Elena's eyes opened at the sound of Marta's voice, an unusual interruption through the morning air. She lay still for a moment, regaining herself. The lamp she'd fallen asleep under was still burning, a pale ghost in the daylight bleeding through the curtains.

Her phone screen glowed from where she'd dropped it beside her hand. Three percent battery left. The last photo she'd been staring at—a page of Liam's coded notebook—was still open, the columns of numbers and symbols burned into her retinas.

She'd tried everything. Searching names. Matching dates. Comparing symbols. Nothing connected. The notebook wasn't written to be understood by someone looking from the outside. It was written for Liam.

Two names stood out among the countless entries scattered across the notebook: Stern Inc. and Valmont Biologics. They were the only names she could read without having to guess at their meaning. Stern Inc. was familiar. Elena had heard the name before, though she'd never had reason to pay much attention to it. The company was one of the largest corporations in New Haven, the capital of Aurelia, with interests spread across industries she hadn't even bothered to catalog. Valmont Biologics was just as established, its operations reaching across the South through agriculture, orchards, fisheries, and food production.

She'd spent more than an hour the previous night searching both companies. Ownership records. Business reports. Recent acquisitions. Anything that might explain why their names appeared in Liam's notebook. She'd found nothing. There were no scandals, no obvious connections to Thorn Holdings, nothing that explained why Liam had bothered to write either name down in a notebook filled with numbers, dates, and symbols only he seemed capable of understanding.

That was what bothered her most. If the companies were hiding something, she couldn't find it. If they weren't, she had no idea why they were in the notebook at all.

Elena lowered the phone slightly, staring at the two names on the screen. Maybe she was looking in the wrong place. Because the longer she studied that notebook, the harder it became to believe Thorn Holdings was simply what Liam claimed it was—a management company. There was something else behind it. She just hadn't figured out what.

“¡Más rápido!” Marta's voice carried up from below, sharp and demanding. “¿Quieres que se mueran de hambre?!”

Elena pushed herself upright and crossed to the window. Below, a small army of staff moved boxes and coolers down the path toward the docks, moving with enough urgency to suggest they had somewhere to be. Marta stood at the center of it all, a clipboard in one hand while the other waved through the air, directing everyone around her like a conductor trying to keep an orchestra in time.

The trip was today. She'd known it was coming, had two days to find answers, and had spent both of them getting nowhere, chasing a code she couldn't crack while the truth about Liam Thorn sat in her chest like a stone she couldn't swallow.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until stars flickered behind her lids. Then she lowered them and forced herself to breathe. There was no time to fall apart—not yet. She needed to get up, get ready, and somehow face the day as though she hadn't spent the last two days trying to uncover what Liam Thorn was hiding.

The shower was quick, hot water doing little to loosen the knots in her shoulders. She dressed in the simplest thing she could find—a pair of cutoff shorts, a loose white tank top, and sandals. Practical. Cool. Nothing that said she'd spent all night trying to figure out how to destroy the man she'd be spending the next week with.

Her duffle bag sat open on the floor, already packed. She'd put it together the night before between failed attempts at cracking the code. A few outfits, a swimsuit, toiletries, and a book she planned to read. She slung the bag over her shoulder, the weight settling against her hip, then took one last look around the room before heading for the door.

The hallway was quiet, the shouting from outside muffled by the manor's thick walls and carpet runner. Elena made her way down the stairs and found the dining hall empty, the long table bare in the morning light. She pushed through the back door and stepped outside.

The air hit her with salt, the green scent of freshly cut grass, and a faint trace of diesel. The lake stretched beyond the dock, flat and silver beneath the morning sun, while the Briar Rose bobbed gently at her mooring as men loaded crates aboard. Liam was nowhere in sight.

Marta stood at the top of the path, clipboard still in hand, her dark hair escaping from a messy bun. “Elena.” She looked up, and her face softened. “You're awake. Good. I was about to send someone up to shake you.”

“The shouting did the job.” Elena smiled despite herself. “What's all this?”

“Food and supplies.” Marta gestured toward the boxes. “For the trip. Do you know how hard it is to stock a boat for a week when the man you're stocking for has the palate of a gourmand and the patience of a toddler?”

“I can imagine.”

