Evening had arrived at the CPD station the way it arrived everywhere else—slowly, and without caring about the company you kept. Kefas Sterling, still in his business suit, still smelling like a billionaire who'd taken a wrong turn into a comedy, was running out of patience and people to blame.
He was cursing Maria now. The woman claimed to love him. Love. And yet here he sat, handcuffed since morning, while her brat of a daughter was the only soul who'd bothered to darken the visiting room. With her puzzle board and her accusations and her complete refusal to be useful.
"You have a visitor," the guard announced, not bothering to open the cell.
Kefas didn't move. What was the point? He'd already spent the day learning that his lawyers had all mysteriously lost his number, that his phone calls went unanswered, and that justice moved at the speed of Adrian Stark's bank account.
Maria appeared on the other side of the bars like a portrait that had learned to walk. Impeccable. Composed. Thoroughly un-jailed.
"You look miserable," she said.
Kefas stared at her as he blinked. Something inside him, already frayed, began to actively unravel. Miserable? Of all the words in the English language—and he knew several—she'd chosen miserable.
"This is the moment," he said, his voice tight as a drum, "where you tell me you've bailed me out."
"I know." Maria settled into the chair opposite his cell, crossing her legs with the casual elegance of a woman at a garden party. "But let me enjoy this first." She tilted her head, appraising him like a painting she was considering buying. "Taking in your miserable self. In jail."
Kefas's frown deepened into something darker. "What are you talking about?"
Her composure cracked—just a sliver, just enough to let the venom through. "You almost killed my son last night."
"Oh, please," Kefas scoffed, the sound sharp and humorless. "You mean your golden goose."
That one landed. Not because it was cruel, but because it was true. And Maria, for all her theatrics, didn't bother denying it.
"The Doctor needs to see you," she said, her voice settling back into something calm. Almost bored.
Kefas's expression shifted—annoyance giving way to something wilder, more alert. The Doctor wasn't a name you dropped lightly. You didn't schedule him like a dentist. And you certainly didn't owe him favors. Kefas looked at Maria, then at the bars, then back at Maria, as if the laws of physics had stopped applying.
Maria smiled. Slow. Satisfied. "Right."
An officer appeared with a clipboard and a stack of papers. Maria signed without looking, the kind of signature that expected compliance.
Kefas rubbed his wrists as they walked toward the car, his suit suddenly feeling less like a costume. "Now I feel much better." He slid into the driver's seat; Maria took the passenger side. "I thought Adrian had paid off all my lawyers. And the Starks? They usually don't miss."
"They didn't." Maria was scrolling her iPad, barely present. "The Doctor cut us a deal."
The car went quiet. Kefas's hands tightened on the wheel. A deal with The Doctor was never just a deal. The price was always huge, always bloody, and the invoice always arrived at the worst possible moment.
"Why would you ask him for a favor, Maria?" His voice had lost its edge. Now it just sounded worried.
Maria didn't look up. "I can't let you sleep in that hole. I love you."
The words hung in the air—half confession, half excuse, entirely dangerous. Kefas didn't know whether to be touched or terrified. He settled on both.
Maria swiped her iPad and turned the screen toward him. "What's that?"
"This is Star," Maria said. "Adrian's new mistress."
The image was black and white, pulled from a scanner feed—grainy, imperfect, but unmistakable. Kefas recognized her immediately. Because she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and now that he thought about it, she'd been riding toward the scene last night at B1 Highway. Was she the one who saved Adrian?
"What was she doing in your room?" he asked, still staring at the image. "That's from the scanner, right?"
"Beats me." Maria sighed and took the iPad back. "But she might be the doom for us."
"What do you mean?"
"She's pregnant." Maria's lips thinned into a line. "With Adrian's child. And the infamous sticky Stark blood is all over her."
Kefas let out a breath. Then, with one hand still on the wheel, he reached over and rubbed Maria's shoulder. A small gesture. The kind you give someone who's just realized the house is on fire and they're holding the match.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice softer now. "You're still the queen of the Stark family. You gave them an heiress."
Maria stared out the window, the city lights sliding across her face like shadows fleeing something.
"Let's pray it's a boy," she said.
***
The kitchen at the Chateau smelled like garlic and something slow-cooking—comfort food, the kind Lucian made when the world outside was too sharp. He stood at the stove in sweatpants and a simple shirt, an apron tied over the whole affair like he'd been born to domesticity and just happened to moonlight as a crime lord. His hands moved with practiced ease: stir, taste, adjust. Stir again.
