Reborn to Scam My Billionaire Boss

The freezing weight of the concrete crushed against my legs. The suffocating choke of the river water yanked me back to reality.

I was kneeling on the thick carpet of the banquet hall, desperately gasping for air. I was back.

Up on the stage, my deeply unhinged boss, Dominic, was already raising his auction paddle.

He was about to drop fifty million dollars on a secondhand necklace that belonged to his enemy's precious exgirlfriend. All just to piss off that untouchable golden boy, Pierce.

In my past life, this exact psychotic stunt was what pushed Pierce completely over the edge, ending with him tying us both to concrete blocks and dumping us into the freezing river.

There was no way in hell I was letting him finish this bid.

I lunged forward, sliding across the floor on my knees, and locked my arms in a death grip around Dominic's leg. "Dominic!

Stop!" I screamed, my throat raw. "This necklace is beneath you!

For fifty million dollars, we could haul a whole truckload of this junk back from the flea market!" The massive auction hall instantly dropped into a dead silence.

Dominic slowly looked down at me. His jaw clamped tight, the muscles beneath his tailored suit instantly going rigid.

If a stare could pierce through skin, I would have already been drilled full of holes.

Chapter 1 His lips parted, his voice dripping with ice. "Hayes, what the hell is wrong with you?" [Me, crazy?

Buddy, you're the one about to go off the rails!] I clung to his leg in a death grip, throwing all my dignity out the window.

Summoning every ounce of acting skill I had, I twisted my face into a mask of pure, heartbroken agony. "Dominic! It's not worth it!

If you took Harper's necklace to a pawnshop, they wouldn't even give you five thousand bucks for it!" "If you drop fifty million on this, word will get out.

And they won't think you're deeply in love—they'll just think you're a rich idiot with more money than brains!" I shot him frantic, wideeyed looks as I spoke. [Please, I'm begging you, just look at me!

Look at how sincere I am!] The surrounding guests had already broken into whispered gossip. "Isn't that Dominic's little lapdog? Why cause a scene with the boss?" "Hilarious.

Fifty million to go bargain hunting at a flea market? Only they would think of that." "Dominic looks like he's about to commit murder.

Will that assistant even live to see tomorrow's sunrise?" A few feet away under the spotlight, Harper's face drained of all color, her hands clenching into tight fists.

And right beside her was Pierce. The untouchable golden boy.

He was glancing our way like he was watching a cheap comedy show, a faint, mocking smirk playing on his lips. [Look at that! Just look at it! The classic villain smirk is out!

That is a giant, glowing red flag, Dominic!] Dominic obviously wasn't picking up on my telepathic warnings. His chest heaved violently, a thick vein pulsing at his temple.

He grabbed me by the arm and hauled me up off the floor, his grip so brutally tight it felt like he was going to shatter my bone. His jaw ground tight. "Get out." [No.

I can't leave. If I leave, you'll place that bid.

If you place that bid, we're both dead meat.] I put everything on the line, dropping my voice to a harsh whisper only he could hear. "Dominic, Pierce is watching us make fools of ourselves.

He wants nothing more than for you to drop fifty million on a woman and become the laughingstock of the entire city.

Did you forget?" "Our goal is to strip him of absolutely everything. We don't waste our ammo on petty garbage like this!" My words hit him like a bucket of ice water.

A flicker of hesitation flashed through his bloodshot eyes. Rationality was clawing its way back. But his unhinged nature meant backing down wouldn't come easy.

The auctioneer was still on stage, enthusiastically fanning the flames. "Fifty million going once! Do I hear any higher? Mr.

Dominic, are you…" "The bid is off." Dominic cut him off cold. Then, grabbing me by the collar like a stray mutt, he dragged me straight toward the exit.

The entire hall erupted in barely contained whispers behind my back. I could even hear Harper's loud, disbelieving gasp. Perfect. Step one: successfully aborted. The only catch?

I probably wasn't going to live through the night. He shoved me into the backseat of the RollsRoyce. The air inside the cabin hung heavy and suffocating.

The driver didn't even dare to breathe. Dominic loosened his tie. A destructive storm raged within his sharp, striking eyes.

He locked his gaze onto me. "Hayes," he said, drawing out every syllable. "Who the hell gave you the nerve?" A cold sweat instantly drenched my back. The interior lights were off.

As the neon city lights blurred past the window, Dominic's face flickered in and out of the shadows—half illuminated, half cast in darkness.

He looked like the god of death coming to collect his due. [Here it comes. The classic villain line: 'Who gave you the nerve?' What was the textbook answer to this again?

My undying loyalty? The future of the empire?] I swallowed hard, forcing my racing pulse to steady. I couldn't back down. If I cracked now, all this effort would be for nothing.

Chapter 2 I had to make him believe I wasn't staging a rebellion.

