At the wedding, the groom ran away right before the ceremony; furious, i declared, “i will marry whoever is willing to marry me right now!”; the very next second, my wheelchair-bound future bil suddenly stood up and shouted, “yes, i do!”_VMDT

At the wedding, the groom ran away right before the ceremony; furious, i declared, “i will marry whoever is willing to marry me right now!”; the very next second, my wheelchair-bound future bil suddenly stood up and shouted, “yes, i do!”

Did high-end escorts really make this much money? More importantly, did it make any financial sense to rent a penthouse this expensive for a single night?

Her phone alarm rang, startling her so badly she nearly rolled off the bed. She reached across the nightstand, silenced it, and was about to toss the phone aside when she noticed a heavy metallic lanyard lying beside it.

It looked official.



Ainsley had seen similar badges in LinkedIn photographs posted by executives who attended international conferences. Curious despite herself, she picked it up.

The badge was an all-access pass to the Global Economic Summit. Anyone admitted to that event was either extraordinarily wealthy, politically influential, or powerful enough to make ordinary executives nervous.

A professional headshot appeared on the right side of the pass. Personal information was printed on the left.



Ainsley had not gotten a clear look at the man’s face the previous night. She squinted at the photograph.

Her pupils widened.

Her brain stopped functioning.



The good news was that he was ridiculously handsome.

The bad news was that he was not an escort.

The catastrophic, civilization-ending news was that he was her best friend’s uncle.

Vance Sterling.

The Sterlings were old money—the sort of East Coast dynasty that had spent generations accumulating influence in finance, commercial real estate, luxury retail, and politics. Vance’s father had founded Sterling Enterprises, a conglomerate with properties and businesses across the country.

Vance was the youngest Sterling son and the family’s most notorious business prodigy. While completing his MBA at Stanford, he had ridden the technology boom, founded Apex Tech, and taken the company public within five years. At twenty-nine, he was already considered one of the most formidable figures in the industry.

Ainsley stared at the badge, horrified.

She had gotten blackout drunk, slept with Vance Sterling, and treated him like a man she had hired at a bar.

How was she supposed to explain that to Delaney?

Her head buzzed. She wanted to travel backward through time and slap the version of herself who had walked into that club. It had been the first time she had ever gotten drunk, and she had somehow caused a catastrophe large enough to destroy several prominent families.

Truly gifted.

The sound of the shower faded.

Ainsley threw the lanyard back onto the nightstand. Only one thought remained in her mind.

Run.

She dragged on her clothes as quickly as possible. When she tried to stand, however, her legs turned to jelly and she nearly collapsed.

Delaney had lied to her.

Her best friend had always described her uncle as a puritanical, emotionless machine. What kind of puritan left a woman feeling as though she had survived a natural disaster?

Powered entirely by panic, Ainsley grabbed her purse and fled the suite. She made it through the hotel corridors, down the elevator, and across the lobby without being stopped.

The moment she stumbled through the revolving doors, a bright red Porsche 911 screeched to a halt in front of her.

The passenger door flew open.

Delaney Sterling climbed out wearing an oatmeal-colored cashmere trench coat, oversized sunglasses, and the effortlessly polished expression of a woman who had never once left the house without looking photographed.

The instant she saw Ainsley, her face changed.

“Ains? What are you doing at a hotel this early?”

Her gaze dropped to Ainsley’s neck. Her eyes widened.

“Oh my God. Did you—”

Ainsley lunged forward and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Delaney, please. In the car. Your girl is trying to preserve what little dignity she has left.”

Delaney blinked, visibly delighted, then nodded. She pushed Ainsley into the passenger seat, returned to the driver’s side, and accelerated away from the Crest View.

Ainsley watched the hotel shrink in the rearview mirror and finally released the breath trapped in her chest.

Then she turned her head and found Delaney watching her with sparkling, gossip-hungry eyes.

“Ains,” Delaney began, “last night, halfway through your ‘I’m getting over my cheating ex’ drinking session, you texted me and said you had found something much more fun. Was that something a high-end escort?”

Ainsley nearly choked on her own saliva.

She stared at Delaney for several seconds before answering.

“Choose your words carefully.”

If Delaney discovered that Ainsley had unknowingly hired her uncle as an escort, she might spontaneously combust. Or disown her. Possibly both.

Delaney waved a hand. “Fine. Whatever. That isn’t even the important part. Tell me how he was.”

Ainsley looked at her best friend and unwillingly remembered the Sterling family’s unfair genetic advantage. Every Sterling she had met had been remarkably attractive. Vance was simply the apex predator of an already excessive bloodline.

“He was handsome,” Ainsley admitted.

“Obviously. You’re the most obedient good girl I know. You wouldn’t rebel for an ugly man.” Delaney wiggled her eyebrows. “I meant the experience. How was it?”

The experience?

Ainsley had been too drunk to remember much beyond scattered impressions. Vance had been overwhelming, commanding, and much less restrained than his severe public image suggested. Her neck was covered with marks, but he had at least carried her to the shower afterward and made sure she was safe before she fell asleep.

She tugged her collar higher.

“I invoke the Fifth.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.”

Delaney pouted but soon returned her attention to the road.

Ainsley had spent her entire life under the suffocating control of her father, Richard Sinclair. She was the quintessential obedient daughter, raised to protect the family name and never embarrass anyone. Until a few days earlier, she had been engaged to Julian Pierce, her childhood sweetheart.

The most rebellious thing she had ever done with Julian was hold his hand in public.

The only reason she had gone to a bar the previous night was that she had caught him cheating. Delaney had dragged her out to drown her sorrows, and Ainsley—who had never learned her limits—had lost control after only a few drinks.

It was impossible for Delaney to connect Ainsley’s mysterious hookup with her uncle.

“Wait,” Delaney said. “Was this your first time meeting the escort, or have you been secretly seeing him?”

“Stop inventing conspiracies and watch the road.”

Ainsley and Vance certainly had not been secretly seeing each other. They were not complete strangers, however.

Their previous encounter had occurred only a few days earlier, and it had somehow been even more absurd.

Ainsley had received an anonymous message claiming Julian Pierce was meeting another woman at the Pinnacle. She followed the address, entered the private elevator, and stepped directly into the path of Vance Sterling.

He stood nearly six feet three, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and severe features that radiated authority. His deep-set eyes and cold expression were enough to make people nervous before he said a word.

Out of respect for her best friend’s uncle, Ainsley had offered a quiet greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Sterling.”

To her surprise, the corporate titan recognized her.

“You’re Delaney’s friend,” he had said. “Do you live in this building?”

Ainsley could hardly admit she was there to catch her fiancé cheating, so she nodded and pressed the button for the thirty-third floor.

Vance did not select another floor.

When the elevator doors opened, Ainsley stepped out and headed toward Penthouse 3301. Vance walked beside her.

She reached for the keypad, then finally turned to him.

“Mr. Sterling, do you live here?”

“No.”

His voice had been indifferent.

“This is a property my family purchased for my upcoming strategic marriage. I came to inspect the renovations.”

In that moment, Ainsley had looked up at him and felt a sudden, tragic sense of solidarity.

They entered the penthouse together.

The half-dressed couple inside scrambled apart in a panic.

The man was Julian Pierce.

The woman was Vance’s fiancée, Serena Kensington.

Ainsley had seen red.

She crossed the room, slapped Julian across the face, and ended their engagement on the spot. Vance’s reaction, by contrast, was almost inhumanly calm.

His gaze moved over the disordered room before settling on Serena.

“Since you have found alternative companionship,” he said, “the merger and the engagement are terminated.”

Serena had exploded.

She screamed that after their families arranged the marriage, Vance had left for Europe for two years. He had ignored her messages, refused her social-media requests, and treated the engagement as though it were a business memorandum. She accused him of emotional abandonment and claimed his indifference had driven her into Julian’s arms.

Vance did not blink.

“The engagement is terminated,” he repeated before walking away.

That bone-chillingly composed silhouette had remained burned into Ainsley’s memory. She almost understood why Serena had lost control. Vance seemed capable of making any emotional person question their sanity.

As Ainsley left the building, she had called the police and reported suspicious activity in Penthouse 3301 out of pure spite.

