“Remind me why we didn’t stay at Wolf Cove, Victor?” Henry calls out, stirring me from slumber. I’m still nestled against his chest where I settled in, his arm slung over my shoulder. I drifted off, listening to his heartbeat and his deep voice as he caught up on business calls.

“That’s a good question, sir,” our driver responds cordially.

I blink away the sleep and refocus on the countless streetlights outside, blurred by drizzle. Horns blare from every direction. “Are we almost home?”

Henry brushes stray hairs off my forehead before pressing a kiss against my temple—such an uncharacteristically sweet gesture, especially compared to the filthy things he did to my body an hour ago. “Two blocks away. You’ll be in bed within ten minutes.”

“So will you.” I smooth my palm over his curved chest before my fingertips crawl across the ridges of his abdomen.

Henry’s sigh is full of contentment as he weaves his fingers within mine, and we wait quietly for our car to navigate the city’s gridlock. Finally, Wolf Tower comes into view ahead, a grand looming edifice, the tallest mixed residential and hotel building in the city.

Henry’s body tenses. “The reporters are already here?”

“I don’t think they ever left,” Victor says.

Sure enough, a small horde lingers beneath umbrellas near the entrance, armed with cameras.

“Not when the Wolf name keeps gifting them such lucrative headlines,” Henry mutters bitterly. Between William Wolf’s sudden death and then Scott Wolf’s involvement in it and his subsequent demise, Henry has been caught in a media swirl for weeks. The mine collapse was the brittle on the crème brûlée. And now there are highly publicized pictures of the two of us kissing in the moments after he stepped off the helicopter, covered in dirt and blood, which will stir all sorts of new questions about New York’s most eligible bachelor’s relationship.

I can feel myself about to get sucked into the swirl.

Henry must feel it, too, because his arm tightens around me in protection. “Take us straight to the underground,” he demands, his voice hard.

“Certainly, sir. Already planned on it.”

“Please and thank you,” I add after a beat.

Victor’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror, the corners of his crinkled with a smile.

Henry leans in to whisper in my ear, “You wouldn’t dare be implying that I don’t have manners, would you, Abigail?”

I used to quake when he used that even tone with me. Now I snuggle against his chest. “Never.” He has exceptional manners when he chooses to use them, but he’s also accustomed to people jumping at his every command.

“I didn’t think so.” He leans in farther until the light stubble along his jawline grazes my skin. “But I like those words on your lips. I think you’ll be using them later.”

His promise stirs a mental image and a memory that ignites my core.

We pull into the valet entrance, waiting for the cars ahead to move. Photographers have their cameras aimed at our windows, calling out Henry’s name. It’s all a pointless production, thanks to the impenetrable tint.

I fish my phone out of my purse and turn it on for the first time since we landed.

The moment it starts chirping, I wish I hadn’t.

* * *

“She’s asked Reverend Enderbey to marry us!” I cry, seeing red as I scroll through Mama’s messages. All thirty-two that she sent since I hung up with her before leaving Alaska this morning.

“Sullivan.” Henry nods his thanks as the security guard steps aside to allow us into the elevator. The lineman-sized giant was waiting to greet us when Victor parked the car. “Would he fly to Alaska to officiate?”

“I don’t know, but she’s already booked the church for our ceremony.” My thumb swipes at the screen as I speed-read. “And she’s called the rental company for our reception in the barn! And—oh my God—she’s asked three of my cousins to be my bridesmaids!” It keeps getting worse the farther down I go.

Henry’s chuckle reverberates.

“This is not funny!”

“Are you surprised? She knows she can’t stop you from marrying me, so she’s found a new way to try to gain control.”

“I knew she’d want to have a say on things, but I didn’t think she’d have our whole wedding planned before our plane landed. And all this? This was supposed to be Jed’s and my wedding. She’s just swapped out the grooms.” Which is especially surprising, given Mama was convinced Henry was the devil himself walking the earth until only recently.

“I am definitely not Fuckface,” Henry grumbles.

I hold up my phone to show Henry the picture of Mama’s wedding dress, pulled from storage and hanging in my bedroom in Greenbank. “Ready to be sized for me.”

