Paid to Leave Him

Everyone knew I was out of my mind in love with Evander. I took the hit for him in that car crash, shattered three of my ribs, and nearly flatlined on the operating table.

When his company was facing bankruptcy, I swallowed every last ounce of my pride.

I dropped to my knees in front of his lead investor, begging until my throat bled, just to buy him a lifeline.

Hell, when his precious childhood best friend was cornered by some drunks, I didn't even hesitate.

I stepped right in front of her, taking three brutal backhands to the jaw so she wouldn't have to feel a thing. Finally, I got exactly what I wanted. I became his wife.

On our wedding night, the mattress dipped. He pinned my wrists to the sheets, leaning his weight over me.

His breath brushed the shell of my ear. "You schemed your way into this marriage," he whispered, his tone dropping to a dangerous, icy low. "But don't get your hopes up.

I will never love you." I looked up, meeting his gaze without a single tremor in my chest.

Slowly, the corners of my mouth curled into a smile. "Funny," I let out a soft, even breath. "I don't love you, either." Chapter 1 Evander narrowed his eyes, a harsh angle pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Maeve, what kind of game are you playing now?" I shoved at his chest, my palms slipping against solid muscle.

It was useless.

His fingers locked onto my jaw, the pressure digging into bone until a sharp ache shot through my skull. "You schemed your way into this marriage, and now you want to play the saint?" A dry scoff vibrated in his chest.

His free hand hooked the silk tie of my nightgown, yanking it open. "I've seen a million women exactly like you, Maeve." He leaned closer, his breath hot against my skin. "Since you're dying to be in my bed, I'll give you exactly what you want." There was zero tenderness in the way he moved.

It was a calculated punishment, heavy and bruising. I kept my eyes pinned to the plaster ceiling, my face blank. It hurt.

My nails dug crescents into my own palms until the knuckles turned white. But compared to those three months bedridden in the hospital, this was barely a scratch.

When it was over, the mattress shifted.

He stood, taking his time pulling the lapels of his bathrobe together and knotting the belt. "Maeve." He leaned down, his thumb and forefinger catching my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. "You got what you wanted.

Satisfied?" I just looked at him, letting the silence stretch between us. When I woke up the next morning, the space beside me was ice cold.

I braced a hand against the mattress and pushed myself up. A dull, throbbing ache flared along my ribs.

I swung my bare feet onto the hardwood floor and headed straight for the bathroom.

The woman staring back at me in the vanity mirror had dark bruises blossoming across her collarbones and a split lower lip. I cranked the faucet.

Freezing water splashed over my face, the sharp sting pulling me awake. The phone buzzed against the marble counter. I grabbed a towel, dried my hands, and flipped the screen.

The caller ID flashed Vivienne. I swiped accept.

Instantly, I smoothed the rough edges out of my voice, dropping into that sweet tone. "Mom." "Maeve, how did last night go?" Vivienne's voice carried a distinct, satisfied hum.

I leaned my hip against the edge of the sink, maintaining eye contact with my own deadpan reflection. "It was… fine." "Good." A slight pause hung on the line before her tone dropped a fraction. "Maeve, remember what you promised me." I lowered my eyelashes.

Like I could ever forget. A year ago, my father's company hit a massive cash flow crisis and nosedived straight toward Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

I spent weeks dragging myself across Manhattan, pitching to thirtyseven different venture capitalists. Not a single one of them threw us a life preserver.

Finally, I planted my feet outside the wroughtiron gates of Evander's family estate and stood there in the freezing wind for four solid hours. Vivienne finally let me in.

She sat composed on a vintage velvet sofa, taking slow, deliberate sips of her Earl Grey tea.

She let me finish my desperate speech before she set the bonechina cup onto its saucer and met my eyes. "Five million dollars is not small change." "I'll sign whatever terms you want," I told her.

Her gaze swept over me, taking my measure for a long, heavy minute. Then, a sharp smile cut across her face. "I can wire the funds.

