She was the sharpest woman in the room. He made her the softest.

Savannah Cole runs on ninety-hour weeks and the terror that if she stops, she's nothing. Nicholas Hale is older, unhurried, and very good at making her stop. His brownstone is dim. His voice is low. Every time she surfaces from his hands, she's a little less clever and a lot more his.

The lip gloss he bought her. The dress he chose. The words she used to know, dissolving like sugar in warm water. Her friend Megan watches it happen and says everything Savannah won't hear.

She could leave. The door isn't locked. She doesn't want to.