The s.l.a.p was meant for Vivian Calder’s fragile face, but I stepped between them before I even had time to think. Seconds later, I was on the marble floor with blood running down my cheek, while the billionaire crime boss hosting his own engagement party walked in and asked the one question that made the entire room go silent.

By the end of my first week as Vivian’s companion, Calder House had transformed into a place I barely recognized—and neither did I.

My days were spent strolling through the vast botanical gardens with Vivian, reading her favorite classic novels aloud in the library, and accompanying her to private luncheons where high-society women treated me with a bizarre mixture of extreme deference and quiet curiosity. Word had spread through New York like wildfire: Julian Calder had ruined the powerful Whitcomb family overnight, all because of a quiet girl with a fresh scar on her cheek.

I was no longer Emma the maid. I was Emma, the girl under Julian Calder’s personal wing.

Every evening, Julian joined Vivian and me for dinner. What used to be formal, quiet affairs had turned into lively, comfortable meals. Julian listened intently whenever I spoke, asking about my past, my interest in art history, and my dreams before my parents had passed away.

One evening, after Vivian had retired to her room early, I found myself sitting alone on the outdoor terrace, watching the city lights reflect off the dark surface of the Hudson River.

A quiet step sounded behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know it was Julian. His faint sandalwood cologne announced him before he even spoke.

He walked up to the stone railing and leaned against it, draped in a dark grey sweater and trousers, holding a glass of scotch.

"You're quiet tonight, Emma," he observed, looking out over the water.

"Just thinking," I admitted, wrapping my wool cardigan tighter around myself. "Everything has changed so fast. A week ago, I was scrubbing grease off the kitchen stoves. Now I'm sitting on a terrace eating truffles."

"Do you miss the stoves?" he asked, a faint smirk touching his lips.

"Not at all," I laughed softly. "I'm just... waiting for the catch."

Julian turned to look at me, his dark eyes intense under the moonlight. "There is no catch, Emma."

"People like Arthur Whitcomb don't just walk away, Julian," I said quietly, looking down at my hands. "I know who you are. I've heard the staff talking over the months. I know you run things in this city that aren't printed in the newspapers. Celeste and her father... they won't let this go."

Julian set his glass down on the stone ledge. He stepped closer to my chair, leaning down slightly so his face was inches from mine.

"Let me worry about the Whitcombs, Emma," he said, his voice thick and low. "No one in this city will ever touch you again. I gave you my word."

"Why do you care so much?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. "I'm just one girl."

Julian reached out, his warm fingers lightly tracing the small, pink line of stitches on my cheekbone—stitches that Dr. Aris was scheduled to remove tomorrow.

"Because in a world full of people who only want what I can give them," Julian whispered, his thumb resting gently against my jaw, "you were the only one who put yourself in harm's way to protect what I love. That makes you priceless to me, Emma."

My breath hitched in my throat. His closeness was overwhelming, filling my senses until I couldn't think straight. For a terrifying, beautiful second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

Then his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket.

The moment shattered. Julian stepped back, pulling the phone out and looking at the screen. His expression instantly darkened.

"What is it, Marcus?" Julian answered, his voice cold.

He listened for three seconds, his jaw setting into a tight, hard line.

"Where?" Julian demanded. "Block the exits. I'm coming down now."

He hung up and looked back at me, his eyes full of a dark, brooding intensity.

"Go inside, Emma," he commanded softly. "Lock your suite doors, and do not open them for anyone except Marcus or myself."