Fay spent that night in one of the Corso estate’s guest rooms.

She hated the idea.

She hated the silk sheets.

She hated the expensive towels.

She especially hated that Dominic had been right.

If Matteo Corso believed she knew anything, returning alone to her apartment would be foolish.

Still, at midnight she lay awake staring at the ceiling.

Important.

Dominic's unfinished sentence refused to leave her mind.

At one in the morning, someone knocked.

Fay sat up.

“Who is it?”

“Mrs. Gable.”

Fay opened the door.

The older woman stood holding tea.

“You're awake.”

“So are you.”

“I’m seventy-one. Sleep is mostly a rumor.”

Fay accepted the cup.

“Is Dominic okay?”

Mrs. Gable smiled knowingly.

“What?”

“You asked about him before asking whether someone was trying to murder you.”

“I know I’m okay.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Fay rolled her eyes.

“You and Cook should mind your own business.”

“This house has thirty-two rooms. Other people's business is all we have.”

Fay laughed softly.

Mrs. Gable's expression warmed.

Then she looked toward the hallway.

“He was different before the accident.”

“Less angry?”

“Not exactly.”

That answer interested Fay.

“He was always difficult. Proud. Ruthless when required. But he enjoyed life.”

Mrs. Gable looked down at her hands.

“After the accident, he stopped allowing anything good near him. I think he believed if he destroyed everything first, nothing could be taken.”

Fay thought of the shattered breakfast tray.

“Until me?”

Mrs. Gable smiled.

“Until you refused to break.”

The next morning Dominic waited in the therapy room.

Fay hadn't seen it before.

Parallel bars ran along one side. Exercise equipment filled another. A physical therapist named Dr. Elena Ruiz adjusted a support brace while Dominic glared at it.

“This thing is medieval.”

“It is carbon fiber.”

“Expensive medieval.”

Elena ignored him.

Fay stood near the doorway.

Dominic noticed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Gable told me you were trying to escape therapy.”

Elena smiled.

“I like her.”

“Everybody likes her,” Dominic muttered.

Fay folded her arms.

“Do your therapy.”

“You're very commanding for an employee.”

“Fire me.”

He stared.

She smiled.

Dominic gripped the parallel bars.

Elena and another therapist positioned his legs carefully.

The first attempt lasted three seconds.

His arms trembled.

His face tightened.

He dropped back into the chair.

“Again,” he said.

The second attempt lasted five.

The third lasted eight.

Fay watched him fight through humiliation that would have destroyed weaker people.

The man who had once controlled an empire now celebrated eight seconds upright between two metal bars.

And somehow those eight seconds looked more powerful than every story she had heard about Dominic Corso.

Afterward, while Elena packed equipment, Dominic remained silent.

Fay handed him water.

“That was good.”

“It was pathetic.”

“No.”

“I used to run five miles every morning.”

“You stood.”

“With three people helping.”

“You stood.”

His gaze lifted.

Fay crouched slightly so they were eye level.

“Stop comparing today with six months ago.”

“With what should I compare it?”

“Yesterday.”

He stared.

“Yesterday you didn't try.”

Something softened.

Dominic accepted the water.

“You're infuriating.”

“I know.”

He drank.

“Stay.”

Fay remained.

Over the next weeks, routine developed.

Fay worked.

Dominic trained.

Carmine investigated.

Matteo continued appearing at business meetings as though nothing had changed.

Dominic chose not to confront him.

Not yet.

Instead, he watched.

The evidence grew.

Money transferred through shell companies.

Security logs altered.

Payments made to a mechanic two days before Dominic's accident.

Then came the worst discovery.

Dominic's former rehabilitation coordinator had accepted money from one of Matteo's companies.

Fay sat beside Dominic when Carmine explained.

“What exactly did he do?” she asked.

“Nothing dramatic,” Carmine said. “That's what made it clever. Appointments delayed. Specialists never contacted. Dominic was repeatedly told certain treatments wouldn't help before anyone actually evaluated him.”

Dominic stared at the floor.

Fay felt sick.

“Someone wanted him hopeless.”

“Yes.”

Dominic's face went cold.

“I’ll kill him.”

“No.”

The word came from Fay.

Both men looked at her.