The Kensington and Pierce families were both prominent in high society. The scandal that followed was enormous, although fear of offending the Sterlings prevented it from becoming the most popular story in Manhattan.

And yet, only days later, Ainsley had somehow ended up in Vance Sterling’s bed.

Her head throbbed.

She could not think of a single rational solution, so she turned to the only person she trusted.

“Delaney, let’s say last night was a total accident and I never want to see the man again. What is the usual protocol?”

“Easy.” Delaney grinned. “If you were satisfied, tip him well. If the experience was terrible, leave a bad review or ghost him.”

She glanced sideways at Ainsley.

“What do you want to do?”

The conversation had circled directly back to what Delaney wanted to know most.

Ainsley was not entirely satisfied with what little she remembered. Vance looked like an emotionless saint in daylight, but his private behavior belonged to an entirely different man. He could speak gently while remaining completely uncompromising, and the contrast was deeply unsettling.

Still, she did not dare ghost Vance Sterling.

She had to pay him.

“How much do you think I should give him?”

Delaney’s eyes lit up. “Wow. He must have been incredible if you’re actually paying.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Basic club hosts cost a few hundred dollars an hour. Considering this was an entire night—and based on your suspiciously glowing silence—I would leave at least fifteen hundred dollars.”

That sounded reasonable.

Ainsley opened her banking app.

Several withdrawal notifications appeared immediately. Her available balance was three hundred and forty dollars.

She stared at the screen until her fingers tightened around the phone.

Her father had swept her checking account again.

Delaney noticed the change in her expression. “Did your dad empty the account?”

“It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll send you the money.”

“No.”

The word came out more sharply than Ainsley intended.

Sleeping with her best friend’s uncle while mistakenly believing he was a gigolo was already unforgivable. Borrowing Delaney’s money to pay him was a moral boundary she could not cross.

Delaney jumped at the outburst. “Ains, I’ll give you the cash. We’ll eat free meals at your dad’s restaurants until we make up for it. We do that all the time. Why are you panicking?”

Ainsley rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll ask Human Resources for a salary advance. Otherwise, my father will take my next paycheck too.”

“That isn’t fair.”

Richard Sinclair had built a successful restaurant empire and raised the social status of his family, but he controlled his daughter like a tyrant. Ainsley received no personal allowance. Every purchase had to be charged to a family American Express card, which Richard reviewed line by line each month.

That was why Delaney had persuaded Ainsley to take a job at Sterling Enterprises after graduation. Employment was supposed to give her some independence.

Richard responded by forcing his daughter to open a monitored joint account. Every payday, he transferred her salary before she could use it.

Sterling Enterprises was ordinarily overseen by Vance’s older brother, Arthur Sterling, who was also Delaney’s father. The company’s employee policies were progressive, and workers could request salary advances according to their tenure.

Ainsley had worked there for a year.

She immediately sent a message to her manager, Margot.

Margot replied within minutes.

The C-suite was undergoing leadership changes, so approvals were delayed. If Ainsley needed the money urgently, Margot offered to lend it to her until the advance cleared.

Ainsley hesitated before typing a response.

“It’s an emergency. Thank you so much.”

She added a crying-cat emoji.

Margot transferred the money through Zelle.

Because Ainsley did not have Vance’s banking information, she went to an ATM, withdrew fifteen hundred dollars, and placed the cash inside a sleek black gift box purchased from a boutique. She added an apology note and hired a same-day courier to deliver it to the penthouse suite at the Crest View.

At the hotel, Vance Sterling sat on a black leather sofa with one ankle resting across the opposite knee.

He had just left the shower. His dark hair was still wet, and a white towel rested low around his waist. Several vivid scratch marks crossed his shoulders, silent evidence of the previous night.

On the sofa’s armrest sat a neat stack of hundred-dollar bills.

Vance picked up the apology note and read it.

Then he read it again.

His eyebrow rose as he looked at the cash.

What exactly was this supposed to be? A compliment on his performance, or payment for services rendered?

His phone chimed.

An HR approval request appeared on the screen.

EMPLOYEE REQUESTING ONE-MONTH SALARY ADVANCE FOR EMERGENCY PURPOSES.

Applicant: Ainsley Sinclair.

Requested amount: $4,000.

Vance slowly looked from the phone to the fifteen hundred dollars on the sofa.

The note claimed she was giving him an entire month’s salary as compensation. Yet she had requested four thousand dollars and sent him only fifteen hundred.

She had used him, fled before he woke, mistaken him for an escort, and then attempted to shortchange his imaginary fee.

A muscle shifted in his jaw.

His fingers moved across the screen. He added a note to the request and selected REJECT.

Due to a recent increase in wire fraud, all salary-advance requests require an in-person explanation at the CEO’s office. Requests submitted without an interview will be denied.

In the B2 parking garage beneath Sterling Enterprises, Delaney’s red Porsche sat diagonally across two spaces.

Delaney jumped out and slammed the driver’s door. When she noticed Ainsley moving at a painfully slow pace on the passenger side, she frowned.

“Ains, why are you walking like a turtle?”

“Give me your arm. My legs are killing me.”

Ainsley wanted to cry. Every step sent a wave of soreness through her body.

Delaney clicked her tongue and walked over, looping an arm through hers.

“Honestly, I think you were scammed. That gigolo probably saw a rich, naïve girl, pretended to be a professional, and took your money. How else could he have left you looking like this?”

Ainsley’s eyelid twitched.

She slapped a hand over Delaney’s mouth.

“Walls have ears. Lower your voice.”

Delaney laughed and pulled her hand away. “Relax. This section is reserved for the Sterling family. My parents are on a European cruise, so no one is here but me. Tell me where the man works. Give me his name. I’ll hire someone to confront him.”

Confront Vance Sterling?

The image alone sent a chill down Ainsley’s spine.

“Forget it. He’s just trying to make a living.”

Delaney stared at her. “You’re defending him already? Was he really that good?”

Ainsley’s head pounded.

“He was handsome, very strong, and… top-tier.”

The sharp screech of tires echoed through the garage.

A black Rolls-Royce Cullinan stopped nearby.

The rear door opened, and a towering man stepped onto the concrete.

He wore a tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His long legs ended in polished black Oxfords. His features were sharp, his expression cold, and his dark eyes carried the ruthless authority of a man accustomed to absolute obedience.

A single glance was enough to make the air feel thinner.

Ainsley felt his attention settle on her.

The headlights forced her to squint. Then she recognized the sharp jawline that matched her fragmented memories of steam and darkness.

Her body froze.

Had he heard what they said?

“Uncle Vance?” Delaney stammered. “What are you doing here?”

Vance shifted his gaze from Ainsley to his niece.

“Your car thinks highly of itself.”

Delaney glanced at her Porsche, then at Vance’s limited-edition Cullinan.

“It’s just a small toy. Nothing compared to yours.”

“Then why does it require two parking spaces?”

His voice was frigid.

Delaney finally realized she had taken his reserved spot.

“I’ll move it.”

She ran toward the Porsche as though pursued by a demon.

Ainsley almost felt sorry for her. Then she turned and looked directly into Vance’s bottomless eyes.

Her heart climbed into her throat.

Why was she pitying Delaney? She was the woman who had spent the night with this man and fled before he left the shower. She was the one in real danger.

“No greeting today?” Vance asked. “Have you already forgotten who I am?”

Ainsley forced an awkward smile.

“Mr. Sterling. I only thought things might be uncomfortable. Your fiancée cheated on you with my fiancé. I felt I shouldn’t appear in front of you and bring back unpleasant memories.”

Vance paused.

“By that logic, your fiancé stole my fiancée. Should I also be too ashamed to face you?”

“No.” Ainsley waved both hands. “That isn’t what I meant. I simply thought keeping our distance might be better.”

“Is that so?”

His expression became thoughtful before the conversation changed direction.

“I overheard you and Delaney discussing an escort. Did the two of you hire gigolos at the club last night?”

Ainsley’s mind crashed.

He had heard everything.

Vance stepped closer. The distance between them vanished, bringing with it the faint cedarwood scent she remembered from the hotel.

“Why aren’t you answering?”

Ainsley’s thoughts raced. She pulled out her phone, opened a random photograph of a male model on Instagram, and held it up.