But you are going to do something for me in return." "I don't like Brooke," Vivienne stated, her voice as flat and unyielding as concrete. "Evander keeps her too close, and as his mother, there's only so much I can do to intervene.

But if Evander gets married, Brooke will finally get the hint and back off." It clicked instantly. "You marry into this family," Vivienne ordered, "and you kill any hope Brooke has left." Chapter 2 She paused. "As a deposit, I can wire your father two million right now." I didn't hesitate.

The deal was struck just like that.

Thinking back, the taste of that Earl Grey was still bitter on my tongue. "Mom, I remember," I murmured into the phone, keeping my voice low. "Don't worry." "Good." Vivienne let out a satisfied hum. "Evander went to the office this morning.

Keep an eye on him." I hung up. I stood in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. Five million was enough to keep my father's company breathing. This wasn't about romance.

It wasn't about love. It was a transaction. I married in, I broke him and Brooke apart, and I collected my paycheck. Clean and simple.

At noon, I had the driver drop me off at Evander's corporate headquarters. Reaching the top floor, I pushed open the heavy double doors to the CEO's office. Evander wasn't there.

I set the insulated lunch bag on the glass coffee table and walked over to his desk. The surface was immaculate. A monitor, a pen holder, and a single picture frame.

The frame held a photo. In it, Evander wore a crisp white buttondown. A woman stood next to him.

Long hair draped over her shoulders, a gentle smile on her face—the textbook definition of a highsociety sweetheart. Brooke. I stared at the photo.

Then, I grabbed the frame and slammed it facedown onto the mahogany wood. The office door clicked open just as I turned around.

Evander stood in the doorway, his suit jacket draped over his forearm. His gaze flicked to the overturned frame, then dragged up to my face.

A mocking smirk played on his lips. "Jealous?" I didn't deny it. I just lowered my eyelashes and unzipped the insulated bag. "I brought you soup." Evander didn't say a word.

He walked over, dropping onto the leather sofa, and watched me set out the thermos. "Brooke just opened a studio nearby," he stated out of nowhere.

My hands froze. "I'm heading over there this afternoon to take a look." I looked up at him, the corner of my mouth twitching upward. "Nice trick." The second the words left my mouth, the oxygen sucked out of the room.

Evander narrowed his eyes. The temperature in his stare plummeted to freezing. "What did you just say?" I blinked, keeping my expression innocent. "What did I say?" He stood up.

He closed the distance between us, slow and deliberate. "Maeve." He stared down at me, his voice dropping to a dangerous gravel. "Say that again." I tilted my head up to look at him.

My pulse hammered against my ribs, a spike of adrenaline hitting my veins. "I said," I stood up, leveling my gaze with his chest before looking him straight in the eye, my voice steady. "Is Brooke's studio shortstaffed?

Does the great CEO need to go down there and move desks himself?" Evander's expression flatlined.

His hand snapped out, gripping my wrist like a vice, and he jerked me hard against his chest. "You can be jealous, but keep her name out of your mouth." He dipped his head.

His lips brushed right against the shell of my ear, his breath scorching hot against my skin, but his words cut like ice. "My business with her is none of yours." I didn't struggle.

Instead, I let out a soft laugh. "I'm done talking." I melted the hard edge off my voice, lifting my free hand to rest flat against the solid muscle of his chest. "Just don't go see her, okay?" Evander stared at me for a long time.

The silence stretched so tight I braced for him to shove me away. But he didn't.

He swept me off my feet, hauling me against his chest as he strode straight toward the private break room attached to his office. "Evander—" I patted his shoulder, feigning a breathless panic. "We're at the office…" "Shut up." Chapter 3 He pitched me onto the mattress, his solid weight caging me in as his hand hooked the knot of his tie, tearing it loose. "Didn't you tell me not to go?" He dipped his head, the heat of his breath washing over my skin before his teeth caught my earlobe.

