"Are you hungry?"

His dark eyes studied her; he tilted his head. "What?"

When he still didn't reply, she wrung her hands. "I'll get you something to eat."

Grace moved to the tiny stove and threw some noodles and eggs into a pot, making a simple bowl of noodles for him. She didn't have any meat, but she chopped the vegetables she had and added them.

She set a tiny table and poured them both a glass of water. He moved cautiously to a seat as she set down the bowls.

"Eat, but don't eat too fast. It's quite hot," she said.

She didn't mean to treat him like a child, but his presence made her nervous, even though there was something incredibly calming about him.

He lowered his head and ate his noodles quietly. Grace also stared at him in silence.

Normally, she'd come home and hate the feeling of being alone, confined in such a small space. For some reason, the loneliness she usually felt had disappeared. Could it be the presence of another person in the room?

After he finished eating, Grace cleaned up the plates. "I usually sleep with the lights on. I hope you don't mind," she said. She'd gotten into the habit since her release from prison.

"That's fine."

Grace took her pajamas into the bathroom and shut the door to brush her teeth and change. Was it weird having a man alone near where she'd sleep? Yes, probably. But she didn't feel triggered or fearful. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he wouldn't have defended her on the street.

When she exited and lay down on the bed, he took his position on the floor. The room was silent except for the sound of the heater. If she listened closely, she could hear each breath he took—a steady, peaceful rhythm.

Grace closed her eyes and focused on sleeping. This was her nightly routine because it was almost impossible for her to relax. Even out of jail, she always dreamt of her time in prison—being beaten, shamed, and abused, the burning pain of broken fingers and torn nails. She'd wake up screaming, fingers curled, terrified, her heart pounding. However, oddly, that didn't happen tonight.

She slept until sunrise, free from her usual nightmares. Awakening, she rolled over to look at the figure lying on the floor beside her bed. Still here. Was it because of him? Because she was no longer alone?

Before she knew it, she'd gotten out of bed, squatted down, and placed her hand on his cheek. Her hand felt warm. He was real, not a figment of her imagination. Last night, she really had taken a strange man into her apartment.

Coming to her senses, she found him already awake. His beautiful eyes were fixed on her.

"Sorry," she stammered, her face heating with embarrassment. "I I just that If you don't have anywhere to go, you can live here, too."

She spoke in a rush, but felt relieved afterward. His eyes widened in surprise.

"If you don't want to, just pretend I didn't say anything," she added, biting her lip.

His mouth finally opened. "Do you want me?"

From another man, it would have sounded like flirting. But from him, it was a simple question of want or don't want, and she assumed he meant his presence. Even if there had been ambiguity, her answer would have been the same. Grace pursed her lips. "Yes, I do."

He stared at her, a slow smile forming on his lips. "Good."

This was the first time she'd seen him smile. Though faint, it was incredibly beautiful to her.

Jason remained at the tiny table while Grace prepared for work. When she left twenty dollars on the table for food, he stared at the bill for a long time.

With her gone, the room was eerily still. None of her light vanilla scent or nervous energy remained. He rolled up the quilt he'd slept on and washed his coffee cup. Normally, he'd be tempted to look around, perhaps snoop, but he didn't want to intrude.

When he finally left the apartment, people were waiting. Seeing him emerge, they greeted him respectfully. "Mr. Reed."

"Let's go," Jason replied faintly.

A black Bentley was parked nearby. Jason got in, looking at the twenty-dollar bill. It had been years since someone had given him money so freely; for as long as he could remember, people only wanted to take from him.

Terrence met his gaze in the rearview mirror. "The woman with you last night is a contract worker at the Sanitation Service Center. She started renting her current residence a month ago, having been released from prison two months prior."

"Prison?"

"Yes. Grace Cummins. She's Sean Stevens' ex-girlfriend. Convicted of reckless driving resulting in the death of Jennifer Atkinson. Sentenced to three years, her lawyer's license revoked," Terrence said, carefully observing Jason's reaction.

Jason remained impassive. "Grace…" he whispered. "Well, this is interesting."

He'd considered marrying Jennifer Atkinson—a good political match—but she'd died in a car accident. If Grace knew about his past relationship with Jennifer, how would she react? He considered the twenty-dollar bill again. When had someone cared for him like that? Taken him in, offered him a place to stay, and wanted him—simply for him.

"Terrence. I want all the information you can find on Grace Cummins on my desk today."

"Yes, sir." Then, hesitantly, "Sir, are you interested in this woman?"

When Grace finished work, her father called, asking her to come home to pay her respects to her mother. Grace's mother had died when she was three. Her father remarried months later; her stepmother, Melinda Riley, bore a daughter, Evelyn. Grace's father always favored his new family, sending Grace to live with her maternal grandmother until third grade, then to her paternal grandfather. Only after she excelled in college did her father acknowledge her, showcasing her intelligence to others. Her relationship with Sean Stevens brought her the closest she'd ever been to familial acceptance. Her father saw her as an asset, her stepmother showed a pretense of caring, and even Evelyn attempted to be amicable. But this was all because of Sean and his family's wealth and influence.

After the accident, Grace realized it had all been wishful thinking.

Arriving home, she found the house largely unchanged, though pictures of her father, stepmother, and Evelyn dominated. None of her. The living room was painted bright red, and the kitchen was remodeled with white cabinets and stainless steel appliances.

She joined her "family" in the kitchen. Her stepmother smiled—that was something, she supposed. But there were no hugs or warm welcomes.

She listened patiently as they made small talk. Evelyn remained silent. The conversation shifted to Evelyn's career.

"It's not easy for your sister to get roles these days," her stepmother said.

"Oh?" Grace replied. She'd had more pressing concerns—survival, imprisonment, wrongful prosecution.

"Re-entering the entertainment industry has been difficult… and it's vital she only accepts good roles," her stepmother continued.

"Hmm," Grace replied absently.

"You know we're not wealthy, but your sister needs money. Perhaps you could lend us some; when she becomes a star, we'll repay you."

The real reason for her summons revealed itself. "I don't have any money," Grace said flatly.

Her stepmother's expression stiffened, but she smiled. "You don't, but Sean does. He should make it up to you somehow."

Were they expecting her to beg Sean for money? Grace pushed back from the table. "Didn't you, Father, and my sister, pretend not to know me when I needed my family?"

Her father shouted, "So what? Are you here for revenge? If you hadn't killed someone, your sister would be a star by now!"

Grace smiled sarcastically. Evelyn's past success was due to Sean and the Stevens Corporation's investment in the TV series. After their breakup, Evelyn lost the role.

"Are you still resentful that we didn't help you in jail?" Evelyn asked quietly. Her perfect features, smooth skin, and long manicured fingers tapped on the table. "That's selfish. Your actions damaged our family's reputation. The Stevens, Reed, Atkinson, Epstein, Chang, even Weston families wanted your blood. What could we do? If we'd helped you sue, we'd have offended them."

Grace shook her head. She wouldn't waste her breath trying to make them see her pain. In their eyes, she was the villain, not the victim.

"How could we fight them?" Evelyn asked.

"You're right," Grace said coldly. She was nothing to them, a means to an end. They cared nothing for her pain, her suffering, her heartbreak. This disconnect had existed since her mother's death. She was done trying to please them. She'd never seek their love again.

Her eyes burned; the pain of her assault gave her strength. She rose, smiling gently. She looked directly at her sister. "Since you couldn't stand by me at my lowest, why should I help you get rich?"