I needed him to think I was playing a much higherlevel game for his absolute benefit. "Dominic." I forced myself to hold his stare.

My voice betrayed a slight tremor, but I kept my eyes deadlocked on his. "You gave me the nerve." One dark eyebrow arched, a silent command to keep talking. "You told me I was your weapon.

That I needed to be deployed only when it mattered most. If you dropped that cash tonight, we'd win the ego trip but lose the actual war.

Pierce would laugh at how easily you lose control, and the dinosaurs on the board would instantly question your judgment." I took a shallow breath and played my trump card. "Plus, I dug up some intel.

Pierce has been rubbing elbows with an offshore buyout fund.

Their target… looks like the shares of your empire." I scraped that little detail out from the darkest corners of my pastlife memories.

Back then, we had completely brushed it off as noise. Turns out, that exact fund was the final bullet that put this entire company in the ground. Dominic's pupils instantly dilated.

The heavy air inside the cabin suddenly felt freezing.

His dark eyes locked onto me, calculating, dissecting me like I was a completely foreign object. "Your source?" "An… informant," I stalled, keeping it vague. "The point is, we need to funnel our cash into locking down our defenses, not blowing it on some pointless measuring contest at an auction." [Sorry, boss.

The informant is my own dead body from a past life.] Dominic went completely silent. His long fingers tapped rhythmically against his tailored knee. Tap. Tap.

Every single hollow thud felt like a hammer striking directly against my racing heart. A long minute passed.

Then, a dark, freezing smirk slowly spread across his face. "So, your grand master plan is… bargain hunting at a flea market?" The sarcasm dripping from his voice was absolutely lethal. [Shit.

I almost forgot I used that stupid excuse.] Panic spiked at the base of my neck.

I had no choice but to double down on the bullshit. "Dominic, have you ever heard of playing the long game?

On the surface, it looks like we tucked our tails and ran from the auction. But in reality?

We just stepped completely out of the trap Pierce set up for us." "The flea market on the edge of the city is a chaotic mess, which makes it the exact place where underground intel flows the fastest.

I want to go there, try my luck, and see if I can dig up the real background of that buyout fund." The more the words left my mouth, the more insane I sounded. [What the actual hell am I even saying?

I'm practically brainwashing myself at this point.] But Dominic went quiet again.

He leaned back against the plush leather, shutting his eyes as if he were actually processing my absolute garbage logic.

Up front, the driver shot me a deeply sympathetic look through the rearview mirror. [Hang in there, man.] Right as I was preparing to be violently shoved out of a moving vehicle, Dominic's icecold voice shattered the silence. "To the flea market." The driver jumped. "Wait—what?

Boss, right now?" "Now." The heavy luxury car aggressively ripped a Uturn at the next intersection. I let out a massive, shaky breath and practically melted into the leather seat.

I was going to live. But then Dominic opened his mouth again, instantly sending my heart right back into my throat. "Hayes.

If I find out you're playing me…" He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze slicing into me like a freshly sharpened blade. "I'll throw you into a junk pile in the slums and sell you as trash." Half an hour later, the tenmilliondollar RollsRoyce pulled up to the entrance of Brooklyn's largest flea market.

The visual clash was absolutely aggressive. Dominic in his razorsharp bespoke suit, standing next to me in my equally expensive corporate armor.

We stood dead center in a maze of grimy tarps selling fake vintage watches, moldy paperbacks, and literal garbage.

We looked like two prime peacocks stranded in the middle of a dirty chicken coop.

Chapter 3 The surrounding vendors and the flea market scavengers stared at us like we were completely insane. [Social death. Capitalized social death. But I had to endure it.

To stay alive, and to make that cash.] Dominic's germophobia clearly made him violently allergic to this environment.

The deep crease between his brows screamed pure disgust. "This intel you mentioned.

Where is it?" "Intel takes time to dig up," I said, biting the bullet. "Dominic, in a place like this, it is all about the hunt." I led him deeper into the maze, my brain frantically tearing through the memories of my past life.

I remembered that right here in this exact market, there was an obscure little stall. It constantly displayed a dustcovered oil painting.

That painting was later proven to be a lost early landscape by the Impressionist master Vincent van Gogh, and it auctioned off for a ninefigure fortune.

And the person who discovered it was Pierce. That single event became a massive milestone on Pierce's legendary resume, earning him the reputation of having the golden touch.

In my past life, when I saw the news, Dominic and I actually mocked him for his dumb luck. But in this life… [Sorry, Pierce.

I am hijacking your cheat code.] My phone rang at the absolute worst possible moment.

It was one of my socalled friends from my past life, part of the rich trustfund crowd that constantly circled Dominic. I swiped to answer.

Exaggerated laughter blasted through the speaker. "Hayes, I heard you pulled a whole tragic martyr stunt at the auction today! Epic!