“We were discussing this model. His name is… Gigolo Five. That must be what you heard.”

She committed to the lie with desperate conviction.

“Delaney and I are good girls. We would never do anything reckless at a club.”

Something unreadable moved through Vance’s eyes.

His gaze lowered to her neck, where faint red marks remained visible above the collar of her coat.

“Never anything reckless,” he repeated.



“Uncle Vance!”

Delaney came running back, apparently convinced he was interrogating Ainsley.

“I texted Dad before we went out. We only had a few drinks. We didn’t do anything irresponsible. You can ask the club’s security staff.”

Vance looked at his niece.

“I see.”

Ainsley had imagined a hundred different ways he might expose or destroy her, but he appeared to accept the excuse.

Had he been drinking too? Was it possible he genuinely had not recognized her?

If he knew she was the woman from the hotel and had heard her calling him an escort, she would already have been reduced to ash.

“Mr. Sterling.”

A group of executives emerged from the elevator and approached with respectful expressions.

“We’re here to escort you upstairs.”

Vance nodded. Before leaving, he gave Ainsley one final, penetrating look.

The executives surrounded him as he walked away.

Only when he disappeared into the elevator did Ainsley feel capable of breathing again.

She grabbed Delaney’s sleeve.

“Why is your uncle here?”

Delaney considered the question. “Apex Tech is launching a new product line in Sterling retail stores. He’s probably here for a meeting.”

Ainsley’s heartbeat settled.

If he was only attending a meeting, he would leave soon. She simply had to avoid him.

The two women entered the elevator. As it climbed, Ainsley checked her phone and discovered that her salary advance had been rejected.

The elevator chimed at the thirty-fifth floor, one level below the C-suite occupied by the chief of staff and executive assistants.

Ainsley’s direct supervisor was Margot, a highly capable chief of staff with a degree from Columbia University. She handled corporate communications and crisis management with terrifying efficiency. To rivals, Margot was a smiling assassin. To her own team, she was patient and generous.

The moment Ainsley sat down at her cubicle, Margot approached and explained the reason for the rejection.

Delaney, who had followed them onto the floor, frowned.

“My father always approved these requests online. Since when does an employee need to explain the situation in person?”

“That’s what the system note says,” Margot replied. “My hands are tied.”

Ainsley needed to repay Margot, so she wanted the problem resolved immediately.

She followed her manager to the C-suite.

Margot knocked, entered the CEO’s office, delivered a brief explanation, and left. Ainsley wondered which executive had suddenly become so paranoid about wire fraud.

She stepped through the heavy doors and closed them behind her.

A low male voice spoke from across the room.

“Sit down.”

Ainsley looked up.

Vance Sterling sat behind the enormous mahogany desk, occupying the CEO’s leather chair. He wore a crisp black shirt, his dark hair neatly styled, and his expression was as severe as ever.

“Mr. Sterling?”

He continued signing a document.

“Sit down. Let me finish this.”

Ainsley stared at the new interim CEO, who also happened to be the man she believed she owed fifteen hundred dollars.

Her hands and feet went numb.

“I can stand.”

“Sit.”

His voice dropped slightly.

Delaney had described her uncle as a dictator who despised disobedience. She had once had her trust fund frozen for talking back to him.

Ainsley immediately sat in the guest chair.

From this angle, Vance remained directly in her line of sight. His shirt was buttoned to the throat. His sleeves were rolled back exactly one inch. His posture was rigid and his expression severe.

He reminded Ainsley of her father.

No wonder Delaney called him a puritan. He was twenty-nine years old and behaved like a seventy-year-old Presbyterian judge.

Except for his hands.

Ainsley’s gaze drifted to the long fingers holding a black Montblanc pen.

Fragments of the previous night struck her without warning: the strength of those hands, the warmth of his palms, and the uncompromising way he had kept her from falling when her own body stopped cooperating.

Tap. Tap.

The pen struck the desk.

Ainsley blinked and realized she had been staring.

Her face grew hot.

“Are you finished, Mr. Sterling?”

Vance lifted his eyes. His gaze moved over her flushed ears, and something dark flickered in his expression.

“Not calling me Uncle Vance anymore?”

Ainsley gave an awkward laugh.

“We’re at work. It didn’t seem appropriate.”

“Fine.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Don’t be nervous. This is routine procedure.”

“Of course.”

Vance studied her.

“First question. What is the purpose of the salary advance?”

Ainsley had prepared an excuse, but the change in leadership had ruined her confidence. The creditor she was trying to pay was conducting the interview.

She avoided his eyes.

“I was involved in a minor accident and need to compensate the other party.”

Vance set down his pen.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

“The woman at the Crest View last night was you.”

The direct accusation nearly stopped Ainsley’s heart.

“Mr. Sterling, I don’t understand.”

“Ainsley.”

He said her name slowly.

“Refusing to take responsibility for your actions does not seem consistent with how Richard Sinclair raised you.”

Ainsley stiffened.

She drew a breath and forced herself to meet his gaze.

“I’ve changed my mind. I no longer need the advance. I have work to complete, so please excuse me.”

She turned and headed for the door.

Vance anticipated the move.

In three long strides, he crossed the room and blocked her path.

Ainsley stopped. When he advanced, she backed away. For every step she took, he took another, until the edge of the mahogany desk pressed against her lower back.

She had nowhere else to go.

Vance reached for the top buttons of his shirt and opened them.

Ainsley’s face burned.

“What are you doing?”

“Look.”

His voice carried no hesitation.

He took her hand and placed her fingertips near a vivid scratch across his chest. The marks aligned perfectly with her nails.

“Do you have another explanation?”

His logic was infuriatingly precise. He was not losing control or behaving impulsively. He was presenting physical evidence as though conducting a corporate investigation.

Ainsley’s gaze caught briefly on the sharply defined muscle beneath the mark. She coughed and looked away.

“Fine. I admit I was there. Can you let me go now?”

Vance released her and stepped back.

He methodically rebuttoned his shirt to the collar, restoring his immaculate appearance within seconds.

Once the pressure of his proximity vanished, Ainsley could breathe again.

Then Vance spoke.

“Since you have admitted it, we will go to City Hall later and obtain a marriage license.”

He delivered the statement in the same tone another executive might use to approve a quarterly budget.

Ainsley stared at him.

“What?”

“We will get married.”

“I admitted I was at the hotel. I never agreed to marry you.”

Vance looked mildly puzzled.

“We consummated a relationship. Marriage is the logical next step.”

Ainsley felt like an irresponsible playboy being confronted by a traditional woman’s family. She had slept with someone and was now refusing to accept responsibility.

But she could not surrender her entire life to a man she barely knew—especially a man Delaney regarded as a tyrannical monster.

She inhaled slowly.

“Mr. Sterling, perhaps in your worldview, sleeping together automatically leads to marriage. For people my age, however, living in the moment is common. Hookup culture exists. It doesn’t always end with a ring.”

“You were inexperienced,” Vance replied calmly. “Some people live that way. You clearly did not. Therefore, we will obtain a license.”

His internal logic was an impenetrable fortress.

“I started living in the moment last night,” Ainsley argued. “Had it not been you, it could have been someone else. I never planned to marry whoever I met.”

The statement seemed to genuinely shock him.

Vance stared at her for several seconds.

“So you have no intention of taking responsibility for me?”

Ainsley scratched her temple.

Was she imagining things, or did this terrifying billionaire sound faintly offended?

A knock interrupted them.

Margot’s voice came through the door, reminding Vance that his board meeting was about to begin.

Terrified of being discovered, Ainsley slipped past him.

“Let’s pretend last night never happened, Mr. Sterling. I’ll stay out of your way. Have a productive meeting.”

She hurried from the office, her steps still slightly uneven.

Vance watched her leave. His brow drew together when he noticed her gait. He had attempted to restrain himself, but evidently not enough.

Ainsley returned to her desk and finally allowed her shoulders to drop.

Then Delaney appeared from nowhere, threw both arms around her, and began wailing dramatically.

“Ains, my life is over.”

Ainsley’s heart jumped.

Had Vance told her?

