 007."

Footsteps padded down the grand staircase. Celia, Cynthia's cousin, walked down wearing a silk nightgown, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She glanced at the coffee table and gasped. "Oh my god! That's mine! I just bought that last week!"

Eleonora shot up from the sofa. She grabbed Celia's hands, her eyes shining with tears. "My savior! You are the one!"

Celia blinked, completely bewildered by the sudden physical contact from this terrifyingly powerful old woman. "Savior?"

Dominic narrowed his eyes. His gaze swept over Celia like a laser scanner. He took in her messy hair, her confused posture, and the soft, weak line of her jaw.

No. His brain rejected it instantly. The woman on the train had a jawline carved from ice. She moved with lethal precision. This girl looked like she would cry if she broke a nail.

Standing in the shadows, Cynthia saw the bracelet. Her stomach dropped. She understood exactly what was happening. A cold, mocking smirk touched the corner of her lips.

Inger finally processed the words 'savior' and the presence of the Church family. Her eyes went wide with manic joy. She grabbed Celia by the shoulders and shoved her forcefully toward Dominic.

"Yes! My Celia is so brave! So kind-hearted!" Inger gushed, her voice shrill. "She is an angel!"

Dominic looked at Inger with open disgust. He turned his head slightly, giving Leo a subtle hand signal. Get the checkbook.

"The Church Group is prepared to offer the Bowers family a highly lucrative development contract as compensation for your... assistance," Dominic said, his tone making it clear he thought they were pathetic.

Eleonora slammed her hand down on Dominic's arm. "No! We are not paying them off! The Church family is here to announce a formal engagement to Celia!"

Several maids gasped. Inger looked like she was going to pass out from sheer ecstasy.

Celia peeked up at Dominic's devastatingly handsome face. A dark red blush crept up her neck, and she ducked her head, playing the role of the shy bride.

Dominic's fists clenched so hard his knuckles popped. A muscle feathered in his jaw. He was furious at his grandmother's ambush.

In the hallway, Cynthia found the entire circus incredibly boring. She had no intention of stepping out and claiming credit. Getting tied to a paranoid billionaire was the last thing she needed while trying to protect her uncle.

She adjusted her grip on the hot bowl and turned to walk toward Almon's room.

As she pivoted, the hem of her sweater caught the edge of a tall brass plant stand. The metal scraped against the floor with a sharp, high-pitched screech.

Dominic's head snapped toward the dark hallway like a predator catching a scent.

Through the gloom, he caught a split-second glimpse of a woman's back. She wore a faded, oversized sweater. Her posture was rigid, her shoulders set in a straight, uncompromising line.

Dominic's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. A sudden, inexplicable surge of deep irritation and intense wariness seized his chest, as if something completely uncontrollable and dangerous had just breached his meticulously guarded field of vision.