Evelyn's POV
Isabelle's black eyes stared at us for three endless seconds.
Then she blinked, and they were normal again. Brown. Human. Wrong, but human.
"Relax." She laughed that mechanical laugh. "I'm not here to hurt you. Not yet, anyway."
"Get out." Damien's voice was deadly calm. "Now."
"So unwelcoming. And here I came to give my sister a wedding gift." Isabelle reached into her pocket.
James's gun tracked her movement.
She pulled out a USB drive. Set it on the coffee table. "Everything Daddy doesn't want you to know. Medical records. Financial transfers. Video footage from the lab." Her smile was empty. "Consider it insurance. If anything happens to me, this goes public."
"Why would you betray him?" I asked.
"Betray?" She tilted her head like a confused puppy. "I'm not betraying anyone. I'm surviving. Daddy's experiments are breaking down. I'm breaking down. And when I'm gone completely, he'll need a new subject." Her eyes found mine. "Guess who's next?"
My blood turned to ice.
"He won't touch her," Damien said.
"He will. He'll try." Isabelle moved toward the elevator. "But maybe if you're smart, if you're fast, you can stop him first." She stepped inside, pressed the button. "Oh, and Evelyn? I'm sorry. For everything. The real me—what's left of her—is sorry."
The doors closed.
She was gone.
James rushed to the elevator panel, checking security feeds. "She's in the garage. Getting into a car. Should I—"
"Let her go." Damien grabbed the USB drive. "She wants us to have this. Which means it's either genuine intelligence or a trap."
"Or both," I whispered.
We stood in silence. My new husband. His deadly assistant. Me. And a USB drive full of secrets that could destroy my father or destroy us.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Ashford," Damien said dryly.
Despite everything, I laughed. It came out half-hysterical, but it was real. "This is insane."
"This is your life now." He pulled me close. "Our life. And we're going to survive it."
James left after doing a full security sweep. Damien made calls—more guards, better cameras, facial recognition software that would identify Isabelle if she came within a mile of the building.
I stood at the windows, watching Manhattan glitter below us.
"You should see the rest of the place," Damien said, appearing beside me. "You live here now. You should know where everything is."
Right. This was my home now. Not my parents' mansion with its suffocating traditions. Not some temporary safe house. Home.
"Give me the tour," I said.
He led me through the penthouse. Kitchen with marble counters and appliances I didn't know how to use. Dining room that could seat twenty. Library full of first editions and comfortable chairs. Office with three computer screens and a view that made you feel like a god looking down at mortals.
"This is my workspace," Damien said. "You're welcome to use it anytime. The computers have access to everything—bank accounts, security feeds, investigation files."
"You trust me with everything?"
"You're my wife. We're partners." His hand found mine. "No secrets. Remember?"
Partners. The word felt good.
He showed me the guest rooms—three of them, all pristine and empty. The gym. The screening room. The balcony garden where I could read in peace.
Then we reached the end of the hallway.
"Master bedroom." Damien opened the door.
The room was huge. King-sized bed that looked like heaven. Windows showing the city. A bathroom bigger than my old bedroom. Walk-in closets on both sides.
"Half the closet is yours," Damien said. "James had your things moved while we were at the courthouse."
My things. The few items I'd grabbed when I ran. Not much, but mine.
"About the sleeping arrangements," Damien said carefully. "We should share this room. For appearances. Staff talk. Your father will have spies everywhere. But I'll take the couch, and—"
"We're supposed to look married," I interrupted.
"I won't touch you unless you want me to." His voice was firm. "This marriage is real, but only as real as you want it to be."
I looked at the huge bed. At the man who'd married me to protect me. Who'd kissed me on courthouse steps like he meant it. Who made my heart race in ways Marcus never had.
"We'll figure it out," I said quietly.
Relief crossed his face. "Okay. Good. I just—I need you to know you're safe here. Always."
Safe. When was the last time I'd felt safe?
"Thank you," I whispered.
He left me to unpack. I opened my closet—half-empty, waiting to be filled. My few clothes looked lost in all that space.
But there were other things. New things. Dresses I hadn't bought. Shoes I hadn't chosen. Clothes in my exact size and style.
A note pinned to a midnight blue dress: For the gala. You'll be beautiful. -D
He'd been planning ahead. Buying me things. Taking care of me in ways no one ever had.
My throat tightened.
I changed into pajamas—silk, expensive, nothing I'd owned before but exactly what I'd choose. Found them in a drawer like magic.
How long had he been preparing for this? For me?
Midnight came and went. I lay in the enormous bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Too much had happened. Wedding. Isabelle's threat. The USB drive sitting in Damien's office like a bomb waiting to explode.
My inheritance hearing was in hours. My father would try taking everything. And I had no idea if we could stop him.