“I’m so sorry,” Delaney continued. “My father took my mother on a luxury world cruise and put my puritanical uncle in charge of the company. I have to live under his surveillance for at least six months. I’m dead. I’m actually dead.”

Ainsley’s heart sank.

Six months of facing Vance’s cold, unreadable expression every day sounded like a sentence imposed by a particularly creative judge.

“Let’s quit,” Delaney suggested. “We’ll wait until my father returns and then get rehired.”

Ainsley had already been considering resignation. She nodded immediately.

“Deal.”

Her father would punish her for quitting, but she was accustomed to Richard’s methods. Compared with the unpredictable Vance Sterling, even her father seemed manageable.

Ainsley drafted a resignation email.

From the neighboring cubicle, Delaney sent her a message.

I bet my uncle rejected your salary advance. It’s a blessing in disguise. If he approved it, you’d be contractually required to remain employed until it was repaid.

Ainsley began typing a response.

Then an HR notification appeared on her screen.

A bank alert followed.

$4,000 DEPOSITED VIA ZELLE.

Another message from Delaney arrived.

Why aren’t you answering? Don’t tell me he approved it. That’s impossible. He’s a complete hard-ass. Your fake explanation would never fool him.

Ainsley stared at the confident messages and questioned for the first time whether Delaney understood her uncle at all.

It was approved, she typed. I think I have to stay another month.

At lunch, Delaney channeled her despair into food, piling her cafeteria tray with enough dishes for three people.

As she ate, she continued ranting.

“I’m so sorry. My uncle must have predicted that I would quit, so he approved your advance to keep you here as a hostage. He’s a monster. He destroyed my escape route.”

Ainsley put down her fork and sighed.

Her own escape route was the one truly destroyed. She had no idea how she would face Vance for another month.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Delaney looked up, prepared to insult whoever had interrupted her.

“Who is the idiot—”

The words died.

Vance Sterling stood beside the table.

“Uncle Vance?”

His eyebrow moved almost imperceptibly.

“What were you saying?”

Delaney froze and looked desperately at Ainsley, but Ainsley had lowered her head so far she seemed to be studying the molecular structure of her salad.

Delaney’s survival instinct activated.

She slid her tray closer to Ainsley, wiped the empty chair with a napkin, and produced a dazzlingly obedient smile.

“I was saying, ‘Make yourself at home.’ Please sit.”

Ainsley silently admired her flexibility.

Vance took the chair directly across from them. Without looking up, Ainsley could feel his shadow and the oppressive weight of his attention.

She concentrated on becoming invisible.

Vance considered the contrast with private amusement. The woman had been remarkably bold the previous night. Today, she behaved like a frightened rabbit.

“Delaney,” he said, “go buy me a drink.”

His niece blinked.

One cold glance sent her to her feet.

“Yes, sir. What would you like?”

“Anything.”

“Excellent. I’ll see whether the cafeteria sells anything.”

Delaney laughed weakly and shot Ainsley a desperate look.

“Ains, come with me.”

Ainsley wanted to follow, but Delaney moved too quickly and escaped alone.

She was not foolish enough to misunderstand. Vance had deliberately sent his niece away.

“Mr. Sterling—”

“Ainsley—”

They spoke simultaneously.

Ainsley pressed her lips together. “You first.”

Vance took a small tube of ointment from his pocket and slid it across the table.

“This is for you.”

Ainsley picked it up and read the label.

The next second, she nearly threw it back.

Her face turned crimson.

“Mr. Sterling, what is this?”

His voice was low and unexpectedly apologetic.

“Last night was my first time. I had no experience and did not understand my own strength. I believe I hurt you. Apply it twice a day. If it does not help, I will take you to a doctor.”

Ainsley felt as though her face might catch fire.

A titan of industry was discussing something intensely private with a perfectly serious expression in the middle of the corporate cafeteria.

Terrified that someone might notice them arguing over a tube of medical cream, she shoved it into her pocket.

Vance quietly exhaled.

He sent a message from his phone, then looked at her again.

“What were you about to say?”

Ainsley hesitated.

“Last night was genuinely an accident. I apologized and compensated you. Please don’t tell Delaney.”

Her voice softened.

“She is my best friend. She means more to me than almost anyone. I don’t want this to destroy our friendship. Please understand.”

Vance looked at her for a long time.

Ainsley finally dared to meet his eyes. Her own were wide and pleading, her lashes trembling slightly.

She was still afraid of him.

The memory of her red-rimmed eyes from the previous night surfaced in his mind. He had attempted to remain rational, but every fragile request from her had eroded that restraint.

“Mr. Sterling?”

Vance returned to the present.

His Adam’s apple shifted.

“I won’t tell her.”

Ainsley froze.

“Really?”

“Really.”

The relief lighting her face softened something in his expression.

“However, I would like to renegotiate your compensation.”

Her heartbeat stumbled.

“What do you want?”

“I have not decided.”

He looked genuinely thoughtful.

“Add me on iMessage. When I determine suitable compensation, we will discuss it.”

Ainsley wanted to refuse. Continuing contact with him was dangerous. Their connection needed to end cleanly and immediately.

Vance tapped one finger against her phone on the table.

“Delaney is returning. Would you prefer to discuss compensation in front of her?”

Checkmate.

Ainsley silently picked up the phone and transferred her contact card.

When saving his number, she clenched her teeth and entered PETTY CREDITOR.

Vance saw the contact appear on his screen. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

They had each other’s numbers now. A marriage license could not be far behind.

“Uncle Vance?”

Delaney returned and placed a paper cup before him with an aggressively respectful smile.

“Here is the hot oat-milk chai you specifically requested.”

She emphasized specifically.

Delaney knew her uncle disliked sweet or milky drinks. When he texted her requesting a chai, she had assumed it was a mistake. He had not responded when she asked.

Vance stood.

His gaze moved to the cold can of Diet Coke in Delaney’s hand.

“Give the chai to your friend. It’s winter. Women should drink warm beverages.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Delaney nodded like a mechanical toy.

The instant Vance walked away, she dropped into the chair beside Ainsley and began complaining.

“See? I told you. Total puritanical control freak. He supervises my grades, my friends, and now my beverages. Fortunately, I anticipated this and bought myself a cold drink too.”

Ainsley said nothing.

She lifted the chai and took a sip.

Warmth moved down her throat and settled pleasantly in her stomach. It felt unexpectedly comforting.

Delaney continued.

“My parents don’t even care whether I drink soda. He confiscated it anyway. Now he’s extending his jurisdiction to my friends. I can’t imagine how miserable his future wife will be.”

Ainsley took another sip.

Then Delaney noticed.

“Ains, isn’t Diet Coke your favorite?”

Ainsley held the warm cup in both hands.

“I think your uncle may be right. Something warm is nice in winter.”

Within an hour, news of the interim CEO’s iron-fisted takeover spread across every department.

Vance’s calendar filled with consecutive board meetings, strategy sessions, and executive briefings. The entire C-suite staff was pushed to exhaustion.

By Friday evening, everyone finally began to breathe again.

An energized Delaney dragged Ainsley out of the office, determined to try a popular new Korean barbecue restaurant. At five o’clock, the elevator bank was crowded with employees waiting to leave.

Delaney pulled Ainsley toward the private executive elevator.

Arthur Sterling had spoiled his daughter, so Delaney had possessed executive access since her first day. Ainsley hesitated.

The company was now under Vance’s control. That meant this was effectively his elevator.

“Let’s wait for the regular one,” she said. “What if we meet your uncle?”

“The restaurant will be packed. We need to hurry.” Delaney swiped her badge. “Besides, what are the chances?”

The elevator chimed.

The doors opened.

Vance stood alone in the center.

Delaney’s expression went blank.

“I just remembered I left something at my desk.”

She turned and ran.

Ainsley stared after her.

True friendship.

Vance raised his eyes. Under the warm elevator lighting, his gaze settled on Ainsley.

She wore an oatmeal-colored cashmere coat over a pearl-white turtleneck. Her thick dark hair fell in natural waves around her shoulders, framing a delicate face and bright, clear eyes.

His gaze deepened.

“Are you getting in?”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait for Delaney.”

Vance extended one hand, holding it against the door sensor to prevent the elevator from closing.

“I would like to discuss your compensation.”

