The man stepped into the light. It wasn't Baron. It was a man she recognized from the tabloids—Zion Boron's personal security chief. He held an envelope in his hand, thick and cream-colored, embossed with the Boron crest. Miss Dior, the man said, his voice like cold gravel. Mr. Baron Boron has requested your presence for a private rehearsal Tonight.
Tonight?
It's nearly eight o'clock.
I I I I have a daughter
I mean, I have responsibilities. I can't just leave' Ruby stammered.
The man didn't move. He held the envelope out through the crack in the door. There is a five-thousand-dollar appearance fee inside that envelope. A car is waiting downstairs. Mr. Boron doesn't like to be kept waiting, and he certainly doesn't like to be told no.Ruby looked at the envelope. Five thousand dollars. That was more than she made in three months. It was the utility bill, the tuition, and the medicine for the winter. It was freedom. But it was also a trap. She looked back at Mira's closed door. If she went, she was stepping into the lion's den. If she stayed, she might lose everything by morning. She unhooked the chain and stepped out into the hall, clutching the envelope to her chest. I need ten minutes to call a sitter. The sitter is already on her way, the man said smoothly. Mr. Boron takes care of all the details. Ruby's blood ran cold. He knew. He knew about Mira? No, he couldn't. But if he had sent a sitter, he knew someone was in that apartment.An hour later, Ruby was led not to a dance studio, but to the top floor of the Boron Tower—a glass-walled penthouse that overlooked the entire shimmering, indifferent city. The elevator opened directly into a vast living space filled with modern art and the scent of expensive bourbon. Baron was standing by the window, his back to her. He was holding a glass of amber liquid, his jacket discarded, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. You came, he said, without turning around. You didn't give me much of a choice, Ruby replied, her dancer's pride flaring up. He turned then, and the look in his eyes was different than it had been in the ballroom. It wasn't curiosity anymore. It was a dark, burning recognition.He walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the silk rug, stopping until he was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. He reached out, his fingers grazing the line of her jaw, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her that nearly made her knees buckle. Four years, he whispered, his voice a low growl of pain and obsession. Do you have any idea how many red-haired women I've looked at in the last four years, trying to find the one from that room? Ruby's breath hitched. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a dancer. Baron's hand moved from her jaw to the back of her neck, his thumb pressing against her pulse point. He could feel her heart racing. He could feel her lie.Don't lie to me, Ruby. I remember the way you breathe. I remember the way you taste. And I remember the way you trembled when I told you I was sorry. He leaned in, his lips inches from hers, the air between them thick with the scent of rain and old secrets. But there's a question that's been rotting in my mind since I saw you today, he murmured, his eyes dropping to the locket hidden beneath her shirt. A question that determines whether I protect you... or whether I destroy everything you've built. Ruby felt the world narrowing down to this man, this shadow from her past who held her entire future in his hands. What... what question? she whispered. Baron's grip tightened slightly, his gaze piercing hers with a terrifying intensity. Who is the father of the little girl I saw through your window tonight, and why does she have my mother's eyes?
The silence in the penthouse was so absolute it felt physical, a crushing pressure that made the blood roar in Ruby's ears. Baron's hand was still warm against her neck, his thumb tracing the frantic rhythm of her pulse. He was looking at her not as a benefactor, but as a man who had finally cornered a ghost."I don't know what you're talking about," Ruby said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to anchor it. She jerked her head back, breaking his contact, and stepped into the center of the room, putting the vast expanse of a white marble coffee table between them. "I have a daughter, yes. Millions of women in this city have daughters. You seeing a resemblance to your mother is a trick of the light and a guilty conscience, Mr. Boron."Baron didn't chase her. He simply set his glass down on the windowsill, the crystal clinking against the glass with a sound like a gunshot. "A trick of the light? I stood outside your apartment for twenty minutes before I sent my man in. I saw her through the glass, Ruby. She has the Boron curvature of the brow. She has the same amber flecks in her eyes that my mother had—the same eyes my sister Zara inherited. Do you really think I'm that blind?"