“I prefer silence.”

Part 2: “Strangers.”

Then she walked out.

Adrian stood there in the hallway of his parents’ penthouse, listening to the quiet shut of the front door and feeling, against all reason, like he had just been handed a challenge he had not asked for but could not ignore.

The following week was a blur of work brutal enough to nearly erase the memory of her.

Nearly.

He still thought of the wings on her neck.

He still heard, at inconvenient moments, the precise chill in her voice when she said, I wanted an apology.

He was supposed to drive to the Hudson Valley estate the morning before the ceremony planning weekend. His father wanted one last private family discussion before everything became public. Adrian had planned to leave early.

Instead, a regulatory issue exploded in London, one of his senior VPs mishandled a call, and by the time he left his Tribeca building the next morning with

Then he saw her.

Sloane Mercer stood by the curb in black jeans, a cropped sweater, leather jacket, and the same expression she always seemed to wear when life tried to inconvenience her.

A duffel bag sat at her feet.

Adrian stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“My parents decided it would be ‘symbolically reassuring’ if we arrived together,” she said flatly. “I objected. My car broke down this morning. Here we are.”

He stared at her for a second.

Then he took her bag, opened the trunk of his Bentley SUV, and said, “Get in.”

The first hour of the drive was silence.

Adrian turned on low instrumental music.

“Can you turn that off?” Sloane asked without looking at him.

He glanced over. “Why?”