Ainsley had begun to hate that word.

She did not want to enter, but his position was clear. If she refused, he would continue holding the door while every employee in the corridor watched.

After several seconds, people near the regular elevators began looking over.

Ainsley surrendered and stepped inside.

The doors closed.

The confined space immediately felt too small. Vance stood beside her like a mountain, his presence filling every available inch of air.

Ainsley gathered her courage.

“What would you like to discuss?”

“We’ll talk in the car.”

When the elevator reached the B2 garage, Ainsley attempted to step out. A heavy hand settled on her shoulder.

She froze.

Vance released her and indicated her open coat.

“It’s windy outside. Button it.”

“Okay.”

Ainsley fastened the coat and followed him to the black Cullinan.

The heater inside the vehicle was running at full strength. Warm air surrounded her, bringing a visible flush to her naturally pale skin.

Vance watched her. His gaze briefly dropped to her red lips before he reached up and loosened his silk tie. He opened the top button of his collar, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone.

The adjustment instantly changed him. The rigid, formal executive appeared less controlled, and Ainsley’s mind supplied an unwanted memory of the hotel.

She looked away.

“What compensation do you want?”

Vance leaned toward her.

The scent of cedarwood surrounded her, and Ainsley instinctively held her breath. For one panicked moment, she thought he intended to kiss her.

Instead, he opened the glove compartment and removed a warm bottled latte.

“This is for your hands,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Ainsley accepted it, embarrassed by her own assumption.

Vance returned to his seat.

“You seem terrified of me.”

“Why?”

“That is what I am asking.”

Ainsley shook her head quickly.

“I’m not afraid. I’m simply not accustomed to people standing so close to me. I moved back instinctively.”

Vance knew she was lying. She avoided him at every opportunity. Since she refused to answer honestly, however, he did not force the subject.

Ainsley tightened her hands around the latte.

“What is it you want?”

Rather than answering, Vance removed a manila envelope from the center console.

“Open it.”

Ainsley did.

Her expression became serious.

Inside was a property deed for a luxury loft in a prime Manhattan neighborhood. The apartment was extraordinarily expensive, ideally located, and perfectly designed for a single professional.

She looked at him.

“What is this?”

“My compensation to you,” Vance said. “If you dislike the property, I can replace it with another.”

Ainsley had always dreamed of escaping her father’s control and buying a small home of her own. She wanted a place Richard could not take from her—a private refuge that would protect her if he ever disowned her.

But this was too much.

She pushed the deed toward Vance.

“I can’t accept it. I had no ulterior motive.”

“You are Delaney’s friend. I behaved improperly that night. I accepted your compensation, so you should accept mine.”

Ainsley thought of the pathetic fifteen hundred dollars she had left on his sofa and compared it with a multimillion-dollar property.

She felt as though she had insulted him.

“But—”

“No.”

His tone hardened.

“Either accept the property, or I will transfer the equivalent cash value to your bank account.”

“No!”

Panic entered her voice.

If millions of dollars appeared in her account, Richard Sinclair would see the transaction immediately. She would never be able to explain it.

Vance studied her.

“Then accept the property. I do not take back what I have given.”

“Fine.”

Ainsley yielded.

The discussion was apparently concluded.

She left the car carrying the latte and watched the Cullinan disappear from the garage. For the first time, she wondered whether Vance was truly as terrifying as Delaney claimed.

A few minutes later, Delaney approached.

“Did you wait long? I’m sorry. My uncle made me go to his office to find a specific file. After I searched for ten minutes, he said he no longer needed it and ordered me to return it. He’s deliberately tormenting me.”

Ainsley realized Vance had sent his niece on a meaningless errand so he could speak to her privately.

“Maybe he had a reason,” she said. “He doesn’t seem like the type to prank people without purpose.”

Delaney stopped walking.

“What is wrong with you? Did he brainwash you by approving your HR request?”

She linked arms with Ainsley.

“You’re too naïve. Capitalists like him have black hearts. Every action is calculated. If he gives something, he expects a return.”

Ainsley thought of the deed inside her bag.

According to Delaney’s logic, Vance must have an ulterior motive. But Ainsley had nothing he could possibly need.

What return could he want from her?

Unaware of the crisis unfolding beside her, Delaney pulled her toward the Porsche.

“Come on. Let’s get barbecue.”

The moment Delaney drove toward the garage exit, a black Mercedes cut across her path.

She slammed on the brakes.

Julian Pierce climbed from the Mercedes wearing a beige cashmere coat and gold-rimmed glasses. He looked every inch the refined gentleman Ainsley had known since childhood—the boy who once protected her from bullies and promised he would always remain beside her.

Now she knew it had all been a façade.

Had she not seen him half-dressed with Serena, she might never have believed her childhood sweetheart was capable of calculated betrayal.

Delaney saw red.

She threw open her door, stormed toward Julian, and drove a right hook into his jaw.

“You absolute piece of garbage. I’ve wanted to do that for days.”

Delaney had taken kickboxing lessons. This was not a ceremonial slap.

Her fist connected solidly. Julian staggered backward, clutching his jaw.

“Are you insane? You assaulted me.”

“So what?” Delaney lifted her chin. “I tolerated you because you were engaged to my best friend. Do you think I’m afraid of the Pierce family? Do you believe the Sterlings are afraid of you?”

At the name Sterling, Julian visibly remembered Vance’s emotionless face in the penthouse.

Fear crossed his expression.

“I’m not here to fight you. I’m here for Ainsley.”

He attempted to step around her.

“Don’t move,” Delaney warned.

Ainsley climbed out and pulled her friend backward before the confrontation escalated further.

When Julian saw her, his expression softened instantly.

“Ains, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

In the past, those words would have made her heart flutter. Now they made her nauseated.

“Julian, I made myself clear. The engagement is over. Stop following me.”

“No.”

He blocked her path.

“Listen to me. I was drunk. Serena approached me, and I made a mistake. You know you are the only woman I have ever wanted to marry. Please, after all our years together, give me another chance.”

His voice was painfully sincere. Tears even appeared in his eyes.

For a moment, he looked like a man devastated by the loss of someone he loved.

Then Ainsley remembered the private investigator’s file Vance had given her after they discovered the affair.

“Stop acting. You and Serena were seeing each other for more than a year.”

Panic flashed across Julian’s face.

He grabbed her arm.

“Ains, let me explain.”

“Take your hands off me.”

She pulled free in disgust, grabbed Delaney, and returned to the Porsche.

Delaney accelerated out of the garage.

Julian rushed toward his Mercedes, determined to follow.

High beams suddenly blinded him.

A massive black Cullinan moved directly into his path.

The impact came with a deafening crunch.

Airbags exploded inside Julian’s vehicle, striking his face and leaving his ears ringing. Inside the Cullinan, Vance remained completely composed.

He looked through the windshield at Julian with eyes colder than winter steel.

Julian stumbled out of his damaged Mercedes.

“Are you blind? Do you think owning an expensive car means you own the road?”

The Cullinan’s door opened.

A polished black Oxford touched the concrete.

Then came long legs in bespoke trousers, a narrow waist, broad shoulders, and Vance Sterling’s expressionless face.

Julian stopped shouting.

His knees weakened.

“Mr. Sterling.”

Vance approached at an unhurried pace.

“Were you attempting to follow my niece’s vehicle?”

Julian went pale.

He had been following Ainsley, but Ainsley had been inside Delaney’s car. He forced a submissive smile.

“You misunderstand. I had no intention of harming Delaney. I was looking for Ainsley.”

Vance’s voice became colder.

“Why?”

“She’s my fiancée. I’m trying to win her back.”

Before Julian finished speaking, Vance caught his wrist and forced his arm away from the car.

His expression did not change.

“She is no longer your fiancée.”

Julian grimaced under the pressure.

“Mr. Sterling, you’re hurting me.”

Vance released him with a shove.

“Never show your face near Sterling Enterprises again. Do you understand?”

Julian’s lips trembled.

“Yes.”

Vance stared at him.

“Why are you still here?”

“I’m leaving.”

Julian abandoned the damaged Mercedes and hurried away.

Callum, Vance’s executive assistant, came running down the garage ramp. He stopped when he saw the wrecked front end of the Cullinan.

