The Perfect Victim: Playing The Billionaire's Game

"Time is up," the butler said, appearing in the doorway like a ghost.

Ashton closed the book immediately. She stood up, smoothing her jeans. "Thank you."

She looked at Isadore. He didn't look up from his laptop. "Goodbye, Mr. Grimes."

He didn't respond.

Ashton walked out of the study and into the foyer. Through the glass panels of the front door, she could see the world had turned into a washing machine. Rain fell in sheets, horizontal and violent.

"Shall I call a car for you, Miss?" the butler asked.

"No need," Ashton lied smoothly. "My Uber is two minutes away."

She pushed open the heavy front door and stepped out. The wind hit her instantly, soaking her hoodie in seconds. She walked down the steps and stood near the gate, just out of the direct line of sight of the house, but perfectly framed by the security camera.

She pulled out her phone. She dialed a dead number, held it to her ear, and then pulled it away, staring at the screen with feigned panic.

A black sedan-Sloan's rental-pulled up to the gate, idling ominously. It sat there for a moment, headlights cutting through the rain, looking for all the world like a stalker lying in wait.

Inside the study, a small alert chimed on Isadore's screen. Perimeter Alert: Loitering Vehicle.

Isadore clicked the feed. He saw the black car. Then he switched cameras and saw the girl. Ashton was hugging herself, shaking violently, water streaming down her face. She looked terrified, glancing between her phone and the car outside.

Isadore's jaw tightened. He didn't care about her. But he refused to have a kidnapping-or worse-happen on his doorstep. The paperwork alone would be a nightmare.

He hit the intercom button. "Let her back in. Get rid of that car."

The gates opened. Security personnel swarmed the black sedan, which peeled away into the night.

Moments later, Ashton stood in the foyer again. She was dripping wet. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, outlining her frame. She was shivering, her teeth chattering audibly.

Isadore descended the stairs. He looked annoyed. "Why are you still here?"

Ashton wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "Carter... he was outside. That car. I couldn't..."

Isadore remembered the video from the club. The screaming, the glass. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am not your bodyguard, Harmon."

"I just need to wait out the storm," she said, her voice trembling. "Or throw me out. But if he grabs me, the press will ask why you opened the gate for him."

Isadore let out a short, cynical laugh. "You have nerve." He pointed down the hall. "Guest room. Stay there. Be gone by six a.m."

The butler led her to a sterile, beige room. "I will bring you something dry," he said.

He returned with a white dress shirt. "Mr. Grimes does not keep women's clothing. This belongs to him."

Ashton took it. "Thank you."

When the door clicked shut, she stopped shivering instantly.

She stripped off her wet clothes and showered quickly. She put on Isadore's shirt. It was massive on her, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. It smelled of cedar and rain-a cold, expensive scent. She undid the top two buttons. Not enough to be trashy. Just enough to be a question.

She waited until the house was silent. The thunder covered the sound of her bare feet on the hardwood.

She crept into the hallway. The master bedroom door was ajar. Isadore was still downstairs working.

She slipped inside. The room was Spartan. A massive bed, grey sheets. On the nightstand, a stack of papers. Prenuptial Agreement Draft.

She didn't touch the papers. Instead, she reached up to her neck and unclasped the black velvet choker she always wore.

She heard a footstep on the stairs. He was coming.

Ashton moved to the side of the bed, near the massive oak headboard. She let the choker slip from her fingers, watching it fall into the narrow, dark gap between the mattress and the headboard. It was a place one would never feel, but a place an angry, suspicious fiancée, yanking pillows around, might just find.

She sprinted back to the door, slipping into the shadows of the hallway just as Isadore reached the landing. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She watched him walk into his room and close the door.

She leaned against the wall, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding.