Chapter 2

Elena's POV

I woke to silence and the absence of warmth.

I sat up slowly, feeling the ache between my thighs, the soreness in muscles I hadn't used in months. The physical evidence of last night's transaction. That's what it had been, wasn't it? A transaction.

The bedroom was obscenely beautiful in the morning light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Central Park like a living painting, the autumn trees gold and crimson against the gray Manhattan skyline. I knew what lay beneath the polished surface of New York's promise.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Three missed calls from my mother. Two texts from Jake's public defender.

I ignored them all and opened the message from the bank instead.

Wire transfer received: $10,000,000.00. Ten million dollars.

The signing bonus. It sat in my account like a bomb waiting to detonate, like proof of exactly what I'd become.

I thought about my grandfather then, the way I always did when the weight of my choices became too heavy to carry. Grandpa Vance, who'd taught me to take apart radios when I was six, who'd called me his "little engineer" even when my own parents couldn't be bothered to remember my birthday. He was the only person in my family who'd ever looked at me and seen potential instead of obligation.

Now he was in Greenwood Care Center, his brilliant mind slowly dissolving into fog, and he didn't remember my name anymore. But I remembered his. I remembered everything he'd given me, every story, every lesson, every moment of love in a childhood otherwise starved of it.

That's why I was here. That's why I'd signed Arthur Sterling's contract. Because my grandfather deserved better than to die alone in a state facility where they warehoused dementia patients like broken appliances. And because my family—my blood-sucking, parasitic family—had left me no other choice.

I thought back to three months ago, to the moment everything had started to unravel.

My mother had called me at two in the morning, her voice sharp and accusatory. "Elena, your brother's in trouble. He hit someone with his car. They want eight hundred thousand for bail and another two hundred for lawyers."

"Mom, I don't have that kind of money."

"Don't lie to me. You work for that fancy tech company. You went to MIT."

"I have student loans. I have rent. I have Grandpa's medical bills—"

"Always with the excuses! Your brother is sitting in jail because of you. We raised you, fed you, put a roof over your head. And this is how you repay us?"

I'd wanted to scream that she'd never fed me anything but leftovers, that every dollar had gone to Jake's endless fuckups.

But I didn't. I just said quietly, "I'll see what I can do."

"You better. Because if Jake goes to prison, it'll be on your conscience."

She'd hung up without saying goodbye.

Two weeks after Jake's arrest, I'd received a letter from a law firm I'd never heard of. They were suing me for breach of contract—apparently, my father had forged my signature on documents that made me a co-signer on his failed business venture. The company had gone bankrupt, and now the creditors wanted their money. From me. The amount? Three million dollars.

I still remember how desperate I felt back then, but now I'm standing in the presidential suite with $10 million in my bank account.

I walked to the ensuite bathroom and turned on the shower. I thought about Arthur's hands on my body, the controlled precision of his touch, the way he'd watched me come apart with the same focused intensity he probably brought to board meetings. There had been skill there, certainly. Patience. Even a kind of dark tenderness. But there had been no illusion of intimacy, no pretense that this was anything other than what it was: a contractual obligation being fulfilled.

The kitchen was empty when I emerged, but there was fresh coffee in a French press and a note on the counter in precise handwriting: Marcus will drive you wherever you need to go. —A

I poured myself coffee and stood at the kitchen island, looking out at the view I'd probably never get used to. From up here, you couldn't see the homeless encampments or the overflowing trash cans or the rats. From up here, everything looked clean and manageable and under control. Just like my life was supposed to look now.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was Sarah, my best friend from Columbia.

"Girl, where are you? You never came home last night. Please tell me you're not doing something stupid."

I stared at the message for a long moment. I didn't know how to explain it to myself. How do you tell your best friend that you've sold yourself into a three-year contract with a man you barely know? How do you admit that you've become exactly the kind of woman you always swore you'd never be?

You don't. You just live with it.

I rinsed my mug and set it in the sink, then grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I needed to get out of this place, needed to breathe air that didn't smell like expensive cologne and my own bad choices.

The elevator doors opened just as I reached them.

And there, stepping into the hallway with a leather briefcase and a look of casual entitlement, was Julian Sterling.

He froze when he saw me. I watched the recognition hit him, watched his eyes travel from my face to the silk robe visible beneath my open jacket, to the hickey I hadn't bothered to cover on my neck.