“You’ll have your own office on the top floor,” he said. “Your own staff. Your own security detail. No one will touch you. No one will speak to you without my permission.”

He stepped closer, his shadow stretching long and dark across the floorboards.

“You will be the queen of the city, Clara,” he said. “The king’s equal.”

I looked at his face, searching for the lie.

There wasn’t one.

Arthur was too desperate to lie about this.

He truly believed he was offering me the greatest gift a woman in my position could ever dream of.

He thought he was being generous.

He thought he was saving me from the rain.

“Half the empire,” I said softly.

“Half,” Arthur confirmed. “Everything we took from the unions. Everything we hold in the suburbs. It’s yours. All you have to do is get in the car.”

He held out his hand.

His leather glove was wet, the black dye shining under the yellow light of the lamp.

I looked at his hand.

Then I looked at the small kitchen, the peeling wallpaper, and the rain running down the window pane.