What is the deal, are you taking the boss on a tour of peasant suffering now?" "How is the flea market? You better watch out.

Do not get any dirt on those custom shoes of his." The raw sarcasm and gloating in his voice were completely unfiltered. In my past life, I treated these guys like blood brothers.

I ran myself ragged for them, but the second I went down, they scattered faster than rats.

I hung up with a deadpan expression, blocked the number, and completely wiped him from my contacts in one smooth motion. [Absolute morons.] But that deadpan look on my face clearly registered as something entirely different to Dominic.

He stared at me, his voice cutting through the noise. "They were laughing at you?" I froze, keeping my mouth completely shut.

His jaw tightened, the deep crease between his brows growing harsher as he took my silence for a yes. "You let them mock you because of me?" [No, no, no. Not because of you.

Because I was blind.] But I could not exactly say that out loud. I just lowered my head, forcing my facial muscles into a look of silent, longsuffering loyalty.

This was the perfect way to play the victim card and make him feel guilty.

He was the one whose psychotic break dragged me down, yet now it looked like I was swallowing my pride entirely for his sake. Dominic's gaze instantly shifted.

The harshness cracked, replaced by a visible mess of irritation, and a fleeting physical softening around his eyes.

In complete silence, he pulled a pocket square from his suit jacket and roughly swiped it across my forehead, wiping away nonexistent sweat. "Enough.

Stop looking like a kicked puppy. Lead the way." [Jackpot!] A rush of adrenaline hit my chest. I quickly stepped ahead to guide him.

Relying on raw memory, I dragged us through a dizzying maze of turns until we finally hit the most isolated, rundown corner of the lot. A drifter dozed in a rusted folding chair.

His setup was a total disaster, covered in rusted scrap metal and random garbage.

But right in the deepest corner, the exact painting I had been obsessing over this entire trip was sitting quietly under a thick layer of grime.

It looked exactly like a discarded dirty rag. I walked straight over, pointed a finger directly at the canvas, and turned back to Dominic. "Dominic.

That is the one." Dominic tracked my finger to the painting, and the expression on his face instantly cemented into pure stone.

Chapter 4 Dominic stared at the "rag," then back at me.

His eyes screamed a single question: Are you fucking kidding me? "You want me to buy this?" Disbelief laced every syllable of Dominic's voice. "Dominic, trust me." I lowered my voice, but locked my tone into absolute certainty. "Every ounce of cash and pride we lost tonight, we are making back a hundred times over with this." [Nine figures.

A clean nine figures! This is absolute Powerball jackpot luck, and I am not letting it slip away!] Dominic didn't say a word.

But his dark, hollow gaze swept over my face like an Xray scanner, attempting to dissect me from the inside out.

It was probably the first time he had ever seen me looking this unshakably confident.

After all, the old me was nothing but a subservient attack dog, existing only to execute his commands.

The sheer whiplash of this new attitude was clearly dragging out his morbid curiosity.

He stepped forward and crouched down, maintaining a strict threefoot distance as he inspected the canvas with pure disgust. "Where exactly is the value in this piece of trash?" "The secret is in the details." I put on my best seasonedexpert act. "Dominic, look at the edges of this canvas.

It's battered, but the raw texture and specific linen blend are classic late 19thcentury Dutch materials." "Now look at this blurred cluster of layered paint in the bottom right corner.

The outline is faintly Vincent's unique signature." These were all hyperspecific details I had aggressively memorized from the news reports in my past life.

Dropping them right now as a bluff worked like absolute magic. A flash of genuine surprise cut through Dominic's eyes.

He clearly hadn't expected his muscle to know a damn thing about fine art. [No shit. The information gap is straight dollars.

Those Wall Street bloodsuckers really didn't lie.] I stepped up to the drifter with the stubblecovered face and tapped him awake. "Hey, how much for the painting?" The drifter cracked open his bloodshot eyes, glanced at the canvas, then did a slow sweep of our expensive tailored suits.

He held up five fingers. "Five hundred bucks." I nearly laughed out loud. [Pierce only paid three hundred in the last timeline.

This guy definitely smells the richidiot money on us.] I was just reaching for my wallet when Dominic clamped a heavy hand over my wrist.

He stood up straight, towering over the vendor, radiating an untouchable, arrogant aura that practically screamed do not breathe my air. "One hundred." The words fell like ice.

Me: ??? Vendor: ??? [Buddy, we are here to score a bargain, not commit armed robbery!] The drifter instantly got defensive. "Look, man, that's lowballing it.

This right here is—" Dominic seamlessly pulled a single crisp hundreddollar bill from his money clip and dropped it onto the tarp. "One hundred.

Consider the rest compensation for your emotional distress." Without missing a beat, he pinched the edge of the "rag" between two fingers—like he was handling radioactive waste—and spun on his heel.

The sequence was smooth, radiating corporate overlord energy. He left me and the drifter stunned in his wake.

