“Don’t touch her.” The command came from a man everyone in the mansion believed could no longer move anything below his waist.

The revelation hung between them like a drawn blade.

Adrien sat in his wheelchair, processing the absolute truth of her words. He had known Vincent was ambitious. He had known his cousin lusted after the title of Don. But he had never imagined Vincent’s treachery reached back twelve years—or that it involved the execution-style murder of Arthur Bennett and the deliberate crippling of his own blood.

"If Vincent finds out you know this," Adrien said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register, "he won't just fire you. He’ll make sure you vanish the same way your father did."

"I know the risks," Clare replied, setting the tea cup down. "I’ve known them since the day I applied for this job under a fake background profile. I didn't come here for safety, Adrien. I came for justice."

Adrien looked at her—really looked at her. Beneath the plain cotton uniform and the quiet demeanor was a woman forged of pure iron. She had walked into the lion's den alone, armed with nothing but a notebook and a hidden photograph, to clear her father's name and save a man who belonged to the family that had hunted her.

"From this moment on," Adrien said, "we are allies. But no one in this house can know. Not the guards, not the housekeeper, and especially not Vincent."

Clare nodded. "What do we do?"

"Vincent called a full council meeting for tomorrow evening," Adrien explained, his mind racing through tactical scenarios. "He intends to present a medical report stating that my paralysis is permanent and irreversible, effectively forcing the senior capos to vote him in as acting Don."

"Dr. Reeves wrote that report," Clare added quickly. "I saw him hand a sealed envelope to Vincent yesterday afternoon."

Adrien’s eyes flashed with anger. "Reeves is on his payroll. That's why he altered my nerve medication. He was giving me neuromuscular blockers—drugs designed to simulate permanent paralysis while causing severe peripheral nerve pain."

Clare gasped. "That's why your spasms were so violent... the medication was fighting against your body's natural nerve recovery!"

"Precisely," Adrien said. "Which means I am not as paralyzed as Vincent thinks I am."

Adrien reached down, grabbed his knees, and slowly placed his feet flat on the floor. He gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, his chest heaving as he threw every ounce of his mental willpower into his lower limbs.

Clare watched, holding her breath, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

Sweat broke out on Adrien’s forehead. His teeth ground together so hard his jaw creaked.

Slowly, agonizingly, his right leg quivered. Then, with a sudden, sharp jerk, his right heel lifted two inches off the footrest.

Adrien let out a harsh, ragged breath, collapsing back into the leather seat.

"It's working," Clare whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "The real nerve impulses are still there. The toxin is clearing out of your system because we stopped giving you those pills two days ago!"

"It's not enough to stand yet," Adrien grunted, wiping the sweat from his brow. "If I go into that council meeting in this chair, Vincent wins by default. I need to be able to walk into that room on my own two feet. I need thirty-six hours of intensive physical stimulation."

"I'll help you," Clare said immediately. "Every hour. Every night. We'll work through the pain."

"If Vincent catches us—"

"He won't," Clare interrupted fiercely. "I'll keep the notebook hidden. I'll maintain my duties as a maid during the day so no one suspects a thing. But at night, when the estate is asleep, we train."

Adrien looked up at her. For eleven months, he had felt completely isolated, trapped in a broken body, surrounded by wolves wearing smiles. But looking at Clare, he felt a strange, electric sensation in his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced since before the crash.

Hope.

"Get rid of those altered pills," Adrien instructed her. "Replace them with simple vitamins from the kitchen pantry in case Vincent checks the bottles. And Clare?"

She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. "Yes?"