“He wanted three types of cheese. Three. For a week on a boat.” Marta shook her head, though there was warmth behind the complaint. “I told him he could have two and be grateful.”

Elena laughed, the sound catching her off guard after the last couple of days of tension.

“I'm going to have no one to appreciate my food while you're gone.” Marta's voice softened, and for a moment, something almost vulnerable crossed her face. “He eats like he's fueling a machine. No savoring. No pleasure. Just fuel.” She met Elena's eyes. “You eat like you mean it. Like you taste every bite.”

The words landed somewhere deep in Elena's chest. “I'll be back before you know it.”

“You'd better be.” Marta held her gaze for a moment before clapping her hands together and turning back to her clipboard. “Now go. He's been checking his watch every five minutes. Bad for his blood pressure.”

Elena adjusted the strap of her duffle and started down the path toward the dock. The wooden planks creaked beneath her sandals, and the lake lapped softly against the pylons, creating a steady rhythm beneath the morning sounds. With every step, the boat felt less like a destination and more like a week alone with Liam Thorn. She found herself studying everything except the man waiting aboard—the faded lettering on the hull, the neatly coiled ropes, the way the morning light caught the cabin windows.

Then Liam turned as she approached, and Elena stopped.

He wasn't wearing his usual suit. No tie, no pressed shirt, no polished shoes. Instead, he wore cream-colored swim trunks that hung low on his hips and an aloha shirt covered in bright hibiscus and palm leaves against a white background, the first few buttons undone to reveal a strip of his chest. Elena had to look twice. This was not the Liam Thorn she'd grown accustomed to seeing.

The morning sun caught his shoulders and the line of his collarbone, highlighting the dark hair that traced down his sternum before disappearing beneath the open shirt. He looked—there was no other word for it—human. Less like the man who owned boardrooms and more like an ordinary man about to spend a week on his boat simply because he wanted to.

"You're early." His voice carried easily across the water, warm against the morning breeze.

Elena finally managed to pull her eyes from his shirt. "I..." A small, incredulous smile escaped her. "I was actually going to ask what happened to your suit."

Liam glanced down at the aloha shirt. "It's at the dry cleaner."

Elena frowned. He held the expression for another second before the corner of his mouth lifted.

"...I'm kidding."

The answer was so dry that it took her a moment to realize he'd actually made a joke. She blinked, then laughed before she could stop herself. "I wasn't expecting that."

Liam rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. "Neither was I."

Elena stepped onto the boat, the deck shifting slightly beneath her weight. Up close, she caught the scent of salt, sun-warmed skin, and something faintly herbal beneath it, probably his cologne. Or maybe it was just the lake air playing tricks on her.

"Your bag goes below deck." Liam nodded toward the cabin door.

Before she could ask anything else, one of the workers called Liam's name from the dock. He glanced back, answered with a quick nod, then turned his attention to the last of the supplies being loaded.

Elena didn't ask any questions. She ducked through the doorway and descended the short set of stairs into the cabin below.

The galley was compact but clean, with a two-burner stove, a small sink, and a wooden table bolted to the floor with bench seating on either side. A narrow passage led forward, while another doorway opened toward the stern. She barely glanced at it. The forward cabin seemed like the obvious place to leave her bag, so she headed that way.

Behind her, footsteps crossed the deck above, followed by the heavy thud of more supplies being loaded. Voices called back and forth—Marta's sharp instructions, a younger man's responses, and the low rumble of Liam's voice cutting through the rest.

Elena took a breath, then another. She could do this. She had to. If she wanted proof—if she wanted to find out what he'd done to Marco, to her company, to her life—she had to stay close. She had to play the role he'd assigned her: the reluctant companion, the woman who knew nothing about the truth.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the cupboard door, feeling the smooth wood beneath her fingertips. She just had to survive the week first.

Another breath. She smoothed her tank top, ran a hand through her hair, and turned toward the stairs. Time to play the part.

Her hand found the railing as she climbed back into the morning light. The sun struck her full in the face, warm and merciless, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted. The deck had changed in the few minutes she'd been below. Boxes were stacked against the cabin wall, a cooler was secured near the helm, and a coil of rope had been neatly looped over a cleat.

