Grease was the first thing I remember about that night. Not rain. Not headlights. Not the old man’s trembling hands wrapped around a black leather loafer

"I'm sorry," I whispered quickly, backing away into the hallway. "I didn't mean to pry. I was just looking for water."

Julian stood in the doorway, staring down at me. The vulnerability I had witnessed seconds ago was instantly locked away behind his cold gray eyes, but the faint redness around his eyelids gave him away.

"In the kitchen," Julian said quietly, stepping out and closing Arthur’s bedroom door softly behind him. "Follow me."

I followed him down a grand floating staircase into a state-of-the-art kitchen. He pulled a glass from a glass cabinet, filled it with filtered water from the refrigerator, and handed it to me. His fingers brushed against mine, sending a shudder through my skin.

"He doesn't sleep during full moons," Julian said, leaning back against the marble island, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "My mother died four years ago. His mind broke shortly after. Most days, he thinks he's thirty years younger and looking for her."

"Dementia is cruel," I murmured, taking a sip of water. "My grandmother had it. She forgot my name, but she always remembered how to fold paper cranes. You just have to find the one thing that Grounds them."

Julian watched me intently. "How did you get him off the street tonight? My guards said he refused to budge for anyone."

"I didn't try to force him," I smiled faintly, remembering the shoe. "I just asked him if Martha wanted him to stay dry. I played along with his reality instead of fighting it."

A long silence settled between us. The heavy rain continued to hammer against the massive glass windows overlooking the black lake.

"You work at that diner," Julian stated. It wasn't a question.

"Twelve hours a day, six days a week," I replied bitterly. "Twenty-three dollars an hour after tips."

Julian reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a checkbook along with a sleek black fountain pen. He laid it on the marble counter and wrote smoothly across the paper. He tore the check off and slid it toward me.

I looked down at the paper.

One hundred thousand dollars.

My breath caught in my throat. My head spun. "What... what is this?"

"Compensation," Julian said flatly. "For saving my father's life tonight. And for your trouble."

I stared at the check. That money meant my student loans gone. My rent paid for three years. A real art studio. New shoes. A life where I didn't smell like old fryer oil every night.

I looked at the check. Then I looked at Julian.

I picked up the piece of paper... and slowly tore it into four pieces.

Julian’s dark eyebrows shot up. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't save your father for your mob money, Mr. Rossi," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the rapid pounding of my heart. "I saved him because he was an old man dying in the rain. I'm poor, not dirty."

Julian stared at the torn pieces of paper on his million-dollar counter, then looked at me as if I were a creature from another planet. For the first time, a dark, genuine smile touched his lips.

"Chloe Wells," he murmured, stepping closer until he stood directly in front of me, his shadow completely enveloping me. "You are either very brave, or very foolish."