THE BILLIONAIRE'S PROBLEM

Morning crawled over the city like it owed someone money. Lily woke groggy, complaining about the bandage ruining her hair. She laughed, then winced, then cried a little because that's what you do when your body remembers it's soft.

Stacy made toast she didn't want and tea Lily didn't like. It felt like something to do.

The first ping came at 9:12 a.m.

CASS (Lead Stylist):

You good? Heard there was a thing yesterday.

Stacy typed, erased, typed again.

All good. Minor. Be in later this week.

Another ping. And another.

MAYA (Model):

Are you okay?? Paps outside the studio this morning. Something about a car + "Kings."

SAM (Photog):

You trending?

She didn't answer those. She shouldn't answer those.

At 10:03 a.m., her phone vibrated in a different way ... the buzz that meant the internet had made her relevant without consent.

A link. No sender name. Just a headline screenshot:

BLIND ITEM: Billionaire Media King Involved in "Minor Incident" With Mystery Brunette ... Hospital Night?

Her throat dried out.

The photo was from behind. Grainy, long lens. A woman with dark hair and a man whose profile was unmistakable, even blurred: Axel Kings, at the hospital entrance, opening a car door. The woman's face wasn't visible, but her tote bag was: paint-splattered canvas with a small stitched patch ... a red mouth with a safety pin through the lip.

Stacy looked at her own tote on the chair. The same patch. She'd stitched it in on a Sunday when she thought she might still have time for hobbies.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number:

Don't move. I'm sending someone. –AK

She typed back before she could stop herself.

Do not send anyone to my home.

Three dots. Then nothing.

Lily shuffled out from the bathroom, hair in a lopsided bun. "Why are you looking at your phone like it proposed?"

"Eat," Stacy said, handing her the toast. "Then lie down. No screen time."

"I'm concussed, not in kindergarten."

"Same rules."

Lily took one bite and eyed her sister. "Are we in trouble?"

"Define 'trouble.'"

"The kind where people who don't know us suddenly have opinions."

Stacy didn't answer.

There was a knock at the door. It wasn't loud, but it was decisive ... two taps, a pause, one more.

Stacy froze. Lily went still, too, toast hovering mid-air.

Another knock. The same rhythm.

Stacy moved to the peephole. A woman stood there ... mid-thirties, lean, black blazer over a slate T-shirt, hair pulled back, expression like she'd seen all the stupid things the world could do and chosen to keep her patience anyway.

"Stacy Hookman?" the woman called softly through the door. "I'm Tamsin. Head of security for Mr. Kings."

Of course he sent someone.

Stacy opened the door halfway, chain still latched. "I told him not to..."

"Understood," Tamsin said. "He told me you'd say that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because there are two men in a gray sedan across the street who aren't on my payroll, and one of them just swapped a long lens for a shorter one," she said, matter-of-fact. "If you'd like to give them candid shots of your concussed sister, keep the chain on. If you'd like to make this go away faster, let me inside and give me five minutes."

Stacy hated that the world made this a choice.

She shut the door, slid the chain free, opened it.

Tamsin entered, eyes skimming the room in a way that felt thorough but not invasive. "You have back access?"

"Fire escape through the bedroom," Stacy said.

"Good." Tamsin handed over a simple, unmarked phone. "Use this for anything related to Mr. Kings or media inquiries. Do not use your personal. Regret lives forever on iCloud."

Lily leaned around the couch, trying to look unimpressed and failing. "Are you like a spy?"

"Like adjacent," Tamsin said, a quick dry smile. "How's the head?"

"Annoyed."

"Good sign."

Stacy crossed her arms. "I don't want a circus."

"That's what we're avoiding," Tamsin replied. "I'll station a car at the alley for forty-eight hours. If you need groceries, send me a list. If anyone contacts you from press, forward it to the number on that phone. If your agency calls, be polite and say nothing. They'll be negotiating what your silence is worth in the background."

"I'm not..." Stacy started, then stopped. "This is insane."

"It's Tuesday," Tamsin said. "On a Friday, I'd call it heavy."

Stacy blinked. "Is this normal for him?"

"For him, yes," Tamsin said. "For you, not yet."