The Mute Wife's Secret Genius Comeback

The car didn't go to the Hamptons. It descended into the underground garage of a sleek glass tower in Tribeca. Heinrich's private sanctuary.

He carried her to the elevator, bypassing the doorman. Up to the penthouse.

Inside, the apartment was a reflection of the man: cold, minimalist, expensive. Lots of steel, glass, and black leather.

He walked into the living room and dropped her onto the sprawling Italian leather sofa. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't violent. It was simply depositing a burden.

The impact jarred Calleigh awake. She blinked, disoriented by the harsh recessed lighting.

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Her head pounded.

Heinrich stood over her, removing his cufflinks. He tossed them onto a glass side table. Clink. Clink.

Gerri pushed you, didn't she?

It wasn't a question. He knew his mother.

Calleigh looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed. She nodded slowly.

Heinrich let out a short, humorless laugh. So you ran to a bar? That was your strategy? Getting drunk in a basement with a bartender who looks like a magician?

He took off his jacket, throwing it over a chair. He unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves, revealing forearms corded with muscle. He took a step toward her.

Calleigh shrank back, scooting until her spine hit the back of the sofa.

Heinrich placed one knee on the cushion next to her thigh. He leaned in, trapping her. His scent-sandalwood and cold rain-filled her nose.

Did you sign? he asked. His voice was quiet, dangerous.

Calleigh shook her head.

Heinrich stared at her for a long moment, searching her face for a lie.

Good, he said. That was the only correct decision.

Calleigh blinked in surprise. She had expected him to be furious that she defied the family matriarch.

Heinrich reached out, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him.

I don't like people touching my things, he said, his thumb brushing her lower lip. Even my mother. Especially my mother.

It wasn't love. It was possession. He was a dragon guarding his hoard, and she was just a coin in the pile. But in that moment, his possessiveness felt like a shield.

The alcohol in Calleigh's blood made her bold. Or maybe it was the adrenaline. She reached up, her hand trembling, and grabbed the front of his shirt. She pulled him closer.

It was a desperate move. A distraction. If he was kissing her, he couldn't ask questions. He couldn't ask why she was at The Vault.

Heinrich's pupils dilated. He didn't hesitate.

He crashed his mouth onto hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was a conquest. He tasted of mint and suppressed anger.

Calleigh didn't fight. She opened to him, letting him take what he wanted. It was the only currency she had left to pay for her safety.

Clothes were discarded in a heap on the floor. The encounter was frantic, rough. Heinrich moved with a hunger that suggested he had been starving, or perhaps just needing to assert control over the one thing in his life that was spiraling.

Calleigh clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. For a few minutes, she wasn't the mute victim. She was just a body, feeling something other than fear.

Afterward, he carried her to the shower. He washed her with methodical efficiency, the warm water sluicing away the smell of the bar. He didn't speak.

He wrapped her in a towel and put her in his bed. The sheets were charcoal grey and smelled like him.

Calleigh lay on her side, watching him. Heinrich stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, wearing a silk robe. He was smoking a cigarette, looking out at the city lights.

He looked lonely. And terrifying.

Calleigh touched her neck. Her fingers brushed bare skin.

The necklace.

The recorder.

It was gone. She had dropped it in the glass at the bar.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the post-coital haze. That recorder had weeks of audio on it. If Nate didn't find it... if someone else did...

She bit the tip of her tongue, hard. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She needed the pain to stay awake. She couldn't sleep. What if she talked in her sleep? What if she murmured a code, or a name?

She lay there in the dark, watching the smoke curl from Heinrich's silhouette, terrified to close her eyes.