Dominic's eyes hardened.

“You don't understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“He stole six months.”

“And murdering someone gives them back?”

Carmine quietly moved toward the door.

“Coward,” Dominic said.

“Professional survivor,” Carmine corrected before disappearing.

Fay stood in front of Dominic.

“You want revenge because anger is easier than grief.”

His jaw flexed.

“Don't analyze me.”

“Then stop being obvious.”

“You think you know what this feels like?”

“No.”

Her answer stopped him.

“I don't.”

Fay sat nearby.

“But I know what it's like to wake up wanting yesterday back.”

She touched the silver ring she wore.

“My dad had a heart attack at fifty-one.”

Dominic listened.

“I spent years thinking if I had called him that morning, if I had visited more, if I had made him see a doctor sooner, maybe everything would be different.”

“You couldn't know.”

“Neither could you.”

Dominic looked away.

For several seconds neither spoke.

Then he said, “I hate this chair.”

“I know.”

“I hate needing help.”

“I know.”

“I hate you seeing me need it.”

That one hurt.

Fay's voice softened.

“Why?”

“Because you look at me like I’m still a man.”

“You are.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.”

She did.

Dominic turned toward her.

“I don't want your pity.”

“You've never had it.”

“I know.”

The room became quieter.

Fay's pulse quickened.

Dominic reached toward her hand.

He stopped before touching it.

She looked down.

Then placed her fingers into his.

His hand closed gently.

No command.

No challenge.

Just contact.

“I meant what I said,” Dominic whispered.

“About?”

“I don't want you to leave.”

Fay's heart beat harder.

“Because I’m good at cleaning oatmeal?”

His mouth curved.

“No.”

“Because I open curtains?”

“Partly.”

“Dominic.”

His expression became serious.

“Because when you're here, I remember the man I was before everyone started looking at me like my life ended.”

Fay swallowed.

“You shouldn't need me for that.”

“Maybe not.”

He moved slightly closer.

“But I do.”

For one terrifying second, Fay thought he might kiss her.

She wasn't sure whether she wanted him to.

Then a phone rang.

Dominic closed his eyes.

Fay laughed.

“You look angry.”

“I am considering destroying every phone in this house.”

He answered.

His expression immediately changed.

“What?”

Fay watched.

“What do you mean she's there?”

A pause.

Dominic looked at Fay.

“Lock the gates.”

He disconnected.

“What happened?”

Dominic's face had gone pale.

“Your landlord called Carmine.”

“Mr. Benson?”

“He found your apartment door open.”

Fay stood.

“My apartment?”

“Nothing was stolen.”

“Then—”

“Something was left.”

Her stomach dropped.

“What?”

Dominic hesitated.

“A photograph.”

“Of?”

“You leaving this house yesterday.”

Fay stopped breathing.

On the back, someone had written five words.

Walk away from Dominic Corso.

Dominic looked at her with an expression she had never seen before.

Fear.

“Pack your things,” he said.

Fay stared.

“You're firing me?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I’m getting you away from me.”

“Same thing.”

“Fay—”

“No.”

“This isn't a discussion.”

She laughed without humor.

“There he is.”

“Who?”

“The man who thinks everyone else belongs on his chessboard.”

His face tightened.

“This is about keeping you alive.”

“And I don't get a vote?”

“No.”

The answer shattered something.

Fay backed away.

“Then maybe you learned nothing.”

She turned.

Dominic caught the wheel rims and followed.

“Fay.”

She kept walking.

“You can't protect people by controlling them,” she said.

“I can try.”

“No. You can only make them leave.”

That stopped him.

Fay looked over her shoulder.

For the first time, she saw the connection clearly.

The shouting.

The broken plates.

The locked curtains.

The orders.

Dominic had spent six months forcing everyone away before life could take them from him.

And now he was doing it again.

“You're so afraid of losing people,” she whispered, “that you keep making the decision for them.”

His face changed.

Fay's eyes filled.

“I’m staying tonight because there's a threat.”

“Fay—”

“But tomorrow, we talk.”

She walked upstairs.

Dominic remained alone beneath the chandelier.

Outside, darkness settled across the estate.

And somewhere beyond the gates, somebody watched the windows.

---