His voice was a harsh, ragged scrape. "Then you keep me company." He moved with a heavy, punishing rhythm.

It was as if he was tearing through my defenses to extract physical payment for every word of defiance I'd just spit at him.

I clamped my teeth into my lower lip, swallowing every sound while my nails dug whiteknuckled crescents into the hard muscles of his back.

He stared down at me, the muscles in his jaw ticking, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed his irises. "Maeve." His fingers locked into the soft dip of my waist. "What exactly do you want?" I tilted my chin up, forcing my lips to curve. "To love you, obviously." A dark, unreadable shift tightened his features.

The plaster ceiling spun above me, blurring into abstract shapes until I squeezed my eyes shut. To love you? No. To keep you the hell away from Brooke.

To finish this godforsaken transaction with your mother so I could resurrect my father's bleeding company. And then, finally, to walk away from you forever.

When it was over, Evander's phone buzzed against the nightstand. He swiped it up. The muscle in his jaw jumped the second his eyes hit the caller ID. Brooke.

He shot me a single, clipped glance before turning his back and walking out of the room.

I lay still in the wrecked sheets, tracking the muffled cadence of his voice through the heavy mahogany door.

The raw, gravelly edge from five minutes ago was gone, replaced by a smooth, low warmth. "Yeah… I'm not going to make it today.

Something came up." I pushed myself up from the mattress and began dragging my clothes back on, piece by piece.

I walked into the adjoining bathroom, braced my hands on the marble vanity, and methodically combed the knots out of my hair.

I buttoned my silk blouse all the way to the collarbone, locking every bruise and ounce of humiliation out of sight.

I grabbed my phone and tapped out a text to Vivienne. [ Phase one done. He isn't seeing Brooke today. ] Three seconds later, the screen lit up. [ Good.

The rest of the wire transfers next week. ] I killed the screen and walked out of the suite. The main office was empty.

The soup thermos sat deadcenter on the glass coffee table, untouched.

I walked over, dumped the contents straight into the trash can, and carried the empty bag out of the corporate headquarters. The afternoon sun hit the pavement in a blinding glare.

I stood at the top of the concrete steps and pulled a long, even breath into my lungs.

When Brooke showed up, I was sitting on the living room sofa, nursing a cup of Earl Grey. "Maeve." She called me by my first name. Not Mrs. Evander. Not his wife.

I set the porcelain cup down on its saucer and looked up. "Can I help you?" She didn't bother sitting.

She just stood over me, looking down her nose like I was dirt tracked in on the rug. "I came to give you a reality check." She paused, her voice sicklysweet, playing the part of the concerned friend perfectly. "Evander only married you to get his mother off his back.

You and I both know who actually owns his heart." I picked up my tea and took a slow sip. "And?" Brooke's contoured face hitched.

She obviously hadn't prepped for apathy. "And, if you had any selfrespect, you'd pack your bags and leave.

Stop hogging the title of his wife and making Evander miserable." I met her eyes, a sharp laugh breaking through my throat. "Tell me, Brooke.

What exactly is your job title in this conversation?" The color drained from her face. "Childhood bestie?

Work wife?" I set the teacup down with a sharp clink, letting the silence stretch before I delivered the kill shot. "Or just the pathetic sidepiece who didn't get the ring?" Her face flushed a violent, ugly red.

She lunged. Her arm whipped back, and her palm cracked across my cheek with explosive force. The sharp, stinging echo bounced off the high vaulted ceilings of the living room.

My head snapped to the side. A heavy, metallic pulse of blood bloomed against my tongue.

Chapter 4 Brooke dragged in a ragged breath, her voice trembling. "Who the hell do you think you are? Evander and I have twenty years of history.

You're just—" I snapped my head back to face her. My arm swung. A sharp crack echoed through the room, followed instantly by a second.

I slapped her twice, hard enough to make my own palm sting.

