Too Late, I Am The Real Heiress

The black Maybach merged onto Fifth Avenue. Inside the cabin, the silence was thick, broken only by the hum of the tires against the asphalt.

Adeline sat in the back seat, the heavy wool of Cade's suit jacket still draped over her shoulders. The scent of cedar and dark tobacco clung to the fabric. She reached up, gripping the lapels to slide the jacket off and hand it back to him.

"Thank you," Adeline said, her voice light, completely detached from the violence in the restroom.

Cade did not take the jacket. He turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto a faint, angry bruise blooming at the nape of her neck, where the marble counter had driven into her spine.

Cade shifted his weight. He reached out, his large hand hovering near the edge of her collar. His rough thumb brushed against the darkened skin. The touch was feather-light, but the heat radiating from his fingers sent a sharp jolt straight to Adeline's chest.

Adeline's breath hitched. She instinctively pulled back, pressing her shoulders into the leather seat. Her mind raced, a sudden spike of panic cutting through her carefully constructed icy exterior. Damn it, she hated this feeling of losing control. She had spent eight years mastering her emotions, turning herself into an untouchable fortress, yet this man's raw, unapologetic aggressiveness was making her body's primal instincts react faster than her reason. The heat of his touch was a dangerous variable she hadn't accounted for.

Cade's other hand shot out. He cupped the back of her neck, his long fingers tangling in the loose strands of her hair. He held her in place, forcing her to look at him.

"If you ever use your own safety as bait again," Cade said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "I will make you regret it."

Adeline's heart hammered against her ribs. She could see the raw possessiveness burning in his pupils. She forced her chin up, refusing to break eye contact.

"I had it under control," she shot back. "I knew exactly what I was doing."

Cade let out a harsh breath. He dropped his hand, severing the contact, and leaned back against his door. He pressed the intercom button.

"Billionaires' Row. 57th Street," Cade ordered the driver.

Adeline blinked, surprised. That was the exact location of the secret penthouse Alistair had arranged for her. She kept her face neutral. She pulled her phone from her clutch—the one now fitted with the prepaid SIM she had installed that morning—opened her contacts, and permanently blocked Evan's number. She then opened an encrypted email app and forwarded the photos of a bloody, pathetic Evan to three major gossip outlets.

The Maybach descended into a heavily fortified underground garage. The concrete walls were lined with Bugattis and limited-edition Ferraris.

Cade stepped out of the car and waited for Adeline. They walked toward a private elevator bank. Cade stepped up to the retinal scanner. A red laser swept across his eye, and the heavy steel doors slid open.

Cade stepped inside and pressed the button for the top-floor penthouse. He looked at Adeline, who was standing in the lobby.

"Do you need my driver to take you back to whatever slum you are hiding in?" Cade asked, a mocking edge to his voice.

Adeline smiled. She stepped into the elevator. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a sleek, black keycard with an embedded gold chip. She tapped it against the scanner panel below the buttons.

A hidden light illuminated on the panel. The floor right below Cade's penthouse lit up.

Cade stared at the glowing button. His jaw tightened. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The security in this building cost tens of millions of dollars. No one lived here on a lease. You had to own the floor.

He let out a low, dark laugh. "When did the board start letting Evan's charity cases buy real estate here?"

"Maybe the building just has a soft spot for gold diggers," Adeline replied smoothly, not breaking eye contact.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal a massive, private marble foyer.

Adeline stepped out. She turned around and pulled Cade's jacket off her shoulders. She tossed it directly at his chest.

"Goodnight, neighbor," she said.

As the doors began to close, Cade's arm shot out. His forearm hit the rubber bumper, forcing the doors to violently retract.

He stepped out of the elevator. His tall frame ate up the distance between them in two strides. He backed Adeline up until her spine hit the heavy oak door of her apartment.

Cade planted his hand on the wood right next to her head, caging her in. He leaned down, his mouth hovering inches from her ear.

"Since we are neighbors," Cade whispered, his breath hot against her skin, "do you need to borrow some sugar? Or maybe... something else?"

Adeline's lungs seized. The heat radiating off his body was suffocating. She raised her hand and pressed her index finger flat against the center of his chest, right over his racing heart. She pushed, creating a half-inch of space.

"I am allergic to sweets," Adeline said, her voice breathless but steady. "Especially men who think they are too sweet to resist."

She reached behind her back, punched her code into the keypad, and pushed the door open. She slipped inside and slammed the heavy door shut in his face.

Adeline leaned against the wood, closing her eyes as she dragged air into her burning lungs. Her control was slipping. Cade Kramer was too dangerous.

The satellite phone Alistair had left her vibrated sharply from inside her bag. She pulled it out. The screen displayed a name she had not seen in years—Marion Strong. A cold spike of recognition shot through her; somehow, her mother-in-law had breached the encrypted line. The heat in her blood vanished, replaced by absolute ice. The wicked mother-in-law was calling.