The buttery smell of warm croissants and sizzling bacon still hung in the air, but Kimberly's stomach was in knots. Sunlight poured through the windows, soft and golden, painting everything in a perfect, peaceful glow that felt like a lie.

For maybe thirty seconds after waking from that restless, brief nap, she'd let herself believe everything was fine.

Then reality crashed back in.

Her mind wouldn't shut up. Thoughts tumbled over each other. The kidnapping, Xavier's hands on her skin, the way he'd left four years ago without a word. Round and round until she wanted to scream.

She kicked at the sheets, frustrated. Rest was impossible. Not with those tiny cameras tucked into corners. She'd counted five yesterday. God knows how many she'd missed. Not when she was trapped in his world, at his mercy, with no idea what he was planning or why he was really keeping her here.

The room was gorgeous. Velvet curtains, thick rugs, furniture that probably cost a fortune. But luxury didn't equal safety. Pretty cages were still cages.

She'd been through the burner phone Xavier gave her about a thousand times. Bare as a blank page. She'd called her mom and Tasha. Tasha had promised to send details about that photo to her email once Kimberly had access to a computer.

But sitting here waiting? While Xavier Rossetti decided her fate?

Absolutely not.

She needed answers. And this room had exactly none.

Kimberly swung her legs off the bed and padded barefoot to the door. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She turned the knob slowly, half-expecting it to be locked.

It wasn't.

The hallway stretched out before her, empty and silent. Too silent. The kind of quiet that felt like held breath. Security cameras blinked red in the corners, tracking her every move.

First door on the left. Locked.

Second door. Also locked.

Her palms were getting sweaty. Any second now, one of Xavier's security guys would appear and drag her back.

The last door at the end of the hall turned under her hand.

She pushed it open slowly. A study with wood-paneled walls, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the smell of leather and old paper. Beautiful in that intimidating, old-money way.

She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, her heart trying to jackhammer its way out of her chest.

The room was immaculate. Everything in its place. A large oak desk dominated the center, its surface almost bare except for…

Kimberly froze.

A framed photograph sat on the corner of the desk. Xavier in a dark suit, smiling, actually smiling. And next to him, a woman. Stunningly beautiful. Blonde hair like spun gold, blue eyes, wearing a white dress and a diamond ring that could probably be seen from space.

Wedding photo.

He's married.

The room tilted. Kimberly's hand shot out to grip the desk, her other hand pressed against her mouth.

"He's married," she whispered. Then louder, "He's fucking married."

Every kiss replayed in her head. Every touch. The way he'd looked at her, heat in those green eyes. The way her body had responded like she had no self-respect at all.

"Fuck you, Xavier." Her voice cracked. "Fuck you for making me feel..."

She couldn't finish. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't cry over him. Not again.

Get it together, Kimberly. You're not his girlfriend. You're his... what? Prisoner? Project? Side piece?

"Stupid," she muttered, wiping her eyes roughly. "He saved you. Or abducted you. Either way, you don't mean shit to him. You never did."

That thought, cold and sharp as a knife, cleared her head. Right. She wasn't here for romance. She was here because... actually, she still didn't know why. But she could damn well try to find out.

Kimberly started opening drawers. The first few held typical office supplies. Pens, paper clips, a stapler that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. But the bottom drawer on the right stuck a little, like something was wedged in the back.

She yanked harder.

Papers. A whole sheaf of them, tucked away like someone had wanted them hidden but not destroyed.

Her hands shook as she pulled them out. Legal documents. Financial records. And...

Her breath caught.

She sank into the leather desk chair, her journalist brain cataloging details even as her hands trembled. Names. Dates. Transactions. Invoices from shipping companies, hospitality ventures, import-export firms.

She flipped through more pages. Bank transfers. Regular payments, same amounts, same intervals.

And there, on another page, a notation: Project Phoenix - Final payment - CLASSIFIED.

Phoenix. Xavier had called her that this morning.

Coincidence?

Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the papers. She grabbed her phone and started photographing everything. The payment schedules. The transfer routes. Names. Businesses.

She was so focused she almost missed it. A small envelope tucked between two pages, unsealed. Inside, a single photograph. Old, faded. A woman with blonde hair holding a toddler. Both smiling.

The same photo from the anonymous email, blurred and old.

And written on the back in faded ink: Mancini 1998.

There were a couple more pictures of men in what looked like meetings, and others at a party. A couple of the faces appeared in all the pictures.

Why would Xavier keep these in an unlocked drawer? Unless…

Click.

The sound of a door opening somewhere below. Heavy footsteps on hardwood.

Shit.

Kimberly's heart launched into her throat. She fumbled with her phone, snapping shots as fast as she could, hands shaking. The footsteps were getting closer. Heading for the stairs.

She shoved the papers back into the drawer, trying to make it look undisturbed. The photos weren't perfect, some were blurry, but they'd have to do.

The photographs. She hesitated, then slipped a few into her pocket.

She bolted for the door, unlocked it as quietly as possible, and slipped into the hallway.

The footsteps had reached the landing.

Move, Kimberly. Move!

She flew down the hall on her tiptoes, pulse so loud in her ears it was like drums. Her room was right there, so close, just a few more steps...

A headache exploded at the base of her skull. Sharp and sudden, the kind that made her vision blur. Stress or blood pressure.

Later. Move now, health crisis later.

Her hand closed around her doorknob. She twisted it and pushed…