Star sat at the kitchen island, elbows on the counter, chin in her hands, watching him. Not really watching him—watching something else entirely. Her eyes had gone soft and distant, the way they did when her mind wandered into rooms that didn't exist yet.
In that room, Adrian was cooking. But he was smiling at her—warm, approving, the kind of smile that said you did good. And in her arms, a baby. Small. Warm. Feeding contentedly. She could feel the weight of it, the impossible realness of it, and for a moment her lips parted as if she might speak to the vision—
"You really just going to watch me cook?"
Lucian's voice cut through. Star flinched, hard, like someone caught stealing. Her hands dropped from her chin; her spine straightened.
Lucian turned from the stove, wooden spoon suspended mid-air, his brow folding into a frown. "What's wrong? You've been strangely quiet since you got back."
Star sighed. The kind of sigh that had luggage. She looked at him—really looked—and the weight of everything she was carrying pressed against her ribs.
"I kissed Adrian," she said.
Lucian scoffed. Not surprised, not outraged. Just... confirmed. "Right. You must have seen me last night."
"Yeah." Star's voice was small. "But what you don't know is... he wants to marry me."
Lucian shrugged it off like a jacket he didn't need. "Yeah, that's what every sixteen-year-old boy in love says."
"No." Star's tone didn't budge. "He's offering me a contract marriage. To save his company."
The spoon stopped moving. Lucian turned fully now, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. He studied her face the way he studied a business partner before a deal—looking for the lie, the crack, the tell.
"You said no, right?"
Star didn't answer. Her eyes dropped to the counter.
"Star?!" His voice pitched upward, incredulous.
"I want to help him." She looked up, pleading with her eyes before her words could follow. "Hear me out. I didn't give him an answer yet. But Lucy..." She leaned forward, her voice dropping into something urgent. "There are secrets in the Stark family. Dangerous ones. And they all circle back to the mother."
"I don't care." Lucian's jaw tightened. "And it's even more important now that you leave them alone."
Star felt the familiar ache rise in her chest. Lucian knew her history. He knew she'd spent her whole life watching a marriage that was nothing but torture—Tomas beating Loise at every inconvenience, insulting her, shrinking her until she disappeared entirely. Her mother hadn't gotten a happy ending. She'd gotten a grave and a replacement family. Star didn't believe in love. Whatever she and Adrian had, she believed it would die. Love made people pathetic, made them commit for two decades only to die at the hands of a mistress with two kids and no conscience.
But this wasn't love. This was strategy.
"I can't just watch him be destroyed, Lucy. Please?"
"You want my blessing." Lucian's voice was flat, final. "I'm not doing that."
Star pouted. Her cheeks puffed up, her eyes went wide and glossy—the expression that had been cracking Lucian's resolve since they were five years old. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Lucian looked away, jaw working. He wished she understood. He wouldn't bless a marriage he didn't want to happen. It was for Star that he'd let her save Adrian in the first place. But whatever connection those two had, it was biting off more than it could chew. Star was his. He just needed the right time, the right place, to confess what had been burning in his chest for years. In the meantime, he wasn't about to hand his love over to another man. Contract or no contract. The company could crash into the government's lap for all he cared.
"Safe is family," Star announced, pushing back from the counter. "I'll ask him."
She bolted for the living room. Lucian followed, his bare feet slapping the floor behind her.
Safe sat on the couch, the TV murmuring in the background, his lips moving silently as he practiced sounds—small, tentative syllables that still surprised him every time they escaped. He looked up as Star careened into the room, Lucian two steps behind her like a shadow with objections.
What followed was chaos. Star talked. Lucian, positioned directly behind her, began a frantic semaphore of head shakes, hand waves, and emphatic throat-slitting gestures. He'd never been a fan of sign language, but tonight he seemed to have learned it fluently.
Safe's eyes bounced between them like a spectator at a tennis match. Then he picked up his pad and wrote: One person at a time.
Star glanced over her shoulder. Lucian froze, mid-gesture, and attempted to look innocent. She turned back.
"Adrian asked me to marry him—on contract—to save his company. Once the mole is exposed, we divorce." The words tumbled out fast, as if speed might make them more convincing. "What do you think?"
Safe frowned deeply. The lines on his face carved themselves deeper. Then he wrote: How do you save a company by marrying him?
"Safe is asking the right questions," Lucian said, dropping onto the couch with the satisfaction of a prosecutor who'd just heard a damning witness.
"Shut up!" Star's voice nearly cracked. She turned back to Safe, softer now. "It's a long story. But marriage is the requirement. Otherwise the company goes to the government."