Brooke stumbled backward, her eyes blown wide in shock as her hands flew to her blazing red cheeks. "You… you hit me?" "And?" I stood up, towering over her. "First of all, I am Evander's legal wife.

You barged into my house and laid hands on me. That's trespassing and assault." I took a single step forward. Brooke automatically shrank back. "Second.

You just claimed his mother bought me. If that rumor leaks, do you honestly think the family will let you walk away?" The blood drained from her face.

Heavy footsteps clicked against the entryway tile. Evander strode into the living room. His brow slammed into a hard knot the second he took in the scene.

Brooke spotted him and the tears immediately spilled over. She covered her face, a perfect sob catching in her throat. "Evander…" Evander shot me a look.

His eyes snagged on the red welt across my cheek before sliding over to Brooke's swollen face. "What is going on here?" Brooke choked out a sob. "I just wanted to talk to Maeve, and she… she just attacked me…" I stood rooted to the floor.

I didn't offer a single syllable of defense. Evander stepped up to Brooke, tilting his chin down to inspect her face. He turned back to me, his voice a sheet of ice. "Maeve.

Apologize." I met his stare. "You want me to apologize to her?" "Her injuries are worse than yours." Evander locked eyes with me, biting off every single word. "I am going to say this one more time.

Apologize." I stared at him. Then, a dry, hollow laugh scraped out of my throat. My facial muscles felt stiff.

A tiny, almost imperceptible flinch twitched at the corner of Evander's eye. I didn't give him his apology.

I turned my back and walked straight up the stairs, leaving the sound of Brooke's pathetic whimpering and Evander's low, soothing murmurs fading in the foyer.

I shut the bedroom door and leaned my spine against the heavy wood. My fingertips brushed the throbbing heat of my cheek. It burned. But it was worth every ounce of pain.

Those two slaps would keep Brooke out of my orbit for a while. My phone buzzed against my palm.

A text from my dad. [ Maeve, the approval for the new project is stuck in Evander's company.

Could you put in a good word with him? ] I stared at the glowing screen for a long, heavy minute. My dad had zero clue about the reality of this marriage.

As far as he knew, I married Evander because I was desperately in love with him. What a joke. I typed out a single word. [ Okay. ] At eleven p.m., the front door clicked open.

Evander walked in. The sharp scent of expensive scotch clung to his clothes, and his tie hung loose and unknotted around his collar.

I was sitting on the living room sofa, waiting for him. He spotted me.

He closed the distance and dropped onto the leather armchair across from me. "What is it?" He tipped his head back against the cushion, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice dragging with exhaustion.

I slid the glossy project proposal across the glass coffee table until it bumped against his side. "A project from my dad's company.

The final approval is stuck on your desk." He cracked his eyes open, glancing at the folder before locking onto my face.

Evander tugged at his collar, a harsh scoff ripping from his chest. "You assault Brooke, and now you want me to hand you a project?" "She swung first," I stated, my tone flat. "I didn't see that." His voice was ice.

I dragged in a slow breath, tapping my index finger against the manila folder. "This project is a matter of life and death for my family's company." "And how is that my problem?" Evander popped his silver cufflinks, tossing them onto the table without a second glance.

Chapter 5 I stood up, closing the distance until I was right in his space. I tilted my chin back, forcing him to look me in the eye. "What's the price, Evander?

What do you want for that approval?" He looked down at me, his gaze snagging on the faint red welt blooming on my left cheek.

For a split second, his eyes softened—a flicker of something that looked like hesitation—before his face hardened back into a mask. "Nothing," he said, his voice a flat, dead line.

He stepped around me, heading for the ensuite. "You're not getting it." I stayed rooted to the floor, my fingers curling into tight, whiteknuckled fists.

When he finally emerged from the shower, steam curling off his shoulders, I hadn't moved an inch.

He swiped a towel through his damp hair, catching my reflection in the vanity mirror. "Still want that project?" He sat on the edge of the mattress and tapped the space next to him. "Get over here." I didn't move for a long, heavy beat.

