By seven fifteen that morning, Hazel Brooks had learned three things about Damian Romano.
First, he drank his coffee black.
Second, he hated being interrupted.
And third, when he told his security chief to close the gates, he meant every single gate.
The estate had become a fortress.
Two black SUVs stood near the main entrance.
Security guards patrolled the perimeter.
Every visitor was being questioned.
And Hazel sat in Damian's study wearing the same purple maid uniform she had worn the night before, wondering how her life had become a security emergency.
"This is ridiculous," she whispered.
Damian looked up from his desk.
"What is?"
"All of this."
He followed her gaze toward the security monitors.
"You have a better suggestion?"
"Let me leave."
"No."
She stared at him.
"Mr. Romano—"
"Damian."
"What?"
"My name is Damian."
Hazel looked away.
"I know your name."
"Then use it."
She swallowed.
"Damian, I cannot stay here."
"Why?"
"Because Frankie Sullivan is threatening your home because of me."
"He threatened my home the moment he sent men to watch it."
"But—"
"That was his decision, Hazel. Not yours."
She fell silent.
Damian returned his attention to the documents on his desk.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Hazel noticed a small stain spreading through the fabric near his ribs.
"You're bleeding again."
Damian glanced down.
"It's nothing."
"That's what you said last night."
"Hazel."
"Sit down."
He slowly raised his eyes.
She realized she had just ordered the most feared man in Chicago to sit down.
Again.
"I'm sorry."
Damian studied her.
Then, to her astonishment, he stood and moved toward the sofa.
"Get the medical kit."
Hazel blinked.
"You're actually listening to me?"
"Don't get used to it."
She almost smiled.
While Hazel changed his dressing, Marco entered with a folder.
"We found Wyatt's last known address."
Hazel's hands stopped moving.
Damian noticed.
"Continue."
Marco opened the folder.
"Wyatt Mercer rented an apartment under another name in Milwaukee. He abandoned it six weeks ago."
"Was anyone with him?"
"Possibly. A woman named Lena Price."
Hazel's stomach dropped.
"Lena?"
Damian looked at her.
"You know her?"
Hazel nodded slowly.
"She was my best friend."
Silence.
Marco glanced toward Damian.
Hazel stared at the medical tape in her hands.
"Lena told me Wyatt had been cheating on me. She said I should leave him."
"When?" Damian asked.
"About a week before he disappeared."
"And then?"
"She stopped answering my calls."
Hazel's voice became smaller.
"I thought she was embarrassed because she'd gotten involved in our relationship."
Damian's expression darkened.
"Marco. Find her."
"Already working on it."
Hazel looked up.
"Please don't hurt her."
Damian held her gaze.
"I'm trying to find out what happened."
"That isn't an answer."
"No," he admitted. "It isn't."
She finished securing his bandage.
Then she stepped back.
"I need to know something."
Damian waited.
"Why are you helping me?"
He looked almost surprised by the question.
"Because you're in danger."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough."
Hazel shook her head.
"People like you don't help people like me for nothing."
Damian leaned back against the sofa.
"People like me?"
"Rich. Powerful. Dangerous."
"And people like you?"
"Invisible."
His expression changed.
Hazel immediately regretted saying it.
But Damian did not look angry.
He looked thoughtful.
"You're not invisible, Hazel."
Her throat tightened.
She turned away before he could see her eyes fill with tears.
At eight thirty, Damian instructed the household manager to prepare a guest room.
Hazel protested.
She had rent to pay.
A diner shift beginning in less than two hours.
And a landlord who had already threatened eviction.
Damian listened without interrupting.
Then he made two phone calls.
The first was to the diner.
The second was to his accountant.
When he finished, Hazel stood in the doorway, furious.
"You cannot just call my boss!"
"I told her you had a family emergency."
"I don't have a family emergency."
Damian looked at her.
"You have a criminal threatening to abduct you before noon."
Hazel opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
"Fine. But what about my rent?"
"Your landlord will receive payment today."
Her expression changed.
"No."
Damian frowned.
"No?"
"I don't want your money."
"It's not charity."
"Then what is it?"
He considered the question.
"An advance on your wages."
"How much of an advance?"
"Enough."
"That's not a number."
Damian almost smiled.
"You ask a lot of questions."
"And you avoid answering them."
For a moment, they simply looked at each other.
Then Damian said, "Fine. We'll put everything in writing. You can repay the advance through reasonable deductions from your wages, if you choose. Or you can refuse it."
Hazel stared at him.
"You would let me refuse?"
"Yes."
"Even if you think I'm making a mistake?"
"Yes."
Something warm moved through her chest.