“Sir, what happened?”

“Traffic accident,” Vance replied. “Handle the insurance and ask the estate to send another vehicle.”

Callum stared.

He had witnessed the entire sequence. Vance had parked out of sight, watched Delaney strike Julian, waited until Ainsley left, and then deliberately blocked Julian’s pursuit.

As an elite executive assistant, Callum knew when silence was part of his job description.

“Yes, sir.”

Having lost their appetite for Korean barbecue, Delaney took Ainsley to the Obsidian Club.

It was one of Manhattan’s most exclusive private clubs, owned by the Kensington family—specifically Serena’s older brother, who remained one of Vance’s close friends despite the broken engagement.

The club offered Michelin-starred dining, a private spa, lounges, billiard rooms, and luxury suites.

“Aren’t we supposed to eat?” Ainsley asked.

“Food is secondary.”

Delaney handed the car keys to the valet and linked arms with her.

“Priority number one is getting you back on the market. Once you have a new boyfriend, Julian will stop harassing you, and your father won’t be able to force you back into the Pierce family.”

Ainsley knew her father’s true nature. Richard would marry her to the highest bidder if it protected his restaurant empire.

She did not want to ruin Delaney’s enthusiasm, so she allowed herself to be pulled inside.

Delaney reserved the largest VIP room. Once they sat on the velvet sofa, she took a flattering candid photograph of Ainsley, added a filter, and posted it to her Instagram close-friends list.

MY GIRL IS SINGLE, BEAUTIFUL, SWEET, AND OFFICIALLY AVAILABLE. APPLICATIONS ARE OPEN.

Elsewhere, Vance leaned against his replacement vehicle and attempted to suppress the dark anger Julian had awakened in him.

His phone vibrated.

After replying to a work email, he opened Instagram and saw Delaney’s story.

His expression immediately darkened.

Ainsley had told him she did not believe in marriage, yet she was already attending a blind date.

Inside the VIP room, Delaney suddenly stared at her phone.

“Oh no.”

“What happened?”

“I forgot to exclude my parents and my uncle from the story. If they see I’m at the Obsidian Club, I’m dead.”

“Your parents are relaxed.”

“My parents are fine. I’m talking about my puritanical uncle.”

Delaney clasped her hands together.

“Please, God, do not let Uncle Vance see my story.”

The men Delaney had invited arrived soon afterward. They were trust-fund heirs from the same social circle, all eager to impress the Sterling heiress and her attractive friend.

Delaney examined them with ruthless honesty.

“Have you looked in a mirror? You look like a foot. Stay away from my best friend. Matt, you’re losing your hair at twenty-five. Sit down. Tyler, you’re too short. Ainsley would never be able to wear heels.”

Because they had all known one another for years, no one took her seriously. The men laughed and began pouring drinks.

Ainsley preferred sweet cocktails. Believing the alcohol content was low, she accepted several.

Before long, the room began to spin.

She excused herself and went to the restroom to avoid another round of toasts.

Delaney, meanwhile, became increasingly enthusiastic about the shots being passed around.

Then a text arrived on her phone.

YOUR UNCLE IS HERE.

Delaney became sober instantly.

She looked around the room.

“My uncle is here to drag me home. Unless you want to appear on a corporate blacklist, I suggest running as though your lives depend on it.”

She grabbed her coat and fled.

The moment the young men heard the name Vance Sterling—the grim reaper of their social class—they followed without hesitation.

In the restroom, Ainsley splashed cold water across her face.

The drinks seemed stronger by the minute. She decided to retrieve her bag and order a car home.

When she opened the VIP-room door, however, she found it completely empty.

“Where did everyone go?”

The heavy door moved farther inward.

A tall figure stood in the entrance.

Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Impossibly long legs. The room’s dim lighting cast shadows across his face, revealing only a sharp jaw, a high nose, and deep-set eyes.

To Ainsley’s intoxicated mind, he was far more attractive than any of Delaney’s potential dates.

“Hello, handsome,” she said, stumbling toward him. “Are you here for the blind date too?”

Her foot caught against a chair leg.

Vance stepped forward and caught her around the waist before she fell.

“Careful.”

Ainsley looked up through unfocused eyes.

“Your voice sounds like my best friend’s uncle. The mean, boring one.”

Vance’s eyes narrowed.

“Mean and boring?”

“Probably.”

“Has he ever shouted at you?”

Ainsley considered the question with drunken seriousness.

“I don’t know. He looks like he should.”

Vance remained silent before asking, “How exactly is he boring?”

Ainsley squinted at him.

The man seemed vaguely familiar, but her thoughts refused to remain in order.

“He’s boring everywhere. He always looks like he’s considering murder.”

She poked his chest.

“How can someone with a face like yours dress so seriously? It’s a waste.”

The corner of Vance’s mouth moved.

“How should I dress?”

“You don’t have to button your shirts all the way to your throat. You look good. Why hide it?”

Vance’s gaze darkened.

He caught her hand before she poked him again.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Show me.”

Ainsley’s alcohol-clouded mind accepted the challenge. Her fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons at his collar.

Frustrated, she pulled too hard.

Several buttons snapped free.

The shirt opened enough to reveal the firm lines of his chest.

Ainsley gasped and withdrew her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

Vance looked at her panicked expression and found it unexpectedly amusing.

“An apology may not be sufficient.”

She blinked.

“What should I do?”

“Marry me.”

“Marry you?”

Ainsley stared at him as if attempting to solve an advanced mathematical problem.

“If we get married, can I keep looking at you?”

His eyes turned nearly black.

He placed her palm against his chest.

“You may do more than look.”

Ainsley experimentally pressed her fingers against the warm muscle, apparently satisfied.

“What else?”

Vance’s breathing changed.

“Whatever you want.”

They stood too close.

Ainsley lifted her face, captivated by the darkness in his eyes. Vance held her gaze until the final thread of his restraint broke.

He kissed her.

Ainsley stiffened in surprise, but the alcohol, confusion, and powerful attraction between them soon swallowed the moment. What followed became another fragmented blur—reckless, intimate, and impossible for her to recall clearly afterward.

Vance carried her from the club’s private room to a penthouse suite upstairs, shielding her from the view of anyone in the corridor.

The electronic lock recognized his fingerprint.

Inside, the door closed behind them.

The rest of the night faded into disconnected impressions: dim lights, whispered questions, the cedarwood scent of his cologne, and the feeling of being held by someone impossibly strong.

At one point, Ainsley’s phone rang.

Delaney’s custom ringtone cut through the quiet.

Ainsley searched for the phone and accepted the call.

“Ains, where are you?” Delaney shouted. “I’m sorry. I heard my uncle was there and panicked. I forgot you were still in the room. I’m coming back.”

Vance, irritated by the interruption, leaned close enough for his voice to carry through the phone.

“Hang up.”

In her car, Delaney went silent.

A low male voice had spoken near Ainsley, and something about it sounded strangely familiar.

Before Delaney could investigate, the call ended.

She stared at the screen, then received another call from the Sterling estate.

“Miss Delaney,” her grandfather’s butler said, “where are you? Mr. Vance called to ask whether you had returned home. What should I tell him?”

The mention of Vance erased Delaney’s concern about Ainsley.

“Tell him I’m in the shower. I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

In the penthouse, Vance placed Ainsley’s phone on a nearby table.

He looked down at her flushed face and unfocused eyes.

“Are you sure?”

Ainsley, lost in alcohol and sensation, answered by pulling him closer.

The night disappeared completely after that.

When Vance eventually carried her toward the bathroom, he noticed the private hot tub on the terrace.

“Perhaps next time,” he murmured when he realized she had already fallen asleep.

The following morning, Ainsley woke with the sensation that she had spent the night using a brick as a pillow.

Her neck ached.

Then she opened her eyes and discovered the “brick” was a solid, sculpted pectoral muscle.

Her gaze moved upward.

An Adam’s apple. Faint bite marks. A familiar jawline.

Then Vance Sterling’s face.

Ainsley nearly stopped breathing.

How could one person be foolish enough to fall into the same trap twice?

She inhaled carefully and attempted to slide away.

Vance appeared deeply asleep. Encouraged, she continued inching toward the edge of the bed.

