Chapter 3

Valentina was talking fast, her hands moving as she spoke. Tyler was listening, his helmet still tucked under his arm, his hair still damp from practice.

She reached into her purse and pulled out something small. An envelope, maybe. Or cash.

Tyler took it without hesitation.

When Valentina stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, he didn't pull away.

I got in my beat-up Honda and started the engine, my hands steady on the wheel. So that's how it was going to be. Valentina thought she could buy Tyler Brooks and use him to destroy me.

Fine.

I could work with that.

And I did. For months.

Tyler picked me up that first Friday night in his BMW, wearing a button-down shirt that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget. He took me to some upscale Italian place where the waiters knew his name and the bread came with actual olive oil for dipping.

"You seem nervous," he said, reaching across the table to touch my hand.

I was. But not for the reasons he thought.

"I've never been somewhere this fancy," I admitted, which was true.

"Well, get used to it." His smile was warm, genuine. "I like spoiling you."

And he did. Over the next few weeks, Tyler Brooks became my personal tour guide to a world I'd only seen in movies. Designer stores where the sales associates brought you champagne while you shopped. Spas where they painted your nails and massaged your shoulders. Restaurants where dinner for two cost more than I made in a week at the diner.

I should have felt guilty about it. Should have hated myself for enjoying Valentina's blood money.

Instead, I posted pictures on Instagram of Tyler and me at some rooftop bar, his arm around my waist, both of us laughing at something he'd just whispered in my ear.

The comments were exactly what I'd expected.

"OMG you two are so cute!"

"Relationship goals!"

"Ashley's so lucky!"

Yeah. Lucky.

By October, Tyler was picking me up from school every day. By November, I was spending more time at his house than my foster home. Not that my foster parents minded—one less mouth to worry about, one less kid underfoot.

Tyler's parents were never around anyway. Business trips, charity galas, weekend getaways to the Hamptons. The Brooks mansion was ours most of the time, and Tyler seemed to like having me there.

"You make the place feel less empty," he said one afternoon, pulling me down onto the couch beside him.

I was working on calculus homework, but Tyler had other ideas. His hands found the hem of my sweater, and suddenly math was the last thing on my mind.

"Tyler," I said, but my voice came out breathless.

"What?" He was kissing my neck now, and my brain was starting to short-circuit.

"I have to finish this."

"No, you don't." His lips moved up to my ear. "You're too smart for your own good anyway."

I should have pushed him away. Should have insisted on finishing my homework. Should have maintained the discipline that had gotten me the scholarship in the first place.

Instead, I let him pull the calculus book out of my hands and toss it onto the coffee table.

Because Tyler Brooks kissing me felt better than any grade ever could.

The turning point came in December, in Tyler's gaming room. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside his chair, working through SAT practice problems while he played some first-person shooter game. The sound of gunfire and explosions filled the room, but I'd learned to tune it out.

Tyler had been unusually quiet for the past hour, his jaw tight as he stared at the screen. Finally, he yanked off his headset and slammed it down on the desk.

I looked up from my test prep book. "What's wrong?"

He stared at me for a long moment, his blue eyes darker than usual.

"I don't like it when you study while you're with me," he said finally.

I blinked, surprised by the sudden hostility in his voice. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't think it was bothering you."

I started to close the book, but Tyler wasn't done.

"I feel like there's too big a gap between us," he said, his voice getting colder. "I don't like it."

My heart started beating faster. I could sense something shifting in the room, something important.

"So what do you think... would be better?" I asked carefully.

Tyler got up from his chair and knelt down beside me on the floor. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne, see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes.

"Can't you just be an underachiever like me?" he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

The computer screen cast a blue glow across his face, highlighting his cheekbones and making his eyes look almost otherworldly. He looked like something out of a dream, beautiful and dangerous and impossible to resist.

"Ashley," he said, leaning even closer. "Come to my world, and stay with me forever."

I should have laughed. Should have called him out on the dramatic line. Should have recognized it for what it was—Valentina's script, delivered by her very attractive puppet.

Instead, I reached up and touched his face.

"Okay," I whispered.

His smile was brilliant. "Really?"

"Really." I closed the SAT book and tossed it aside. "No more studying when I'm with you."

"Good." Tyler kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of something that might have been relief. "That's all I wanted."

But it wasn't all he wanted. Over the next few months, the requests got bigger. Skip this class to hang out with me. Don't worry about that assignment. Who cares about AP scores anyway?

And I said yes to all of it. Partly because it was part of my plan, but mostly because Tyler made it so easy to say yes.

He bought me clothes that actually fit. Took me to concerts and movies and weekend trips to New York City. Introduced me to his friends like I was something precious, something worth showing off.

For the first time in my life, I felt wanted. Not useful, not convenient, but genuinely wanted.

The best part came in April, when Tyler mentioned his birthday.

"April fifteenth," he said, scrolling through his phone calendar. "Mom wants to throw some huge party, but honestly, I'd rather just spend it with you."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "April fifteenth?"

"Yeah, why?"

"That's my birthday too."