68At 3:07 in the morning, a loaded gun was pointed straight at me inside the service closet of a Manhattan penthouse. Then Dominic Mercer heard me whisper into my phone, “Please don’t let Mom die before payday,” and the most feared man in New York slowly lowered his weapon.

The air in the library turned to ice.

Dominic turned his head slowly, his gray eyes locking onto me with a coldness that felt like a physical blow to my chest.

"A security code?" Dominic asked Vance, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Whose code?"

Vance swallowed hard, holding out the tablet. "The master guest keycard issued to Miss Miller’s suite."

My heart stopped beating. Every drop of blood drained from my face, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy.

"No!" I cried out, taking a frantic step toward Dominic. "No! Dominic, I didn't touch your computer! I don't even know where the pier ledgers are kept!"

"The breach occurred at 2:15 p.m.," Vance stated, reading from the tablet. "The files were transferred directly to an anonymous server linked to Ashford Security Group."

"Ashford?" I gasped, shaking my head violently. "I haven't spoken to anyone from the Ashford family since the day Evelyn was thrown out! You have to believe me, Dominic!"

Dominic stood completely motionless behind his mahogany desk. His face was an unreadable, stony mask, devoid of the warmth and tenderness he had displayed only seconds before.

"Where were you at 2:15 p.m., Grace?" Dominic asked flatly. His tone carried no emotion—only the terrifying weight of a judge reading an indictment.

"I... I was down in the basement laundry facility," I stammered, my voice breaking. "I was dropping off your suit jackets with the dry-cleaning courier. You can ask the building staff! You can check the elevator security cameras!"

"The elevator camera in the west wing was looped for twelve minutes starting at 2:10 p.m.," Vance added quietly.

I felt like the ground beneath my feet had opened up, swallowing me into a dark abyss. Everything I had built, every ounce of trust I had forged with this powerful man, was shattering into pieces right before my eyes.

"It was a setup," I wept, tears streaming down my face as I looked at Dominic. "Evelyn... or her father. They used my keycard! They knew I was the easiest person to frame! Dominic, please... look at me! Look into my eyes! Do you really think I would do this to you after everything you’ve done for my family?"

Dominic looked at me. For five agonizing seconds, the silence in the library was absolute.

He walked over to his wall safe, opened it, and pulled out the original contract I had signed on that fateful night in the service closet.

He looked down at my signature, then back at my terrified face.

"Vance," Dominic commanded, his voice cold, steady, and terrifyingly flat.

"Sir?"

"Lock Miss Miller in her suite. She is not to leave the penthouse. She is not to have access to any phone, internet, or external communication until I resolve this matter."

"Dominic, no!" I sobbed as Vance stepped forward, gently but firmly grasping my wrist. "Please! Don't do this! Don't throw me back into the dark!"

Dominic turned his back to me, looking out over the rain-slicked city windows.

"Take her away," he said coldly.

Vance led me down the long, silent hallway to the west wing guest suite. He unlocked the door, escorted me inside, and closed the heavy oak door behind me. A sharp, metallic click echoed through the wood as the external lock engaged.

I collapsed onto the cold plush carpet, burying my face in my hands, weeping uncontrollably in the dark.

For three days, I was a prisoner in the sky.

Arthur brought my meals on silver trays, but he didn't speak a word. His face was filled with sorrow, but he followed his master’s orders with absolute discipline. I didn't touch the food. I spent my days staring out the floor-to-ceiling glass terrace doors, watching the relentless rain hammer against Park Avenue.

On the third night, at 2:00 a.m., the lock on my door clicked open.

I sat up instantly on the edge of the bed.

Dominic stepped into the room. He looked exhausted. His suit jacket was gone, his tie loosened, and deep dark circles sat under his eyes. In his hand, he held a sleek black tablet.

He walked into the room, stopping three feet from where I sat.

"The federal subpoena was dismissed twenty minutes ago," Dominic said quietly.

I held my breath, staring at him through the gloom. "Why?"

"Because my cybersecurity team traced the IP origin of the encrypted breach," Dominic said, his voice deep and weary. "The signal didn't originate from your keycard hardware inside this suite. It was cloned using a near-field scanner two weeks ago at the dry-cleaning facility in the basement."

A ragged gasp escaped my throat.

"The building manager—Mr. Henderson—was paid fifty thousand dollars by Richard Ashford to clone your access key," Dominic continued, looking down at the floor. "He was the one who looped the security cameras and accessed the network terminal in the service corridor."