My knuckles throbbed. Then, slowly, I walked over and lay down.

Evander was over me in a heartbeat, his presence a caging weight that squeezed the air from my lungs. "Maeve, do you have any idea what you look like right now?" He dipped his head until his lips were a ghost against the shell of my ear, his breath scorching my skin. "Like a prisoner walking to the gallows." I didn't give him a single word.

He was silent the rest of the night, but his movements were heavy and bruising. It was like he was trying to exorcise a demon, or maybe just confirm that I was actually there.

Every touch was a wordless demand I didn't know how to fulfill. I clamped my teeth into my lip, focusing on the ceiling until it all blurred into grey.

When he finally pulled away, the only sound in the room was his heavy, leveling breath. "I'll have my secretary send the contract to your father tomorrow." I kept my eyes squeezed shut, refusing to respond.

My ribs were beginning to throb with a dull, familiar ache. The next morning, the world was a furnace. My skin felt like it was simmering, my forehead a whitehot coal.

Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. My limbs were lead anchors, heavy and useless, as a violent shiver racked my frame. A fever.

Between the sting of the slap and the bruising weight of the night, my body had finally snapped. Through the fog, I caught fragments of a conversation.

The voices felt like they were coming from miles away. Then, something freezing touched my forehead. A damp cloth. The hands on me were cool and steady.

I caught the faint, grounding scent of cedar and pine. "How the hell did she get this bad?" A low, gravelly voice, tight with a sharp edge of irritation.

I was too far gone to be rational. I reached out, my fingers trembling as they closed around his wrist. I couldn't let him go. "Don't leave…" I whispered. The room went dead silent.

Then, the mattress dipped under a familiar weight. I was pulled into a broad chest, strong arms wrapping around me with surprising care.

A hand began to stroke my hair—a clumsy, unpracticed rhythm, like he was learning a new language on the fly. "I'm not leaving," he murmured, his voice low and vibrating against my ear. "You better get well soon, Maeve.

That's an order." I pressed into his warmth, the fire in my blood still raging, but the panic in my chest finally ebbed.

In the depths of the fever dream, I thought I heard him murmur something else. The words were too soft, swallowed by the hum of the air conditioner.

I only felt the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart against my cheek. I was bedridden for three days. And for those three days, Evander stayed.

When I finally woke up clearheaded, the room was empty. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Vivienne. [ Evander has a dinner tonight.

He won't be home until late. ] I sent back a short text and tossed the phone aside. [ Okay. ] Outside, rain was lashing against the floortoceiling windows in grey, diagonal sheets.

I stood by the glass, watching the droplets race down the pane. The door clicked open. I turned.

Evander was standing there, his suit jacket dark with rain. "I thought you had a dinner meeting?" I asked. He didn't answer.

He walked in, tossed his jacket onto a chair, and looked at my hand resting on the window—then away. "I pushed it." He stepped up to me, his hand coming up to my forehead without thinking. "The fever's gone." He pulled his hand back, his face clicking back into a cold, professional mask. "We're going to the clinic tomorrow for a full checkup." "I'm fine.

I don't need to go." "I wasn't asking." His jaw tightened. "We're going." Chapter 6 I watched him, a momentary haze blurring the edges of my vision.

He stayed quiet for a long beat before the silence finally snapped. "I already spoke to Brooke," he said. "She won't come looking for you again." A hit of shock shortcircuited my brain.

I lifted my gaze. He didn't meet my eyes. He just turned his back and walked straight out of the room. That night, he came back to the master bedroom.

For the past few days, he had been crashing in the study, probably to keep from disturbing my rest. He lay down on the mattress next to me.

The heavy silence stretched in the dark before he finally broke it. "Maeve." "That night, you grabbed my hand.

You told me not to leave." The oxygen seized in my lungs. "Do you remember?" "…No. The fever was too high." He didn't say another word. A few minutes bled past.

