OVER THE NEXT WEEK, life in the mansion became...normal.

The expensive dresses and even the fancy lingerie started to feel routine. I got faster at doing my hair and make-up, too. And I managed to solve the problem of Christina’s heels not fitting.

“Don’t you already have a pair just like that?” muttered Konstantin as I returned from a shopping trip and he saw the shoes I’d bought.

I gave a theatrical sigh. “Men always say that. They’re completely different!”

He grabbed my hand, pulled me close and gave me a long, deep kiss, one hand roving down my back to grab my ass. When he drew back, he stared at me, one big finger combing through my hair as his eyes searched mine. I thought I could see...a yearning. A wish that we had a real relationship, that we could banter like that all the time. And then he shook his head and stomped off downstairs to his study.

And I went to my closet and carefully replaced a pair of black heels with the identical pair I’d just bought in my size.

There was a full week to go until the night of the 15th, when Konstantin would deliver the “tool” for the job, so in the meantime Carrie told me to go back to watching, listening, and gaining his trust. Every night, I’d dress in lingerie for him and meet him down in the dungeon. The sex was like nothing I’d ever experienced. He fucked me standing up, my wrists manacled to the wall above my head. He fucked me bent over a bench, his hands filled with my breasts. He fucked me on my knees on the bed with my hands tied behind me and my cheek pressed to the sheets, grunting and cursing and whispering that I was his slutskya. I was discovering a side of myself I hadn’t known existed and he was enjoying teaching me.

Afterwards, there was never any cuddling or intimacy. But each night, I could see him having to work a little harder to maintain the distance, to shut me out and turn away from me in the bed. Soon, it started to feel like every look, every touch outside of the dungeon was charged, that any of them could be the final straw. And every time it happened, my chest tightened because...I wanted it. I wanted things to be deeper, to be real.

Even though I knew that was wrong, that I shouldn’t want a man like him to feel something for me.

Even though I knew it would complicate things, that it was best for the mission if things stayed clinical and distant.

Even though I knew it was crazy to want it to be real when real was the one thing I couldn’t give him.

I was shopping for dresses when Calahan called on the earpiece. “Your mom left a message.” He hesitated and I could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “Her medical bills are higher than she figured, this month,” said Calahan. “She’s short.”

I cursed under my breath. I didn’t ever have to worry about money, with Konstantin. As well as the bottomless credit card, he’d press a wad of bills into my hand every time I went shopping. I didn’t even need the money and meanwhile, my mom was struggling to stay afloat and Hailey’s account was empty. I pulled today’s wad from my purse flicked through it. There must be a thousand dollars here.

“Just in case you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,” said Calahan, “don’t. I’m serious.” He lowered his voice. “You think the FBI wouldn’t find out? Taking criminal assets and using them to pay your family’s bills? That could be jail time for you and your mom.”

I wanted to scream. I knew he was right but—

“I’ll see what I can scrape together,” said Calahan. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

God, he was so great. But I knew he didn’t have any more money than I did, and this was my responsibility, and instead of looking after my mom I was living this fantasy, luxury life buying dresses—

“Wait,” I said. “There’s no rule saying I can’t choose where to shop, right?”

The guard who was driving me looked around at the shabby storefronts. “You sure you want to go shopping here, Miss Rogan? I can have you back in Manhattan in no time.”

“This is a very very bad idea,” said Calahan in my ear.

“I’m sure,” I said firmly, and climbed out of the car, cinching my coat tight against the cold wind. And then I was pushing open the door to my mom’s store and—

Oh God, she looked so thin! It had only been a few weeks...no, God, longer than that, I hadn’t been able to see her since the surgery. She must think I’ve abandoned her! I took two running steps forward, ready to wrap her into my arms.

My mom looked up, startled. “Can I help you?”

I came to a faltering stop. I’d known she wouldn’t recognize me, but the reality was nothing like I’d imagined. The reality was horrible. When I’d seen her, I’d had that warm glow you always get when you see family...but now I could feel it sputtering and dying, going black and cold.

