After the strategic intensity of the previous night, the cold, hard calculations with Alexander and the heavy-handed promise of loyalty, I desperately needed to anchor myself in something real, something clean. That something was always Clara. She was the pristine, innocent core of this entire, messy contract.

I found her in the brightly lit, ridiculously organized play area of the penthouse, which resembled a bespoke Montessori classroom more than a child's sanctuary. She sat at a small, ...