When Her "Death" Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel)

Inside a suite lit by one lone lamp, Nicholas lounged half upright on the edge of the mattress, shirt open at the collar, eyes cold as winter glass.

A woman knelt on the carpet, mascara running through fresh bruises. She hugged her torn coat to her trembling shoulders.

"M-Mr. Nicholas... please, just let me go," she sobbed.

He regarded her with bored detachment, as though she were part of the décor.

"Everything that happened tonight stays buried," he said, voice flat, almost sleepy. The woman blinked, then bobbed her head so fast it blurred. "Yes."

"You may leave."

She scrambled up, snatched her purse, and fled toward the hallway light that promised escape.

Out in the corridor, she pressed against the wall, heart in her throat. She had walked in dreaming of a golden future, only to discover the fabled heir was as unreachable as a statue and twice as cold.

Fear crawled over greed. Earlier she had paid a photographer to catch them together once alcohol had softened his guard.

She dialed frantically. "Delete the shots. Do not upload anything ever!"

"Too late. I already blasted them to every outlet," the voice replied.

her veins. "You're

news app, and saw

for the airport,

left him, eyes aimed at nothing,

bright from an earlier call. A new banner slid across the top-his

this on the news? And

faint crease cut across

headline app, thumb skating down the feed. In less than a minute, the answer stared back at him—his own face

around the phone. That

to see if another woman's voice could drown out the

lips and practiced

They wound up in

the

froze. Desire never arrived, and nothing happened

up his phone and dialed his new

Nicholas asked,

awake, scroll-checked the headlines, and gulped. "Mr. Nicholas, I've seen it. I'll get a

Deal with the person who leaked it," Nicholas said,