The flashing red of the engine lights cast long, violent streaks across the wet asphalt of the hotel courtyard. Darra sat on the back of an ambulance bumper, the scratchy wool blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, her hands still trembling from the heat of the fourth floor.

The car didn't stop until they reached the outer gates of an expansive, iron-fenced estate nestled deep in the rolling hills north of the city. Towering oak trees shadowed a sprawling limestone mansion that looked less like a home and more like a modern fortress. Security cameras blinked red eyes from every pillar.

Darra was led through a cavernous, marble-floored foyer by the gray-haired man, who introduced himself as Marcus, head of security for Ashworth Industries.

"He’s in the study," Marcus said, gesturing toward a pair of heavy mahogany double doors at the end of a long hallway lined with priceless oil paintings.

Darra pushed the doors open.

Aiden Ashworth stood by a floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the manicured lawns. He held a crystal tumbler of amber liquid, his broad shoulders tense beneath a charcoal dress shirt. When the door clicked shut behind Darra, he turned around. Up close, his eyes were a piercing, glacial blue—exhausted, cold, and razor-sharp.

"You cashed the check," Aiden said, his voice deep and smooth, cutting straight through the silence. "Yet you didn't leave the city. You’re still here, Ms. Whitmore."

"Your little check barely covered my back rent and groceries," Darra fired back, crossing her arms defensively. "And for your information, I didn't ask for your money. Your goons ambushed me on the street. If you wanted me to vanish, you should have written a check big enough to buy a new life, not a month's survival."

Aiden narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. "You have a sharp tongue for a former hotel maid."

"And you have a lot of nerve treating the person who carried your daughter out of a burning building like a criminal!" Darra stepped right up to him, refusing to shrink back despite his towering height and intimidating aura. "I saved her life, Mr. Ashworth. I didn't sell her out. I didn't ask for a reward. If you hate poor people so much, you should have come into room 412 yourself!"

The air in the room froze. For a terrifying second, Darra thought he might actually strike her, or worse, signal Marcus to throw her out a window.

Instead, a soft sound broke the tension.