Her mind reeled, her vision narrowing as reality slammed into her. Fake. She staggered back from the counter, her hands shaking. The man she loved—the man she thought she knew—had lied about everything.
Everything.
Her misery didn’t end there. The debt collectors came next, knocking on her door, voices harsh and demanding. They didn’t want explanations; they wanted the money Harry had borrowed in her name—the money he’d used to open the bakery they’d talked about for months.
She had signed the papers, smiling and trusting, never reading the fine print. How could I have been so blind? Now, her signature was the noose tightening around her neck.
The bakery—her dream—was gone, as was her money. And with the debt collectors hounding her every step, she was drowning in a sea of bills and threats. The stress was suffocating, an endless loop of unpaid debts and broken promises.
Within a month, the landlord finally lost patience. Two months of overdue rent had piled up, and despite her desperate promises, he kicked her out. She had begged for more time, but the answer had been a cold, final no.
Now, Sarah found herself standing on the street, her belongings in a couple of battered bags, staring at the front door of the place she had once cherished. The rain started falling, a cold drizzle soaking her through as she stood there, helpless.
Nowhere to go.
She looked at the gray sky above, the city streets suddenly foreign, as if she no longer belonged here. Everything had been stripped away. Harry was gone, and with him, the life she had built.
Sarah found herself stood at Maria’s door, drenched from the rain, her heart heavier than her sodden clothes. When her high school friend opened the door, the sight of Sarah, bedraggled and hollow-eyed, said more than words ever could.
Maria, always kind and understanding, welcomed her without hesitation. At 26, she had long black hair that cascaded in perfect waves, and a small butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder—a mark of rebellion from their teenage years that added a touch of mystery. She was undeniably striking.
Over the days that followed, Sarah tried to pick up the pieces, but it was like trying to rebuild a shattered mirror. Every shard cut her anew. Maria did her best—cooked for her, kept her company—but nothing could fully ease the ache of betrayal, the heavy weight of loss.
Some nights, Sarah would lie awake, wondering if Harry ever loved her at all, or if she had just been another casualty in his reckless, selfish game.
And yet, as much as the anger burned, there was still a part of her that remembered the man who had once held her with such tenderness, the man who promised her the world.
But now, that man was nothing more than a ghost, and Sarah was left to find her way through the wreckage he’d left behind.
“What am I going to do, Maria?” Sarah’s voice trembled with desperation as she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands fidgeting in her lap.
Maria, applying makeup at the vanity, glanced at her through the mirror. “It’s been three months, Sarah, and you still haven’t found a job. Why don’t you just give in and join me? The money’s good.”
Sarah flinched, her face tightening at the thought. “I can’t do that,” she muttered, shaking her head. The very idea made her stomach churn.
Maria shrugged, continuing to line her eyes with steady precision. “I thought it was impossible too, at first. But look at me now—I’m the most in-demand girl there. You don’t have to do anything crazy, just serve drinks.”
With her savings gone and bills piling up, Sarah had no choice. The club wasn’t where she imagined her life would lead, but she needed the money.
The dim lights of the club flickered as Sarah pushed through the crowd, her breath catching in her throat. The low, pulsing beat of the music seemed to sync with her racing heart. She tugged at the hem of her short skirt, feeling the unfamiliar fabric ride higher with each step. Her backless top clung to her, exposing more skin than she ever imagined showing in public. Every step forward felt like a betrayal of her former self, but she couldn’t afford to turn back. Not now.
The air was thick with smoke and sweat, the scent of cologne mingling with spilled liquor. She felt eyes on her, every gaze making her question her decision to come here. But she needed this—needed the money, needed to survive.
As she approached a corner booth, a voice cut through the haze.
"Hey, hottie!" The slurred words carried over the pounding bass.
Sarah’s head snapped toward the source. A man lounged at the table, his grin wide and lecherous, like a wolf sizing up its next meal. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, gold chains glinting in the dim light. His eyes roamed over her with an unsettling hunger.
She swallowed hard, her grip tightening around the tray. The weight of the club pressed in around her, but she forced herself to take another step. She had no other choice.
"One more drink," the man said, leaning back in his chair, watching her with that same predatory smile.
Sarah’s hands trembled as she placed the drink on the table, hoping to retreat before anything else could happen. But as she turned to leave, she felt a sudden, firm grip on her wrist. Panic surged through her veins as he yanked her down onto his lap.
Her breath hitched, the smell of whiskey overpowering her senses as his arm snaked around her waist. His grip was rough, possessive. She struggled, trying to pull away, but he only held her tighter, his hand inching down toward her thigh.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, her voice trembling, barely audible over the music. Fear clawed at her chest, tightening its grip. She had never been this close to danger before, and the reality of it sent her spiraling.
"Name your price," he slurred, his breath hot against her ear, his fingers digging into her skin. "Everything’s got a price, sweetheart."
Revulsion churned in her stomach. She twisted in his grip, trying to break free, but his laughter only grew louder, more mocking.
“Let me go!” Her voice cracked as she struggled harder, her pulse racing with terror. Adrenaline surged through her, giving her the strength to shove him away. She stumbled to her feet, her legs shaking beneath her.
The man scowled, his hand darting out to grab her again, but she dodged him, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. She didn’t care about the tray she dropped or the drinks that spilled to the floor. All she knew was that she had to get out of there.
Sarah had thought she was strong enough for this, that she could handle whatever the night threw at her. But in that moment, with her heart still racing and her skin crawling, she realized just how far she had fallen. How desperate she had become.
The music pounded in Sarah's ears, amplifying her panic as she tried to escape the suffocating club atmosphere. She’d never felt so exposed, so desperate to leave. In her rush, she collided with someone, her heart sinking as a drink spilled across the man's pristine shirt.
“Sorry!” she gasped, barely able to keep her voice steady as she attempted to flee. But before she could get away, a firm hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
The man she’d bumped into was tall, towering over her with broad shoulders that filled out his crisp white shirt, now damp with the spilled drink. His sharp features and the sharp angles of his jawline made him undeniably handsome, but his cold, penetrating gaze sent a chill down her spine.
Nathan Gray. The son of a billionaire. A man who was known for never tolerating mistakes.
His gaze bore into hers, and for a moment, she felt exposed—tiny, powerless, and utterly at his mercy.
and then Add to home screen.