He frowns. “Is that a bow?”

“One of several.”

He shakes his head. “Rethinking city hall yet?”

I groan.

Sullivan whistles before flashing a gap-toothed grin. “Gotta say, I thought my mother was demanding, but sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Ms. Mitchell.”

I falter at his use of my name. I’ve never met this man, though I know Henry replaced the guards who let Scott into the penthouse. But then I remind myself that everyone in Wolf Tower’s security staff knows who I am. They’re paid to. “She’s going to ruin our wedding.”

“No, she isn’t.” Henry wraps his hand around my nape, his thumb drawing small, calming circles against my skin. “It’s your wedding. Tell her thanks, but no thanks.”

“If only it were that easy.”

The elevator approaches the lobby level and Henry’s chest rises, the only sign that the media attention bothers him. “No reporters inside, right?”

“None, sir. But your niece has been waiting for you for hours.”

Henry’s face screws up. “My niece. I don’t have—”

The elevator doors open with a ding, and another massive security guard waits outside to escort us to our penthouse elevator.

Henry’s still wearing that look of confusion when Sullivan gestures toward a girl of maybe sixteen sitting on a bench. “Are you saying she’s not related to you, sir?”

Henry’s mouth opens, but he falters on his answer.

The girl looks up, sees Henry, and jumps out of her seat, smoothing her hands over lengthy ash brown hair as she glances around her. Perhaps searching for an escape? She looks like any regular teenager, with blue jeans and an oversized gray hoodie and scuffed black and white Chucks.

“Sir, if she’s falsely impersonating your niece, we should get you—”

“It’s okay.” Henry waves Sullivan off, his face unreadable as he approaches her. “Hello. Who are you?”

She takes a deep, shaky breath as she meets his gaze.

There’s something so familiar about her. I can’t quite place it, though. Have I met her before?

“You told people you’re my niece. I only have one brother that I’m aware of. Are you saying Scott Wolf was your father?”

She clears her throat but doesn’t speak.

Henry crosses his arms, waiting for an answer. As if she weren’t already nervous enough, he will make it tenfold worse.

There’s a scuffle at the entrance. A photographer has managed to slide past the doorman and is in the lobby, snapping pictures of us as security guards close in. The distraction gives the girl time to bolt. In seconds, she’s running, ducking around bodies and out the door as we’re ushered to the elevator.

* * *

“She had to be, what, sixteen? Seventeen at most?”

“Or younger. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

Henry stares up at the ceiling, the silky bedsheet pooled around his waist. “Scott would’ve had to be in his first or second year of college when she was born. He never mentioned anything to me about a daughter.”

“Would he, though? You guys weren’t close.”

“He didn’t hate me quite so much back then.” His lips twist. “Unless he didn’t know about her. That would explain why there’s no mention of her in his will. He was a fucking degenerate, but even he would leave something behind for his daughter. I have to believe that much about him.”

Henry’s mind has been spinning over the mystery girl since we got back to the safety of our home. We have no information to go on other than the name she gave to security when they asked her why she was loitering. Violet, she said it was, but who knows if that’s true. Henry demanded the security footage. We watched as the girl sat in the lobby for four hours, her foot tapping the marble floor, her fingernails probably bitten down to the quick for how often they ended up between her teeth. She got up and headed for the door at least a dozen times before returning to her seat, as if struggling with her decision to come here in the first place.

“The way she was dressed … You don’t think she was homeless, do you?”

I chuckle. “No, she’s just a teenager.”

“She looked scared.”

“A lot was going on. Security guards, reporters. And it’s you she was coming to see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.” The indomitable Henry Wolf, who fills a room just by stepping into it.

He smirks because he does know.

“Maybe she’ll come back.” I press my lips against Henry’s shoulder.

“I could send her picture to Dyson to see what he can dig up.” He makes a sound, as if disagreeing with his idea. “Likely nothing, unless she’s a criminal.”

“If she’s Scott’s daughter, then it’s in her blood,” I mutter, but then mentally chastise myself. It’s not her fault she got the short end as far as fathers go.

He snorts, but the frown marring his handsome face won’t relent. “Why would she come here?”