Then, I felt his hand slide across the highthreadcount sheets, his fingers wrapping firmly around mine. His palm was dry, radiating a steady, grounding heat.

The grip was irontight. I didn't pull away. A dangerous, quiet thought slipped into my mind. If this marriage wasn't a calculated transaction.

If I hadn't signed my name on that dotted line just to save my father's bleeding company.

If I had actually walked down that aisle because I was desperately, hopelessly in love with him. If that were the case, I might have actually been happy right now.

Too bad reality didn't come with ifs.

I looked over at him in the dim light, a faint smile touching my lips. "Evander, you've been acting a little strange lately." "How so?" "It almost looks like you actually care about me." The muscles in his jaw locked.

He instantly broke eye contact, snatching a Forbes magazine off the mahogany nightstand and flipping open a random page. "You're overthinking it." "Am I?" I shifted closer, leaning in until my line of sight was perfectly level with his. "Evander.

Are you… starting to fall for me?" His hand froze on the glossy page.

He looked up, his pupils locking onto mine as his Adam's apple bobbed in a hard swallow. "Maeve, is your brain still fried from that fever?" He tossed the magazine aside and stood up, towering over me.

A stiff, unnatural smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I show you an ounce of basic human decency, and you instantly start spinning fairy tales in your head?" "Then why did you cancel your dinner meeting?" "It was raining.

I didn't want to deal with the traffic." "Why did you wipe me down when I was sick?" "Your temperature was spiking over a hundred and four.

Was I supposed to just sit back and watch your brain melt?" "Why are you holding my hand right now?" He went dead silent.

The room dropped into a hush so heavy I could hear the rain lashing against the glass outside.

Evander stared at me for a long, dragging minute, a dark, stormy tension churning in his eyes. "Because you told me not to leave." His voice dropped to a gravelly rasp, sounding exactly like a man confessing to a crime he didn't want to admit.

My pulse skipped a hard, erratic beat against my ribs.

And then, I heard my own voice slip out. "Evander, if I vanished one day… would you come looking for me?" His expression flashfroze. "Where exactly do you think you're going?" "I said if." "There is no if." He closed the gap in a single, aggressive stride.

His hand clamped around the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my scalp as he yanked me forward, pressing his forehead hard against mine. "Maeve, you married me.

You are never walking away. Not in this lifetime." I stared into his eyes, mere inches from my own. A sharp, chemical sting flared in the back of my nose.

It wasn't because I was moved. It was bitter regret. I had almost bought into the illusion. I almost believed him. But I knew exactly what this was. This was habit.

This was a territorial, predatory instinct. This was just a man sinking his claws into a piece of property he refused to let go of. It wasn't love.

And even if a fraction of it was, it was a million miles too late.

I lifted my hand, pressing my palm flat against the solid wall of his chest, and forced out a light, breathy laugh as I took a step back. "I'm just messing with you." He kept his eyes locked on my face for a few more seconds.

The hard knot between his brows slowly unspooled, though the tension never fully bled out of his broad shoulders. "That project approval for your father's company," he stated, out of left field. "It went through." "I know.

Thank you." "Don't thank me." He broke eye contact, staring blankly at the wall over my shoulder. "You earned it." Chapter 7 "You earned it." The words grated against my eardrums.

Earned what exactly? The project approval? Or the five million dollars? I just offered a faint smile and let the silence hang. The next morning, Evander left for the office.

I started packing. There wasn't much to gather. When I married into this house, I hadn't brought much with me. One hardshell suitcase. A few changes of clothes, basic toiletries.

The velvet jewelry boxes, the designer dresses, the Birkins Evander had bought me—I didn't touch a single one. I left them hanging in the walkin closet, tags still attached.

I only packed what was mine. Finally, I pulled a manila envelope from my tote and set it deadcenter on the mahogany nightstand. The divorce papers.

My signature was already at the bottom, inked in neat, deliberate strokes. Evander's line was blank. He could sign it, or he could burn it. It didn't matter