Liam stood at the stern, one hand resting on the polished wood of the railing, his back to her. The aloha shirt hung loose on his shoulders, the fabric moving in the breeze, and she caught herself watching the way the light played across the muscles of his arms. He looked different out here. Softer. Or maybe that was just the context — the lake, the boat, the absence of polished floors and oil paintings.

Liam turned, and the easy warmth from the joke was gone, smoothed over by the familiar mask of command. His eyes found hers, serious and direct, the blue cutting through the morning glare. "We're ready to leave."

Elena nodded, not trusting her voice. She moved to the side of the boat as Presley appeared on the dock, his peppered hair catching the light, his butler's suit exchanged for a simple white shirt and dark slacks. He moved with practiced efficiency, unlooping the mooring lines from the cleats and tossing them aboard. One of the younger workers caught them, coiled them neatly. Presley gave Liam a short nod. "All secure, sir."

Liam didn't answer. He crossed to the helm, his sandals silent on the deck, and pressed a button. The engine rumbled to life beneath them, a low vibration that traveled through the soles of Elena's feet. The Briar Rose eased away from the dock, the gap of water widening, and Presley receded into a smaller figure, then a speck, as the boat glided out into the open water.

Elena stood at the railing, watching the manor shrink. The stone walls, the manicured lawn, the dock—all of it folding into the green hillside. She tried to swallow the knot in her throat. There was no jumping off now. No running back to the house, no calling Lisa, no hiding in her room with the coded photos. She was here. On his boat. Heading into a week of nothing but lake and Liam Thorn. Her thumb pressed into the metal rail until the edge bit.

The boat cut a smooth path across the surface, the engine a steady drone beneath the slap of water against the hull. The shoreline slid past—trees, a rocky outcrop, a lone bird perched on a half-submerged log.

They rounded a bend, and the manor disappeared behind a wall of pines. The lake opened wider ahead, and something in Elena's chest tightened. She turned to Liam, who stood at the helm with one hand resting on the wheel, his aloha shirt billowing in the breeze.

“So,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “what's the plan? A different cove every night? Anchor somewhere and stare at the stars?”

Liam glanced at her, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “What do you mean?”

“The week.” She gestured toward the open water. “You said we'd be gone for a week. Are we staying on the lake the whole time?”

His expression shifted. “The lake?”

“Yes.” Elena frowned. “Isn't that where we're going?”

Liam looked toward the horizon. “We're leaving the bay.”

“The bay?”

He lifted his chin. “Look.”

Elena followed his gaze. The shoreline ahead was beginning to split apart, the land on either side pulling away until a wide stretch of open water appeared between them.

She stared. “That's not the other side of the lake.”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“The mouth of the bay.”

She looked at him. “And where does it lead?”

Liam's eyes returned to the water ahead. “The sea.”

For a moment, Elena said nothing.

The sea. She'd always thought of the water around the manor as a lake—familiar and enclosed, with a shoreline always somewhere beyond the trees.

But that shoreline was disappearing.

The boat pushed toward the opening, the engine humming beneath her feet. Elena tightened her grip on the railing as the gap widened, and the realization settled coldly into her stomach.

They weren't spending a week on the lake.

They were going out to sea.

The manor was already shrinking behind them. Soon, it would be nothing more than a memory beyond the horizon, with only Elena, Liam, and miles of open water ahead.

She turned toward him. “You didn't tell me we were going out to sea.”

Liam kept his eyes on the water. “You didn't ask.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped her. “That's really how you justify everything, isn't it?”

His eyes shifted toward her, calm but cautious. “How exactly am I justifying?”

“You don't lie.” Elena turned fully toward him. “You just give people half the information and expect them to figure out the rest.”

For a moment, Liam said nothing. The wind pulled at his shirt, and his expression remained unreadable, though she caught the slight tightening of his jaw.

“I told you we'd be away for a week,” he said evenly. “I assumed that was enough.”

Elena held his gaze. That was exactly what bothered her. Not the sea. Not the distance. Not even the fact that she hadn't thought to ask. It was the way Liam moved through the world as though every decision had already been made and everyone else would simply adjust.

She'd spent weeks learning that Liam Thorn rarely forced anything. He simply arranged it.