Just as she believed she was free, a heavy arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her back.

Her head landed against his chest.

“It’s early,” he murmured in a rough morning voice. “Go back to sleep.”

Heat radiated from his skin against her cheek.

Ainsley’s face burned.

“Mr. Sterling.”

She struggled weakly.

Vance opened his eyes and studied her.

“Didn’t get enough sleep?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

Mortification flooded her as pieces of the previous night returned in brief flashes.

“I’m sorry.”

“It was mutual. You don’t need to apologize.”

Vance seemed to be in an unusually good mood.

Ainsley believed he was releasing her from responsibility again and mentally sighed in relief.

Then he continued.

“Besides, we’re engaged now. If you need something from me, it is my responsibility to provide it.”

Ainsley nearly choked.

“Engaged?”

“You agreed to marry me last night. That was the condition under which I allowed the evening to continue.”

“What?”

Ainsley had been far too intoxicated to remember agreeing to anything.

She wanted to deny it, but Vance’s dark, unwavering stare made her feel as though retreat would trigger a corporate war.

“Right,” she said, forcing a smile.

Vance sat up.

The blanket shifted, revealing his muscular torso and several angry scratches across his shoulders. Two marks near his collarbone appeared almost deep enough to have drawn blood.

Ainsley looked away, horrified.

How reckless had she been?

Why could she remember almost none of it?

Vance pulled on the black shirt she had damaged the night before and tossed her cashmere sweater across the bed.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“Where?”

He buttoned his shirt.

“City Hall. We will obtain the marriage license.”

Ainsley stared.

“It’s Saturday. City Hall is closed. We should choose another day.”

Vance frowned, lifted his phone, and made a brief call.

Three seconds later, he ended it.

“Handled. A clerk will meet us.”

Ainsley was stunned by the efficiency of billionaire privilege.

She searched desperately for another excuse.

“Shouldn’t you shower first?”

“I showered this morning after we finished.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You’re clean as well. Get dressed.”

Ainsley swallowed her next excuse.

How did he predict every escape route?

“Actually, I’m sore. Could you go to the pharmacy and buy pain medicine first?”

Vance’s expression changed immediately.

He reached toward the blanket.

“Let me see.”

“No.”

Ainsley pulled back.

“It’s only soreness. Ibuprofen will help.”

“I’ll ask Callum to buy it.”

“That would be humiliating. Could you please go yourself?”

Fearing he would refuse, Ainsley took his arm and used the sweetest voice she could manage.

“Please, Vance.”

Her naturally soft voice was rough from sleep. The sound triggered a memory in him, and his gaze dropped briefly to her lips.

He leaned down and kissed her.

Ainsley’s eyes widened.

Was he trying to begin another round of chaos?

Vance drew back after several seconds and looked at her carefully.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

The intensity in his eyes frightened her.

“I’m truly hurting,” she said. “We can’t.”

His restraint returned.

He released her and touched her hair instead. The dark strands were soft and curled slightly at the ends.

“Fine. I’ll go to the pharmacy. Stay here.”

Ainsley nodded obediently.

“Okay.”

Vance collected his keys and left.

The moment the door closed, Ainsley leaped out of bed, dressed at record speed, grabbed her purse, and ran for the elevator.

Wait for him?

She might behave foolishly when drunk, but she was not completely irrational. If she married Vance Sterling, he would control every aspect of her life. She would probably end up grounded, financially frozen, or exiled to North Dakota like Delaney.

She was not merely leaving the building.

She ordered a car to take her to the opposite side of Manhattan.

Halfway to the pharmacy, Vance received a call from the Obsidian Club’s manager.

“Mr. Sterling, the woman in your suite ordered a car and left. We attempted to delay her but were unsuccessful.”

Vance pulled to the side of the road.

He opened his phone, intending to call Ainsley, when a barrage of messages appeared.

I’M SO SORRY.

Twenty different emojis followed: crying dogs, bowing cats, and animals begging for forgiveness.

Then came a longer message.

Mr. Sterling, I am deeply sorry. I was blackout drunk and don’t remember agreeing to marry you. Could we handle this as we did the last time? I will compensate you. Can we agree it was an accident? Please.

Vance’s eye twitched.

He typed one question.

Where are you?



In the back of her car, Ainsley nearly threw the phone through the window.

He wanted her location.

He was going to hunt her down.

Shivering, she responded.

I promise I will compensate you. This time, the compensation will satisfy you.

She attached an image of a cat groveling on the floor.

Even through the screen, Vance could sense her absolute terror.

He frowned.

She had called him a puritan. She had described him as mean and boring. She looked at him as though he were a flesh-eating demon despite barely knowing him before that week.

His phone vibrated again.

The message was from Delaney.

Good morning, Uncle Vance. The butler mentioned you did not return home last night. Funny coincidence: I’m eating breakfast with Grandpa, and he’s asking where you are. What should I tell him?

The Sterling family maintained a strict rule requiring everyone staying at the main estate to report their whereabouts.

The rule had not begun as an instrument of control. Years earlier, Vance had been kidnapped. His family believed he was sleeping at a friend’s home and did not discover he was missing until the following day, nearly ruining the rescue.

Since then, the rule had been absolute.

Delaney sent another emoji—a cat rubbing its paws together.

She was attempting to extort him. If he rewarded her, she would provide an alibi.

Vance narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, he understood why Ainsley feared him.

At the Sterling estate, Delaney sat at breakfast feeling pleased with herself when her phone rang.

UNCLE VANCE.

She nearly fell from the chair.

She attempted to decline the call and accidentally accepted it.

“Delaney.”

His voice was cold enough to freeze the table.

“Have you been telling people that I am a mean, puritanical demon?”

Her heart stopped.

Which traitor had exposed her?

Deny everything, she told herself.

“Lying will make the situation worse,” Vance said.

“No, Uncle Vance. I confess.”

Delaney produced an immediate fake sob.

“I called you puritanical, but I never called you a demon. Someone is twisting my words to divide our family.”

She lowered her voice.

“How about an agreement? I won’t tell Grandpa you stayed out, and you allow me to remain alive. From now on, I’ll say only positive things about you.”

Vance was about to refuse.

Then he remembered how important Delaney was to Ainsley. Ainsley trusted this foolish girl completely and treated her opinions as unquestionable truth.

“I will give you one opportunity,” he said. “For the next one hundred days, you will speak positively about me in front of your friends. You will also submit a written report describing what you said.”

“A written report?”

Delaney thought she had misheard him.

“What kind of punishment is that?”

“Would you prefer that I come home so we can discuss it face-to-face?”

“No.”

She forced a laugh.

“I accept the assignment, sir.”

She ended the call and stared miserably at the phone.

Who had betrayed her?

In the car, Ainsley sneezed.

“Is someone talking about me?”

Probably Vance. He was undoubtedly furious.

Another message appeared, this time from the owner of a gallery where Ainsley displayed her paintings.

Ainsley, I saw your request. Are you certain you want to give The Voyage away? It is the most valuable painting you have here. This seems impulsive.

Ainsley bit her lip.

Only a few seconds passed before she answered.

I’m certain. Please have it reframed and delivered.

The gallery owner asked for the recipient’s address.

Ainsley realized she did not know where Vance lived. She reluctantly sent him a message asking where the painting should be delivered.

His response came immediately.

Send it to the office.

Ainsley stared at the words.

It was Saturday.

Before she could ask why he would be at Sterling Enterprises, Margot sent a message to the department group chat.

MANDATORY OVERTIME TODAY. FULL C-SUITE ATTENDANCE REQUIRED.

Ainsley had been preparing an excuse to avoid Vance.

Then Margot added another message.

OVERTIME WILL BE PAID AT TEN TIMES THE STANDARD HOURLY RATE. EVERY EMPLOYEE WILL ALSO RECEIVE ONE ADDITIONAL PTO DAY.

Ainsley leaned toward the driver.

“Change of plans. Take me to Sterling Enterprises.”

Ten times normal pay was an extraordinary incentive for an office employee. One day of work could equal almost two weeks of salary.

So what if she had slept with the interim CEO twice?

Personal disaster should not interfere with professional income.