She had spent so long with Wyatt, who treated every disagreement like betrayal, that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be given a choice.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Damian nodded.
"Now eat something."
By ten, Hazel had showered, changed into clean clothes, and eaten a breakfast that could have fed three people.
She had also discovered that Damian's housekeeper, Mrs. Alvarez, knew everything.
Absolutely everything.
The older woman entered the kitchen carrying a tray of fresh pastries.
"So," she said casually, "you slept in Mr. Romano's study."
Hazel nearly choked on her coffee.
"I fell asleep by accident."
"Of course."
"Nothing happened."
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
"I didn't say anything happened."
Hazel covered her face.
"Please don't tell anyone."
"My dear, Marco saw you. By lunchtime, the entire security staff will know."
Hazel groaned.
Mrs. Alvarez placed a pastry in front of her.
"Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway."
Hazel took a reluctant bite.
Mrs. Alvarez sat opposite her.
"Mr. Romano hasn't allowed anyone that close to him in years."
Hazel looked up.
"What do you mean?"
The older woman's smile faded.
"His wife died four years ago."
Hazel froze.
"His wife?"
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
"Isabella."
Hazel glanced toward the hallway.
"I didn't know he was married."
"He doesn't speak about her."
"What happened?"
Mrs. Alvarez hesitated.
"She was killed in a car bombing."
Hazel's stomach tightened.
"Was Damian with her?"
"No. He was supposed to be."
The older woman looked down at her hands.
"She went to meet him. Someone had planted an explosive beneath her car."
Hazel felt suddenly cold.
"Did they find who did it?"
"Not everyone involved."
Mrs. Alvarez stood.
"After Isabella died, Mr. Romano changed. He stopped attending social events. Stopped inviting friends over. Stopped letting anyone close."
Hazel remembered the way Damian had held her while she slept.
The careful placement of his arm.
The exhausted tenderness in his eyes.
"He must have loved her very much."
Mrs. Alvarez looked toward the study.
"He did."
At eleven fifteen, Frankie Sullivan called.
Damian answered in his office.
Hazel was not supposed to hear the conversation.
But she had been carrying a tray of coffee down the hallway when she heard her name.
"Miss Brooks belongs to me until that debt is paid."
Damian's voice was dangerously calm.
"She belongs to herself."
Frankie laughed.
"Don't get sentimental, Romano."
"You're confusing sentiment with a warning."
"Turn her over by noon."
"No."
A pause.
Then Frankie said something Hazel could not hear.
Damian's expression hardened.
"Threaten my staff again, and every conversation we have from this moment forward will take place through federal investigators."
Hazel nearly dropped the tray.
Federal investigators?
She had assumed Damian would threaten violence.
Instead, he sounded like a man who had already prepared a legal case.
The call ended.
Damian turned.
Hazel stood frozen in the doorway.
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough."
He sighed.
"Hazel—"
"Why does he think I have Wyatt's records?"
Damian studied her.
"Because Wyatt used your name."
Her breath caught.
"What?"
Marco entered behind her.
He carried a laptop.
"We found something."
Damian gestured toward the desk.
Marco opened a document.
Hazel recognized her own signature.
Beneath it was an account number.
Her name appeared beside a company she had never heard of.
Brooks Hospitality Holdings.
She stared.
"What is that?"
Marco's expression was grim.
"A shell company."
"I don't understand."
"Wyatt created it using your identity. Sullivan's stolen financial records may have been transferred through accounts connected to it."
Hazel gripped the edge of the desk.
"Does that mean the police think I stole them?"
"It means someone may have tried to make it look that way," Damian said.
Her eyes filled.
"I didn't do anything."
"I know."
"You don't know."
Damian stepped closer.
"I believe you."
Hazel looked at him.
For a moment, she could not speak.
Then Marco's phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Boss."
Damian turned.
"What?"
"We found Lena Price."
Hazel's heart jumped.
"Where?"
Marco hesitated.
"She's at Sullivan's warehouse."
Hazel went cold.
Then Marco continued.
"And she's not there as a prisoner."
He turned the laptop toward them.
A security photograph filled the screen.
Lena stood beside Frankie Sullivan.
Smiling.
Her hand rested on his arm.
Hazel stared at the image.
Her best friend.
The woman who had comforted her after Wyatt disappeared.
The woman who had promised to help her find him.
Hazel's voice broke.
"She knew."
Damian looked at the photograph.
Then at Hazel.
"Maybe."
Hazel shook her head.
"No. She knew everything."
And when Marco opened the next file, Hazel discovered that the betrayal went even deeper.
The company created in her name had received a transfer of sixty thousand dollars.
On the exact day Wyatt disappeared.