Safe sighed. He looked at Star. Then at Lucian.
Star had told him about her feelings for Adrian—how she felt them, how she wouldn't act on them. Lucian had told him, just earlier today, how he loved Star, how he planned to spend the rest of his life with her or be single forever. He'd been devastated when he saw that kiss. Now here they both stood, two children he'd somehow inherited, pulling him in opposite directions. He was a parent who loved both. He couldn't choose.
It's good to help your friends out, Safe wrote slowly. But it could also be a trap.
"Yes!" Lucian clapped his hands together. "Safe, I love you."
"Star." Lucian turned to her, his voice shifting from triumphant to earnest. "I'm a man myself. I can tell this is a trap. Adrian loves you. Once he marries you and his company is saved, he won't let you go."
"He knows I don't want to get married." Star's voice was quiet now. "But... I care about him, Lucy."
She deployed the eyes again. The pout. The full arsenal. It had worked on Lucian for nearly two decades, and she could see it working now—the way his shoulders tensed, the way he looked away, the way his resolve flickered like a candle in a draft.
"No. Don't do that." He turned his head, refusing to meet her gaze. This was hard. This was impossible. He was not about to hand over the love of his life.
"Please." Star's voice broke just enough. "You're the only family I've got. And Safe. I count on you guys. Adrian needs my help."
Safe lifted his pad again. The scratch of his pen filled the silence.
Some things are deeper and darker than they appear. Like you said, we're your family. And as your family, I have to say: those powerful, wealthy families are always dangerous. It never ends in flowers with them.
"Listen to the man who's lived twice as long as us," Lucian said, pushing off the couch and heading back to the kitchen.
Star stood there, the words settling into her like stones in water. Safe was right. Powerful families were dangerous. And now that she thought about it—really thought about it—Lucian's father had died just days after Mr. Stark disappeared. Mr. Throne had been Mr. Stark's right-hand man. Had he known something? Had he known what happened to Adrian's father? Was that why he'd been brutally killed?
A few minutes later, Lucian's voice rang out: "Dinner's ready."
He served them at the dinner table with the quiet pride of a man who'd found one thing in the world he could control. Four dishes. Each a favorite. Star's eyes widened when she saw the creamy sun-dried tomato chicken pasta in front of her.
Safe scribbled on his pad and held it up: How did you know I love Fettuccine?
Lucian shrugged, twirling his own pasta. "A week is a lot of days I spent with you to know, you're even allergic to coffee"
Safe's expression softened—genuine surprise, genuine warmth. He picked up his fork.
Lucian glanced over at Star's plate. The creamy chicken pasta. The sun-dried tomatoes glistening. Something about it made his mouth water in a way his own food suddenly didn't. His stomach turned. A low wave of nausea rolled through him. What the hell?
"Excuse me," he muttered, rising from the table with forced calm.
In the kitchen, he threw up into the sink, gripping the counter's edge. His reflection in the stainless steel looked as confused as he felt.
Star and Safe exchanged a brief frown but didn't think much of it. They kept eating.
After dinner, Star carried the dishes to the kitchen. She found Lucian there, leaning over the pot of chicken pasta, eating straight from it with a fork. No plate. No shame. Just a man and his sudden, inexplicable craving.
"You ran back here to have your own dinner alone?" Star asked, setting the dishes by the sink.
"Yeah." He didn't look up. "I couldn't look you in the face knowing you're going to marry Adrian either way." He scraped the pot, then unceremoniously added the used pots to her washing pile.
"I understand," Star said quietly. "Because of what happened to your father."
Lucian stopped and turned. His eyes were tired. "This has nothing to do with my father. All I know is: when you discover someone's secret, you run the other direction. Not toward them." He took a step closer. "And I don't trust Adrian."
"Is it because you hate him? Why? You don't even know him." Star's voice rose, frustration bleeding through. "You guys should make peace, because I'm your friend. Both of you. I'm your common denominator, and right now you're making me choose."
Lucian looked at her for a long moment. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were a battlefield.
"I'm sorry, Star." His voice was quiet. Final. "You already chose. And I don't agree with it."
He left the kitchen.
Star stood there, hands in the soapy water, staring at the empty doorway. She could feel his anger radiating from the other room like heat from a closed oven. How would he be if he found out she was pregnant? Pregnant from when she was raped? How would he feel then?
Should she marry Adrian on contract?
Should she agree with Lucian?
The questions circled like sharks, and the dishwater went cold around her wrists.