Dozens of employees would be present. Vance would never do anything unpredictable in broad daylight.

The prospect of the payment cleared the darkness from her mood.

By the time Ainsley reached her cubicle, most of the department had arrived. Weekend overtime was normally despised, but today the office buzzed with energy.

Margot walked toward her.

“Ainsley, go to the CEO’s office and take him a coffee.”

Ainsley stopped breathing.

“Me?”

“The CEO heard you make the best coffee in the department. He requested you personally.”

Margot patted her shoulder and lowered her voice.

“This is an excellent opportunity to gain face time with the new leader. Don’t waste it.”

Ainsley produced a strange smile.

Face time?

Vance was already intimately familiar with her face.

Nevertheless, she was still an employee and could not openly refuse. She went to the break room and prepared an espresso.

As she approached the double doors of the CEO’s office, her courage failed.

Margot passed nearby carrying a stack of folders. Ainsley caught her arm.

“My stomach is hurting. I need to go to the restroom. Could you take this inside? I’ll buy your afternoon coffee for a week.”

Margot noticed that she genuinely looked pale and agreed.

Ainsley thanked her repeatedly and fled.

Margot entered the office carrying the espresso.

Vance was reviewing a contract. When he saw Margot instead of Ainsley, his brow shifted slightly.

“Your coffee, sir.”

He did not respond immediately.

His hand moved to his collar, fastening the top button to conceal the skin beneath it.

Margot placed the cup on the desk.

“Is Ainsley particularly busy?” Vance asked. “She did not have time to deliver a coffee?”

Margot’s heartbeat stumbled.

“She prepared it, sir, but she is feeling unwell. I offered to bring it.”

Something changed in Vance’s eyes.

He took a sip.

“Understood. You may leave.”

His tone remained indifferent, but Margot had spent years reading powerful executives. The new CEO’s mood had deteriorated the instant he learned Ainsley was unwell.

As she turned, Margot glanced at him more carefully.

He looked immaculate and severe, radiating an unmistakable warning against unnecessary conversation.

Then she noticed something.

A faint bite mark rested near his Adam’s apple, barely concealed by the collar.

When he reached for a pen, his cuff shifted, revealing several distinct scratches along his forearm.

More suspiciously, he wore the same charcoal suit he had worn the previous day.

That completely contradicted his famously meticulous habits.

Did the CEO have a secret girlfriend?

Ainsley remained in the restroom for fifteen minutes. After estimating that Margot had left the office, she returned quietly to her desk.

As she sat down, she heard Margot whispering excitedly with several executive assistants.

Curiosity overcame caution.

Ainsley leaned closer.

“Who delivered reports to the CEO today?” Margot asked. “Did anyone else notice the mark on his neck?”

Margot was usually the embodiment of professionalism, but the discovery was too explosive to ignore.

“I saw it,” one assistant whispered. “Near his collarbone. I thought I imagined it when I delivered the quarterly reports. Do you think he has a woman hidden somewhere?”

“No,” another replied. “He’s famous for being practically celibate. At a gala, an executive once tried to use a female assistant as a honey trap. She touched his sleeve, and he discarded the entire jacket before blacklisting their company.”

“But he’s also a germaphobe,” Margot said. “He never wears the same suit twice in one week, much less on consecutive days. Yet he’s wearing yesterday’s clothes. Doesn’t that suggest he never went home?”

Ainsley could no longer listen.

She returned to her chair and pretended to type with great concentration.

Her palms were damp.

Were these women corporate employees or federal profilers? If they continued analyzing evidence, they would identify her before lunch.

“What are we gossiping about? Let me hear.”

A head appeared in the middle of the group.

Ainsley looked up, and her soul nearly left her body.

Delaney.

If Delaney heard the evidence, she would connect everything. She knew Ainsley had spent the night with a man. She knew about the supposed escort. She also knew Vance had remained away from the estate.

“Delaney!”

Ainsley shot out of her chair and grabbed her arm.

Delaney stared at her.

“Why are you shouting?”

Margot and the assistants instantly stopped speaking. The Sterling heiress had appeared without warning. If she reported them for discussing her uncle’s private life, every person in the group might be unemployed by evening.

Ainsley forced a bright smile.

“I didn’t sleep well. I’m exhausted. Come to the break room with me. I need iced coffee.”

Delaney looked back at the silent group.

“Wait. I want to hear the gossip.”

Before she could resist, Ainsley physically dragged her away.

The assistants collectively exhaled and sent Ainsley grateful messages in their private Slack channel for saving their lives. Having learned their lesson, they returned to work.

In the break room, Delaney leaned against the counter looking miserable.

“My uncle is a psychopath. He called me at dawn, interrogated me about damaging his reputation, and ordered me to write a daily report praising him. All because some traitor exposed me.”

She sighed dramatically.

“You’re the only person I can trust. I know you would never betray me.”

Ainsley wanted to swear loyalty.

Instead, she remembered drunkenly calling Vance boring while tearing buttons from his shirt.

Guilt pounded through her chest.

“Are you free tomorrow?” she asked. “Let’s get Korean barbecue. My treat.”

Delaney stared.

“I’m describing psychological trauma. Why did you suddenly change the subject to barbecue?”

Ainsley tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You said you were miserable. I thought comfort food might help. Do you not want to go?”

“I’m going.”

Touched, Delaney threw her arms around Ainsley.

“You are the best friend in the world.”

Then she stopped.

She sniffed the air and pulled away.

“Ains, why do you smell like my uncle?”

Ainsley became rigid.

“What?”

Delaney laughed.

“That sounded wrong. I mean you smell like his cologne. Tom Ford Oud Wood. It’s exactly what he wears.”

Ainsley nearly suffered a heart attack.

Delaney crossed her arms.

“I’m so traumatized by that man that the scent makes me anxious. Let me spray perfume on you.”

“Okay.”

Ainsley gave a dry laugh.

Then Delaney’s eyes widened.

“Wait. Did the scent come from the escort you saw last night? The gigolo industry must pay extremely well if he wears Tom Ford.”

Ainsley’s heart performed acrobatics.

She pressed one finger to her lips.

“We’re at the office. Stop discussing that.”

“If anyone heard us, I would die.”

Delaney looked into the hallway.

“No one is there. Tell me what happened. I was gone for only half an hour. Was the man attractive? Did he sweep you off your feet?”

Ainsley rubbed her temples.

“He isn’t just some random man.”

Delaney gasped.

“Don’t tell me you returned to Julian.”

“No. I’m not a dog. I don’t eat my own vomit.”

Delaney relaxed.

“Thank God. I was about to check you for brain damage. Who was it?”

Ainsley knew her best friend would never abandon the interrogation.

She chose the most desperate lie available.

“It was the same escort from the other night. I met him again and hired him a second time.”

Delaney stared at her in profound disappointment.

“Ainsley, I praised you thirty seconds ago. You told me the first experience was terrible, and then you paid to repeat it. Did Julian break your heart so badly that he damaged your brain?”

She tapped Ainsley sharply on the forehead.

Before Ainsley could protest, a voice sounded outside the break room.

“Mr. Sterling.”

Only one Mr. Sterling was in the building that day.

Both women turned pale and looked toward the doorway.

Vance stood there in silence.

His expression was cold and unreadable. His deep eyes were fixed entirely on them.

“Uncle Vance.”

Delaney’s knees weakened.

She backed toward the hallway and forced a terrified smile.

“I only came to get water. I’m returning to work now.”

Without waiting for permission, she flattened herself against the wall and slipped from the room, abandoning Ainsley completely.

Vance’s gaze never moved.

Ainsley’s scalp prickled.

“Mr. Sterling, I also have work. I should leave.”

He said nothing.

When she tried to pass him, his hand closed around her arm.

Ainsley panicked at the thought of a coworker entering and seeing the CEO touching her.

“We are at work,” she whispered urgently. “Can we discuss this privately later?”

A storm of emotion moved behind Vance’s eyes.

His grip did not loosen.

“No. We will discuss it now.”

“But—”

The clicking of several pairs of heels echoed down the hallway.

Panic seized Ainsley.

Acting entirely on instinct, she caught Vance’s sleeve, opened the door to the neighboring supply closet, and dragged the billionaire CEO inside with her.