Watching Jasper storm off, Zane muttered under his breath, disgust curling his lip. "Everyone knows she's been hung up on you since she was a kid. This is just her way of getting under your skin. Jasper, how can you fall for it that easily?" Lydia bit her lip delicately, eyes glimmering with just the right amount of concern. "Claudia may be upset, but she shouldn't be playing games like that. She's still a girl, after all." Jasper's fists clenched at his sides. Yeah. He'd let his emotions run wild. They'd known each other for nearly twenty years—Claudia wouldn't actually go find another man. She was just trying to provoke him. And it had worked. Hearing that man's voice on the phone had nearly sent him over the edge. "I don't care," Zane snapped. "Until she apologizes to Lydia, you'd better not forgive her." What kind of "sisterly quarrel" landed one of them in the ER? His second sister never failed to rewrite the limits of his understanding. Jasper pressed his lips together, not ready to promise anything. With Claudia's temper—furious over Grandma's house being signed to Lydia—expecting her to apologize was like asking her to climb to heaven and back. "She won't even talk to me," he muttered. Zane shrugged. "So what? Aunt Zoey's memorial day's coming up." He said it like it was obvious. On that day, Claudia would show up—she always did. Lydia lowered her head, lashes trembling, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. Jasper didn't notice; his chest just felt heavier. That day, every year, had always been the hardest for Claudia.... Claudia slept like the dead and didn't wake until eight that night. When she finally dragged herself out of bed, she spotted her "stray"—Sterling—on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. At six-foot-three, he filled her tiny balcony like a shadow carved from steel. Even without the light on, the cold authority rolling off him was impossible to miss. Claudia gave him a fleeting glance, then padded toward the kitchen. On the other end of the line, Clint was reporting updates: Sterling's injury and disappearance had leaked, and Henry was already stirring up trouble, trying to win over shareholders. Sterling's gaze tracked Claudia's every lazy movement as he answered, his tone calm and almost bored. "Ignore his little games. The higher he climbs, the harder he'll crash." “Mr. Romero, you really shouldn't stay out in the open. Are you sure you don't want to rest at Wisteria Pavilion?" Wisteria Pavilion was secluded, with full-time medical staff. Compared to that, Claudia's shoebox apartment was a disaster. Clint couldn't for the life of him figure out why his boss planned to hole up here for an entire month. "Don't worry about me. Just keep your eyes on Henry," Sterling said—and then stopped mid-sentence. Through the balcony door, he saw Claudia's sleepy figure almost lean her elbow into a pot of boiling water. He crossed the room in two strides and caught her arm before she burned herself. The kitchen instantly felt smaller with him there—his tall frame crowding out the space. Claudia startled and elbowed him hard in the stomach. "What are you doing?" He grunted but didn't move, calmly reaching past her to turn off the stove. "Didn't want your plain buns turning into roasted ones." Claudia blinked, realizing that if he hadn't stepped in, she probably would've burned herself. Not ungrateful, she gave a sheepish little laugh and held up the half-open pack of dumplings. “Fine. Since Mr. Romero is feeling so charitable, I'll treat you to dinner." She even copied Clint's tone for effect. Sterling raised a brow at her theatrics. "This is how you thank your savior? With instant dumplings?" She had, in fact, only made enough for herself. "Guests should remember their place," she shot back. "You should be grateful you're getting fed at all. What, you expect me to serve you too? Where's your shame?" Then it hit her that he was still half-holding her. She jabbed his ribs again until he finally released her. Sterling leaned against the fridge, utterly unbothered. "Ten million." Claudia froze, head snapping toward him, eyes sparkling like gold coins. The Lancasters might be loaded, but she was broke. Buying this apartment had drained almost everything she had. Sterling studied her face—her round cheeks tilted up like a kitten's, eyes bright and expectant. He almost laughed. "Ten million for rent and board. My stay here." Claudia's reaction was immediate—she turned off the burner and bent low in exaggerated reverence. "Honored benefactor, please, have a seat." She ushered him to the couch with ridiculous ceremony, then snatched her phone off the table and started ordering takeout. "As your great benefactor," Sterling said dryly, "don't I deserve a home-cooked meal?" "You sure?" she said, arching a brow. "I only know how to make three dishes.""Which three?" Claudia widened her eyes innocently. "Dumplings, dumplings, and… dumplings." When she'd first moved out, she'd lived off takeout. Later she'd tried cooking to save money, but after nearly setting her kitchen on fire a few times, she'd given up. These days, it was instant food—or freeloading off Whitney and Jasper.