He struck like a cobra.
My wrist was seized and my body slammed onto the desk, pinned beneath him before I even had time to breathe. Terror flooded through me as his hips pressed against mine, grinding me into the wood, and all I could think about was the hard cylinder of the bottle hidden against my skin.
My lungs locked tight.
Please don’t hear it crack.
Please don’t reach down.
But my fear held his attention more than anything else. He was too busy threatening to burn my world to the ground to notice the small act of theft that had just taken place.
He had no idea I’d already armed myself.
One of these pills could put a grown man in a coma for twelve hours.
And I have two.
The bottle tilts, and two blue tablets tumble onto the marble counter. They look harmless—almost innocent—but they’re my ticket out of here.
Without a mortar and pestle, the thick base of a perfume bottle becomes my tool. Glass grinds against marble as I crush the pills into powder, blue dust spreading beneath the frantic pressure until not a single solid fragment remains.
Watching the powder settle, I steady my breathing.
I’m not a victim.
I’m a Blackwood.
And Blackwoods survive.
The plan is simple. Dangerous, but simple. Dinner will be a performance. I’ll play the defeated heiress and wait patiently for Konstantin to let his guard slip. When he does, the powder goes into his drink.
Once the drug takes hold—once the monster is asleep—I’ll take the key card from his pocket, walk calmly past the guards who will assume I’m leaving for the evening, and disappear before anyone realizes what’s happened.
Carefully, the powder is scraped into a tissue, folded tight, and slipped into the hidden pocket of the clutch provided with the dress.
Then the business suit comes off.
Armor that failed.
The red silk dress slides over my skin, cold and unforgiving, clinging to every curve and leaving my back, arms, and legs bare. I step into the heels, apply a coat of dark red lipstick, and paint on a smile that feels like a lie.
The woman staring back at me from the mirror looks dangerous.
A woman ready to kill for her life back.
I draw in one steady breath.
Showtime.
The guest suite door opens onto the long obsidian hallway of the penthouse, dim lighting pooling across the floor while the city glows beyond the massive windows.
When I reach the dining room, the table is already set.
A long black marble table dominates the space. Two places are set at one end with crystal glasses sparkling in the candlelight.
Konstantin is waiting by the window, staring out at the darkness. He has discarded his jacket and tie. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves rolled to reveal the terrifying tattoos on his forearms.
He turns at the sound of my heels on the floor.
