Chapter 1 - The Bottle at His Feet
A glass bottle rolled across the elevator floor and struck a man's black shoe.
"Please don't fire me," Evelyn whispered.
Lucian Vale looked down as she grabbed the bottle beside his shoe and noticed a scratched silver key taped beneath it.
Three numbers were carved into the metal.
Lucian stopped breathing.
This wasn't an accident.
Twelve dollars.
That was how much money Evelyn Hart had left after paying the minimum amount necessary to stop her landlord from changing the lock on her apartment.
Twelve dollars, a nearly empty refrigerator, a laptop she had pawned three days earlier, and one temporary housekeeping shift that would pay four hundred dollars if she survived until six in the morning without getting fired.
She had repeated that fact to herself all evening.
Four hundred dollars.
Don't lose the shift.
Don't argue.
Don't ask questions.
And definitely don't break anything belonging to Lucian Vale.
The last instruction had been delivered by Marissa, the housekeeping supervisor, with such seriousness that Evelyn had nearly laughed.
Nearly.
Then Marissa had leaned closer.
"You don't understand. Mr. Vale owns the building."
"I figured that out from the name outside."
"No. I mean he owns everything."
Something in the older woman's eyes had stopped Evelyn from making another joke.
So Evelyn had kept her head down.
At eleven forty-seven, she began cleaning the penthouse elevator corridor.
At twelve thirteen, the left wheel on her housekeeping cart started grinding.
At twelve twenty-two, the wheel locked completely.
At twelve twenty-three, a bottle of glass cleaner rolled directly into Lucian Vale's shoe.
Now Evelyn crouched on the polished black floor, wishing Manhattan would simply open beneath her and swallow her.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
The man above her didn't respond.
Evelyn retrieved the bottle.
Then she saw the key.
It had been attached beneath the bottle with a strip of black tape.
She frowned.
That wasn't hers.
Lucian's gaze sharpened immediately.
"Where did you get that?"
Evelyn looked up.
Seeing him from this close was considerably worse than seeing his photographs in the employee briefing.
Lucian Vale was in his mid-thirties, tall enough to make the elevator seem smaller, with dark wavy hair that looked as if he had recently run wet fingers through it. An open black shirt revealed part of a powerful tattooed chest. Dark ink covered his neck and disappeared beneath his sleeves.
His face was controlled.
Too controlled.
The kind of face that made you wonder what had happened to everyone who had ever made him angry.
"I didn't get it anywhere."
"You were holding it."
"It was taped under the bottle."
His eyes dropped to her hand.
"Give it to me."
Evelyn stood.
For half a second, every survival instinct she possessed told her to obey.
Then another instinct stopped her.
The key had been hidden on her cart.
Someone had put it there.
Someone who apparently expected Lucian to see it.
"What is 317?" she asked.
Something changed behind his eyes.
It lasted less than a second.
But Evelyn caught it.
Fear.
Not of her.
Of the number.
Lucian extended his hand.
"Miss Hart."
Her stomach tightened.
"You know my name?"
"I know everyone who enters my residence."
"That's comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
She slowly placed the key in his palm.
His fingers closed around it.
The elevator doors behind them began sliding shut.
Evelyn grabbed her cart.
"Wait, I'm supposed to clean the east hall—"
Lucian pressed the open button.
Nothing happened.
The doors closed.
The elevator moved.
Evelyn stared at the controls.
"I didn't press anything."
"Neither did I."
The elevator climbed two floors.
Then stopped so abruptly that Evelyn stumbled.
Lucian caught the edge of her cart before it crashed into the wall.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then emergency lighting filled the elevator with a low amber glow.
Evelyn grabbed the railing.
"Perfect."
Lucian pressed the emergency control.
No response.
He removed his phone.
No signal.
Evelyn checked hers.
"Mine's dead."
"Battery?"
"No service."
His expression hardened.
"These elevators have independent repeaters."
"So?"
"So there should always be service."
Evelyn looked at the closed doors.
"You think someone stopped us?"
Lucian didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
He turned toward the camera mounted above the door.
The indicator light was off.
That seemed to bother him more than anything else.
Evelyn's pulse quickened.
"Mr. Vale?"
"Move away from the door."
She did.
Lucian stepped in front of her.
