Sinful Arrangement

PRESENT DAY Frederick stood at the observation window of one of New York’s top trauma hospitals, arms folded as he listened to the head physician rattle off stats and success rates. His gaze, however, was elsewhere. He barely registered the room’s polished sterility or the pristine white coats bustling through double doors. His attention was drawn to the woman who had just walked in from a side corridor, clipboard in hand, her hair longer than he remembered, tied back in a low ponytail. She moved with practiced ease, her scrubs slightly creased, a stethoscope slung carelessly around her neck. There was something familiar about the way she furrowed her brow while reading a patient chart, something in the curve of her mouth as she murmured instructions to a nurse. The name tag clipped to her chest read Dr. Amelia Hart. Frederick didn’t move, didn’t blink. It was her. He didn’t need confirmation. She passed him without recognition, her steps brisk, her mind elsewhere. He turned his

The following morning, Frederick sent for Amelia in his home office. Frederick didn’t ask if she wanted to attend the gala. He just told her. “You’ll need to be ready by seven. Car leaves at seven-thirty.”Amelia stared at him. “What kind of event is it?”“Charity. Press. Investors. A chance to be seen.”She blinked slowly. “That’s a lot of people to lie to.”He didn’t flinch. “It’s part of the job.”She wanted to argue, but it felt pointless. The contract didn’t promise comfort—it promised visibility. Control. Appearances. So she nodded and went back to pretending this was still her choice.The dress was delivered around noon, hung neatly on her bedroom door with a note in handwriting that wasn’t his. Classic black. Floor length. High thigh slit. Elegant enough to belong to someone with a family name carved into buildings. She stared at it for a full minute before touching it.By evening, she’d convinced herself she could do this. Smile, nod, play the part. She’d done harder things.

Amelia barely remembered falling asleep.What she did remember was crying, harder than she had in years, into Frederick Blackwell’s arms, after their voices had climbed, after he’d pushed too hard, and after she’d finally admitted with her tears that she was scared. Not just of the threat, but of the fact that someone had gotten so close to her without her noticing. Of being watched. Of being vulnerable. Of being alone in a place that still didn’t feel like hers.And Frederick... he hadn’t said much. He’d just held her. Tighter than she expected. Longer than he probably meant to.Now, in the grey stillness of morning, she felt different. Like her skin didn’t fit quite right. Like something between them had shifted in ways she couldn’t explain, and didn’t know how to carry into daylight.She avoided the kitchen. She wasn’t ready for small talk and coffee.Instead, she wandered, barefoot and quiet, toward the library she’d never used. The tall glass doors were slightly open. She stepped

Branches whipped across her face as she pushed through the trees, her shoes sliding on wet roots. Her flashlight bounced with every step, its narrow beam cutting through the dark until it landed on something, well, someone slumped against the base of a tree.She froze for a second. Then sprinted.“Shit." She dropped to her knees in the dirt, heart thudding so loud she couldn’t hear the wind. Her light hit his face. Pale. Sweating. His suit shirt was soaked through and torn at the side, blood blooming fast across his ribs.“God,” she whispered. “No, no no, can you hear me?”She pressed her fingers to his neck. Weak pulse. Thready. But there.She grabbed his wrist. Still warm. “Come on,” she said, louder now. Nothing.Her voice snapped. “Luke! Get the med team here now! I've got him!”She shook him gently by the shoulder. “Hey, It’s me. You’re not allowed to do this, do you hear me?”No response. She opened up his jacket and his shirt underneath. Her breath hitched as she saw his tors

Amelia looked up.The nurse didn’t smile. “He’s stable. Vitals are holding. He’s alert enough to talk.”"And?"“There’s one more thing,” the nurse added, her tone quieter now. “We found something during imaging. A small foreign object embedded under the third rib. No surgical scar. No obvious trauma.”Amelia’s breath hitched.The nurse nodded. “Metallic. Likely guess, a tracker. We haven’t told him. We thought… maybe you should.”"So, I can go talk to him now?""Yes."Amelia turned back at Luke who gave her a go ahead nod.The halls felt too long. Her footsteps too loud. When she reached the room, the security detail outside gave a small nod, then stepped aside.Frederick was awake.Pale, yes. Hooked up to fluids, still groggy. But awake. His head turned when she walked in, his eyes tracking her slowly.“You look like hell” he rasped.Amelia said nothing. She crossed to the side of the bed and scanned the monitors out of habit.Frederick watched her the whole time.“How bad is it?”“Y