The sound echoing from the floor above wasn't just a minor tumble—it sounded like a grand piano falling down a flight of mahogany stairs.

At 1:30 AM, the mansion was drowning in silence.

Claire couldn't sleep. She sat on the window seat of her bedroom, wrapped in her blanket, watching the dark rain beat rhythmically against the glass.

Her mind kept racing back to Mason’s drawing. HE IS COMING BACK. Who was coming back? Dominic? Or someone else?

She decided to get a glass of water. Slipping out of her room, she walked quietly down the dimly lit second-floor corridor.

As she passed the master suite, she noticed the door was slightly ajar. A single beam of warm light spilled across the carpet.

Claire stopped, intending to walk past, but a low, heavy sound caught her attention.

It sounded like someone breathing hard, gasping for air.

Claire crept to the cracked door and peered inside.

The master bedroom was dark, save for a single desk lamp. Adrian was sitting on the edge of his king-sized bed, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his head resting in his hands. His broad shoulders were shaking violently.

On the nightstand beside him sat a small, framed photograph of a beautiful blonde woman smiling under a bright summer sun. Beside the frame lay a silver locket, opened to reveal a tiny lock of dark hair.

Claire realized instantly what she was looking at.

Panic attack. Deep, suffocating, grief-stricken panic.

She hesitated for two seconds. Then, pushing the door open softly, she walked inside.

Adrian’s head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and slick with cold sweat. He looked like a man drowning in dry land. He reached instinctively for his waist, but he was only wearing his trousers.

"Get... out..." he choked out, his voice a hoarse, painful rasp. "Donovan... leave..."

Claire didn't leave. She walked right over to him, pulled the velvet desk chair over, and sat down directly in front of him.

"Look at me, Adrian," she said, her voice firm, grounded, and utterly devoid of fear.

"I said... get out..." he gasped, clutching his chest, his fingers digging into his ribs.

"Look at me," Claire repeated, taking his large, cold hands in her own small, warm ones. "You're having a panic attack. Your heart is racing, your lungs feel like they're collapsing, and you think you're dying. You're not dying. I've had fifty of these since Daniel died. You need to breathe."

Adrian tried to pull his hands away, but Claire held on with surprising strength.

"Inhale for four seconds," Claire commanded softly, locking her dark brown eyes onto his grey ones. "Count with me. One... two... three... four. Hold it. Now out... one... two... three... four."

For three excruciating minutes, they sat together in the dim light of the master bedroom. Claire guided his breathing, her thumbs gently stroking the backs of his broad, calloused hands, providing an anchor in the middle of his silent storm.

Slowly, the violent rise and fall of Adrian’s chest began to even out. The deadly grey tint left his skin, replaced by his natural color.

He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested against their joined hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice deep and broken in the dark. "You shouldn't... see me like this."

"Everyone breaks, Adrian," Claire said gently, not pulling her hands away. "Even men who own shipping companies and terrify Westchester."

Adrian slowly raised his head, staring at her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. He looked at her small, determined face, at the gentle strength radiating from her.

"How long ago did you lose your husband?" he asked softly.

"Four years," Claire replied, a soft sadness touching her eyes. "He died in his sleep. His heart just... stopped. One day I was making coffee for two, and the next day I was answering medical bill collectors while trying to explain to a two-year-old why her daddy was in the sky."

Adrian’s grip on her hands tightened slightly. "My wife... Elena... she didn't die in an accident, Claire."

Claire froze. "What happened?"

"Dominic tried to sell our shipping routes to the Morelli rivals in Brooklyn," Adrian confessed, his voice dropping into an icy, horrifying whisper. "Elena found out. She was going to the federal prosecutor. Dominic cut the brake lines on her car."

Claire gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "His own sister-in-law?!"

"He's a snake," Adrian said, his amber eyes burning with a dark, terrifying flame. "And right now, he's planning to take my sons to force me to surrender control of the family business."