Chapter 7: Serena — name your price. Stay tonight
Serena's POV
The leering looks and crude smirks had disappeared. Apparently these trust-fund kids weren't stupid after all.
They knew exactly how much this kind of thing was worth in their world — insider intelligence, the right connections, the unspoken tastes and private obsessions of old-money families. What I was selling was a master key: how to handle their parents, secure resources, and walk away with more money than they started with.
"Ten thousand — I'll bid ten thousand!" Jason was the first to raise his paddle, his voice trembling with excitement.
"Twenty! Serena, I need in on that rowing club!" Markus followed right behind him.
"Thirty!"
"Fifty!"
The numbers rocketed upward. The very people who had shown up tonight to watch me fall were now red-faced and frantic, outbidding each other for access to what lived inside my head.
From the stage, I caught Chloe's expression in the corner of my eye. Her face had gone tight.
In the front row, Tristan's practiced arrogance had started to crack. He shoved to his feet, slammed his glass down on the table, and raised his paddle through clenched teeth.
"One hundred thousand."
The room went completely silent.
A hundred thousand dollars for one hour. That had long since stopped being a consulting fee. Clearly Tristan had decided that buying back his wounded pride was worth the price.
The auctioneer's voice pitched high with excitement: "One hundred thousand! Mr. Sterling bids one hundred thousand dollars! Any advances? Going once — going twice — going three times — sold!"
The gavel dropped.
I looked at Tristan's dark, rigid face and let myself smile.
One hundred thousand dollars. After the thirty percent commission, I was walking away with thirty thousand tonight.
I stepped down from the stage and crossed to where he stood. He watched me approach, something dangerous shifting behind his eyes.
"A hundred thousand dollars, Serena. You'd better make sure I feel like I got my money's worth tonight."
"Of course, Mr. Sterling."
I smiled and glanced at my watch.
"The clock starts now. You have one hour."
……
The private room on the second floor was excellently soundproofed. The moment the door swung shut, the noise from the ballroom below was cut off completely.
The lighting was dim. Tristan poured himself a whiskey and swirled the glass.
"A hundred thousand dollars." He let the words hang in the air. "Serena, a single birthday party at the Kincaid estate used to run you more than that. And now you're showing up to a place like this for pocket change?"
I stood in the center of the carpet. "Mr. Sterling, if you spent a hundred thousand dollars just to reminisce with me, your time is costing you a great deal more than it's worth."
Tristan let out a cold laugh.
He set down his glass, reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket, and pulled out a thick stack of cash.
Smack.
He threw it at my feet. The bills scattered across the carpet.
"Pick it up." His eyes locked onto mine, voice soaked in contempt. "You need money, don't you? Get on your knees and pick it up, bill by bill. Let me watch the great Kincaid princess crawl on the floor and beg for cash like a dog."
I glanced down at the scattered notes.
Then I bent at the knee — one leg lowering gracefully to the floor — and gathered each bill with unhurried composure, straightened the stack, folded it neatly, and slipped it into my clutch.
I stood and gave him a pleasant smile. "Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Sterling."
Tristan moved without warning. He crossed the room, grabbed my wrist, and shoved me hard against the wall.
"Who do you think you're performing for?" His jaw was tight, his breathing already coming faster — anger mixed with something rawer that he clearly didn't want to name.
He reached into his pocket again and produced another thick stack of bills. This time he didn't throw them on the floor.
His gaze dropped to the neckline of my black slip dress, eyes burning.
"If you're here to sell yourself, at least look the part."
He gripped the cash in one fist and forced it roughly down the front of my dress, his knuckles dragging hard across my breast as he shoved the bills inside.
I could feel his hand trembling faintly. Whether it was rage or pure desire, I couldn't say — maybe both.
He pressed close to my ear, voice dropping to a rough rasp. "Is there a price that makes you do anything? If I stuffed this money inside your panties right now, would you smile and thank me for that too?"
He thought that would break me.
I didn't push him away. I tilted my head back, met his reddened eyes directly, and rested one hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Tristan." I said his name softly. "You're welcome to find out."
That sentence burned through what was left of his self-control.
He grabbed my waist with one hand and forced the other beneath the hem of my skirt, pushing it up along my inner thigh. His rough fingertips grazed the sensitive skin there, and a shiver moved through me.
He found the edge of my underwear and didn't hesitate — he pushed the stack of bills inside. His hand was scorching hot, and his knuckles pressed unavoidably against the most sensitive part of me as he worked the cash in.
"Mmh…" A soft, low sound escaped my throat, and my body went pliant against him.
Tristan went completely still. The hand still tucked inside my underwear froze — he couldn't seem to find the will to pull it back out.
He stared at me, his throat working as he swallowed, his eyes dark with a hunger that looked like it wanted to devour me whole.
"Thank you for your generosity… Tristan."
He tensed again. My fingers trailed from his shoulder up to his collar and straightened his slightly crooked tie.
"Do you know why the old-money families on the East Coast have always quietly looked down on the Sterlings?"
I stayed pressed against his chest. "Because your family wears its wealth like a billboard. You can't stop announcing it."
The grip on my wrist tightened sharply.
I gave no sign that it hurt. I pressed one fingertip lightly to the center of his chest. "You paid a hundred thousand dollars for me tonight, and then you stuffed cash into my clothes. You want to prove you're the one in control here — the man on top. But Tristan—"
I held his gaze and let the amusement show at the corner of my mouth.
"You don't look anything like a man who's in control. You look like a boy who stole his father's credit card and is desperately trying to prove he's a man in front of a pretty woman. A pathetic, desperate little boy."
"Shut your goddamn mouth—"
He snapped. His head dropped toward mine, lips aimed hard at my mouth.
BANG.
A fraction of a second before he reached me, the door took a single brutal kick from outside. The impact shuddered through the room and stopped Tristan cold.
"Get out of my way — let me in!"
Asher's voice, raw with fury, came through the door. Immediately after came the sounds of a physical struggle in the hallway — bodies colliding, something hitting the wall.
Tristan turned toward the door, grinding his teeth. "What the hell is Asher's problem…"
At the same moment, my phone lit up on the side table. In the dim room, the screen was almost blinding.
A new message.
Sender: Julian.
"Get out of that room. Now."
Tristan had seen it too. He turned back to me, expression sharpening. "Looks like the Kincaid heir keeps you on a very short leash."
I reached over and flipped the phone face-down on the table.
"Mr. Sterling." I met his eyes. "You only have one hour. Please don't waste the time you've already paid for."
I raised my wrist and checked my watch.
His stare fixed on my mouth. "I'll pay more." His voice came out unsteady. "Serena — name your price. Stay tonight."