I wasn’t family. Not anymore.

“I’m looking for a dress,” I managed.

My mom blinked. I did look as if I’d walked into the wrong store. Christina’s clothes were about three times the price of anything in my mom’s store and were a lot more revealing. But my mom didn’t let it throw her. “Well, alright then. For an occasion? For every day?”

And then she broke off and coughed. A nasty, rib-shaking cough that she hadn’t had, the last time I’d spoken to her.

“Both,” I said, my voice strained. “Like, five or six dresses for parties. And at least that many for every day.”

My mom stared at me. “Well, okay! Let’s get you sorted out.” And she led me into the depths of the racks.

An hour later, I’d filled the trunk of the car with seventeen dresses. As I finished paying with Konstantin’s credit card, I was feeling victorious.

Then my mom doubled over, coughing, and couldn’t stop.

I ran forward, but she waved me back, embarrassed. “I’ll be fine,” she wheezed between coughing fits. But she wasn’t.

“I think you should call someone,” I said desperately. “Have them drive you to the emergency room, get your chest looked at.”

She shook her head. “My daughter’s away on some training course.” She leaned forward conspiratorially and the pride in her voice made my chest hurt. “She’s in the FBI.”

“Hailey,” said Calahan in my ear, “I’m going to go over there right now and tell her I work with you and that you asked me to look in on her. I’ll drive her to the emergency room, okay?”

It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. “If you’re sure you’re okay….” I ground out.

My mom nodded quickly and waved me towards the door, still wheezing. All I wanted to do was run up to her and give her a hug….

I forced myself to turn around and walk out. Just as the door closed, I heard her start coughing again. I climbed back into the car, tears in my eyes.

I carried on as normal. I went back to the mansion, I picked out some lingerie, and I went down to the dungeon to meet Konstantin. But just as I started to shrug off my robe, he suddenly clapped a hand down on my shoulder, stopping the fabric from falling. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

But there was nothing I could say. I shook my head.

He frowned, stepping closer, and I saw that protective gleam in his eye. “Christina?”

But I just looked at the floor.

He started to speak again...and then shook his head. Remembering that we didn’t have that sort of relationship. But maybe—just like me—wishing we did.

That night, Calahan told me that he’d taken my mom to the ER and that it was just a chest infection. They’d started her on some meds and she was sounding much better. And she now had more than enough money to pay her medical bills. But I still lay awake all night worrying about her, and feeling like the worst daughter in the world.

The next morning, at breakfast, I slumped exhausted into my seat. The chef beamed at me—like the rest of the staff, he seemed to be getting less scared of me. “Your usual, Miss Rogan?” He was already turning away to go and prepare it.

I opened my mouth to say yes, please but...I just couldn’t face another glass of that gloopy gray-green sludge. “Actually...maybe something different, today?”

The chef’s head whipped round. Konstantin looked up.

“Maybe...waffles?” I asked hopefully.

The chef straightened up, his chest rounding in pride. “May I suggest....with some fresh blueberries and raspberries, some whipped cream and a jug of maple syrup?”

“...and maybe a large cup of coffee?” I said. “That would be wonderful, thank you!”

When the chef returned and laid the plate in front of me, his grin told me exactly how much he’d hated preparing that smoothie every morning. And the waffles were amazing, crispy on the outside, and buttery-soft inside, and drenched in maple syrup.

“It’s good to see you eating proper food,” muttered Konstantin.

I smiled at him.

“It’s good to see you smile again, too.”

I froze, the fork halfway to my mouth. I couldn’t believe he’d said something so sweet.

He looked away, as if he was going to pretend he hadn’t said it. Then he looked back at me with such a fierce, smoldering glare, such a, yes, I did damn well say it look, that I just melted in my seat.

And then the chef brought my coffee and when I looked at Konstantin again, he was back behind his newspaper. But even so, just that brief glimpse of the man I knew was in there, felt amazing.

The good feeling lasted all day. Right up until we got the phone call.