His Cold Boardroom

Marisol Serrano signed the marriage contract with her eyes open. Eight years as the daylight wife of a nocturnal billionaire: she signs what he cannot, walks where he cannot, and goes home to a man who treats her pulse as a resource. Then she finds the decanter. Her own blood, labeled in her own handwriting, dated weekly for a year. She leaves with one bag. By sunset, every account in her name is frozen and every door in the city is closed. Anton Duchamp wants his proxy back, and he is willing to let her starve until she comes home. Marisol goes north instead, to the estate of the one woman he cannot summon — his maker. What Adela wants is simple: her blood, freely given. The one thing Anton never asked for.