The elevator suddenly felt far smaller than it had thirty seconds earlier.
He touched something beneath his shirt.
A weapon, Evelyn realized.
Wonderful.
She had twelve dollars, a broken cleaning cart, and was apparently trapped in an elevator with an armed criminal billionaire.
Her life choices had reached a new low.
"Does this happen often?" she asked.
"No."
"People sabotaging your elevators?"
"No."
"That's somehow less reassuring."
He glanced back at her.
For the first time, she thought she saw the edge of amusement.
It vanished almost immediately.
"What do you know about 317?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Think carefully."
"I'm a substitute maid. Yesterday I was cleaning medical offices in Queens."
"Who hired you?"
"An agency."
"Who contacted you?"
"My supervisor."
"Who touched your cart?"
"Half the housekeeping department."
His jaw tightened.
Evelyn stared at him.
"You're acting like somebody smuggled a bomb into your apartment."
"In my world, Miss Hart, keys can be more dangerous."
She crossed her arms.
"Then maybe explain instead of interrogating the woman making sixteen dollars an hour."
"Four hundred dollars for the night."
Her mouth opened.
"How do you know that?"
"I approved the temporary rate."
"You approve housekeeping wages personally?"
"No."
"Then why mine?"
Lucian didn't respond.
Again.
Evelyn hated how often his silence answered things.
The elevator jolted.
She lost her balance.
Lucian caught her by the waist.
Her palms landed against his chest.
Warm skin.
Hard muscle.
For one strange second neither moved.
His eyes dropped to her hands.
Then back to her face.
Something about his expression shifted.
Not hunger.
Not exactly.
Shock.
As though human contact itself had surprised him.
Evelyn quickly stepped away.
"Sorry."
Lucian remained still.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
He slowly raised one hand and rested it against the metal wall beside her head—not touching her, but close enough that Evelyn became acutely aware of every breath between them.
His voice dropped.
"Because I haven't felt anything in three years."
Evelyn blinked.
That was not what she'd expected.
"That's probably something you should tell a therapist."
His mouth almost moved.
Almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
Both of them froze.
A second earlier there had been no service.
Lucian looked at the screen.
Whatever he saw drained every trace of emotion from his face.
Evelyn lowered her voice.
"Who is it?"
He didn't answer.
The phone kept ringing.
Finally Lucian accepted the call.
He said nothing.
A distorted voice came through the speaker.
"You found the key."
Lucian's posture changed instantly.
Evelyn saw the danger before she understood it.
The voice continued.
"Now bring the maid to 317."
Lucian looked at Evelyn.
"No."
A faint laugh came through the phone.
"You don't have a choice."
The call ended.
Evelyn stared at him.
"Bring me where?"
Lucian pocketed the phone.
"You're leaving the building."
"We're trapped in an elevator."
"Once we're out."
"Who was that?"
"No one you need to know."
"They knew about the key. They knew I had it. They knew I'm here."
"I said you're leaving."
"And I said I want to know why someone used my cleaning cart to send you a message."
Lucian stepped closer.
"You want to survive tonight?"
"Very much."
"Then stop asking questions."
The elevator suddenly started moving.
Down.
Not up.
Lucian pressed buttons.
Nothing responded.
Floor numbers flashed past.
Evelyn swallowed.
"Where are we going?"
Lucian stared at the display.
"Beneath the lobby."
"There are basement floors?"
"Three."
The display continued.
B2.
B3.
Then something impossible appeared.
Evelyn stared.
"That's not a floor."
"No."
The elevator stopped.
Lucian moved in front of her.
"Stay behind me."
The doors opened.
A narrow private corridor waited beyond them.
No marble.
No luxury.
Concrete walls.
One hanging light.
And a door with the number 317 painted across it.
Evelyn whispered, "This is insane."
Lucian reached into his pocket and removed the silver key.
Before he could use it, a sound came from behind the door.
Three slow knocks.
Then a woman's voice whispered:
"Lucian?"
He went completely still.
Evelyn saw something she had not seen once since meeting him.
His hand trembled.
The woman spoke again.
"I knew you'd come."
Lucian stared at the door.
Then he whispered a name Evelyn had never heard before.
"Sofia..."
May you like
The lock clicked from the other side.
Someone was opening the door.