I gave up on sleep. Wrapped a robe around myself and wandered through the dark penthouse.
Light came from under the office door.
I knocked softly. "Damien?"
"Come in."
He sat at his desk, still in his dress shirt but tie gone, sleeves rolled up. Three screens glowing. Papers everywhere. Coffee that had probably gone cold hours ago.
"Can't sleep either?" I asked.
"Never could. Not since Elena died." He rubbed his eyes. "Always felt like if I slept, I'd miss something important. Miss the clue that would save someone."
I understood that. I'd felt the same way after Isabelle's "death"—terrified that if I closed my eyes, I'd miss something. Some sign I'd ignored. Some way I could have saved her.
"What are you working on?" I moved closer.
"The USB drive. Had my tech team scan it for viruses. It's clean." He pulled up files on the screen. "Medical records for twelve people. All dead. All brought back. All breaking down."
Twelve. Not just Isabelle. Twelve people my father had experimented on.
"Their families?" I asked.
"Most don't know. They think their loved ones are in long-term care facilities. Getting treatment." His jaw clenched. "They're being lied to. Just like you were."
I read over his shoulder. Names. Dates. Conditions. Photos of people who looked almost right but fundamentally wrong.
"This is enough to destroy him," I said.
"If we use it correctly. If we time it right." Damien leaned back. "Your father's powerful. Rich. Connected. We need overwhelming evidence before we move."
"We have overwhelming evidence."
"We have a USB drive from your unstable sister who may or may not be trying to trap us." He pulled me down into the chair beside him. "We need more. We need witnesses. Financial records. Video footage that can't be disputed."
"How long will that take?"
"Weeks. Maybe months." He turned to face me. "Can you be patient?"
Could I? With my father planning my death? With Isabelle breaking down and becoming more dangerous? With Marcus walking free and smug?
"I can be patient," I said. "If you promise we'll make him pay."
"I promise." His hand covered mine. "We'll destroy him. Legally. Completely. So thoroughly he'll never hurt anyone again."
We sat in silence. The city glowed outside. Inside, we were just two damaged people planning revenge.
"Tell me about Elena," I said softly. "Really tell me. Not just the investigation. Tell me who she was."
Damien was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then: "She was brilliant. Smarter than me, and I have three degrees. She wanted to cure Alzheimer's. Save people's memories. Save who they were." His voice went rough. "Ironic, isn't it? She wanted to preserve consciousness. Your father wanted to transfer it."
"She would have done it right," I said. "Ethically. Legally."
"Yes. She would have." He looked at me. "She would have liked you. Would have said I didn't deserve someone so good."
"I'm not good. I married you for revenge."
"You married me because you're smart enough to know when you need help." His thumb traced circles on my hand. "And brave enough to accept it from a stranger."
"You're not a stranger anymore."
"No." His eyes held mine. "I'm your husband."
The word hung between us. Husband. Mine. This dangerous man who'd proposed in a driveway and meant every word.
"I'm scared," I admitted. "Of my father. Of what Isabelle's becoming. Of tomorrow's hearing. Of everything."
"Good. Fear keeps you alive." He pulled me closer. "But you're not facing it alone. Whatever happens tomorrow, we face it together."
Together. When was the last time I'd had someone fight beside me instead of against me?
Never.
I'd never had that.
Until now.
"Tell me about your grandmother," Damien said. "The one who left you everything."
So I did. I told him about Sunday teas and secret cookies and the only person who'd ever made me feel like I mattered. Who'd told me to be brave. To be myself. To never let anyone make me small.
We talked until sunrise. About Elena and my grandmother. About growing up rich but lonely. About becoming people our families wanted instead of who we really were.
And somewhere between midnight and dawn, I realized something terrifying.
I was falling for my fake husband.
For real.
The sunrise turned the windows gold. Damien's phone alarm went off.
"Hearing's in three hours," he said. "We should get ready."
"Damien?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For last night. For listening. For—" I gestured helplessly. "—for everything."
His smile was soft. Real. Nothing cold about it.
"You're welcome, wife."
He kissed my forehead. Gentle. Sweet. Nothing demanding.
Then his phone rang. James's name.
Damien answered. Listened. His face went hard.
"What?" I asked.
He turned his screen toward me.
Breaking news. Another fire. This time at Whitmore Pharmaceuticals headquarters.
The building was completely destroyed.
With a message spray-painted on the front: TICK TOCK, DADDY. TIME'S RUNNING OUT. -I
And below that, in smaller letters: P.S. Sorry about the hearing. Judge Morrison had an unfortunate accident. Postponed indefinitely. You're welcome, sister.
Isabelle was destroying everything.
And I had no idea if she was helping us or destroying us too.