The guy stared at the hundreddollar bill, looked at the empty spot on the tarp, then stared at Dominic's retreating back.

It took him a solid minute to choke out a sentence. "Man… that crazy bastard has some serious attitude." I scrambled to catch up with Dominic's long strides. "Dominic, since when do you know how to haggle?" "Shut your mouth." He shoved the canvas hard into my chest, looking absolutely repulsed by holding it a second longer. "Now, prove you aren't wasting my time." [You got it.

Prepare to witness a miracle.] I gripped the painting tight against my chest, my heart hammering like I was clutching a ticking lottery ticket. Total financial freedom, here I come!

But just as we turned to leave the alley, a painfully familiar silhouette blocked the exit. Pierce.

And trailing right behind him was a grayhaired man wearing vintage wirerimmed glasses—Wallace.

Chapter 5 They were moving fast, making a beeline straight for the exact tarp where we just bought the painting. Pierce stopped dead in front of the stall, his head on a swivel.

Panic and confusion visibly leaked through his usually perfect composure. Meanwhile, the old man beside him locked his eyes dead onto the canvas clutched against my chest.

His gaze practically caught fire. He closed the distance between us in rapid steps, his voice shaking with adrenaline. "Sir, please wait!

That painting in your arms… may I take one look at it?" My stomach dropped. [Crap. The rightful owner just came knocking!] Dominic glanced back.

The second he saw Pierce, absolute warfare ignited in his dark eyes. He grabbed my arm and yanked me hard behind him, dropping his broad shoulders right between me and the old man.

A lethal, mocking smirk hooked the corner of his mouth. "My property. Why the hell should I let you look at it?" The air turned to concrete. Pierce stepped up.

Seeing Dominic, he completely froze for a split second before his gaze dropped like an anchor onto the painting in my arms. The color drained from his face. "Dominic.

What a coincidence." He forced out his usual polished charm, but the words practically choked on the way out. "We just want to take a look at that painting.

No harm intended." "Your friend seems extremely interested in this piece of trash?" Dominic smiled like a predator bearing its teeth, deliberately leaning hard on the word trash. [Dominic, do not push it!

These guys actually know what they are looking at!] The old man with the vintage wirerimmed glasses was clearly a seasoned expert.

He shoved his glasses up his nose, his words rushing out in a frantic blur. "Mr. Dominic, this is not trash.

If my eyes do not deceive me, this is highly likely to be the longlost, authentic Van Gogh masterpiece, Starry Night Over Alain!" The second those words dropped, Dominic's arrogant mask shattered.

He snapped his head back, staring at the filthy canvas crushed against my chest, his dark eyes swirling with aggressive suspicion. [Yes! That is exactly what it is!

A priceless, absolute goldmine!] I suppressed the explosion of dopamine in my chest, forcing my face into a blank, innocent "Oh? Really? I had no idea" expression.

Pierce's face turned the color of spoiled milk.

He had clearly come here specifically for this canvas, only to get robbed of his prize at the finish line. "Dominic, name your price," Pierce demanded, his voice dropping into a dark, heavy register. "This painting is extremely important to me." Dominic laughed.

Watching Pierce choke on his own failure was his absolute favorite spectator sport. "Oh?

Extremely important to you?" Dominic dragged the words out with agonizing slowness. "What a terrible shame.

Because I just decided it is extremely important to me, too." "You!" Pierce's jaw snapped violently tight, his entire fabricated elite facade practically shattering all over the concrete. [Fight!

Throw a punch!] No, chill out. Now was not the time to rip everything to shreds.

Gripping the painting like a shield, I took a silent halfstep backward and dropped my voice to a harsh whisper. "Dominic. Quit while we are ahead.

Let's pull out." Dominic shot me a sharp sideways glance. A fleeting trace of "Good boy" flickered in the depths of his dark eyes.

He lazily waved a hand at Pierce, dripping with absolute dismissal. "My apologies, Pierce.

First come, first served." Without another word, his heavy arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder.

He spun us around and walked away, leaving Pierce and the old man cemented to the ground, their faces cycling through violent shades of green and white.

Only after we slammed the doors of the RollsRoyce did Dominic actually look at the canvas in my arms.

He snatched it from my grip and carefully peeled back one corner, treating it like it was completely radioactive. "An authentic masterpiece?

Priceless?" he demanded, a razorthin edge of uncertainty finally slicing through his voice. "Ninetynine percent sure." I forced my voice to stay dead level. "Otherwise, Pierce wouldn't have dragged an expert all the way down here just to chase us." Dominic locked his eyes onto mine, his gaze plunging terrifyingly deep. "Hayes.

What the hell else do you know?" [I know that we died a brutally violent death in our last life, and in this life, I am going to make you filthy rich, boss!] I took a massive, shaking breath, and booted up my performance.

Chapter 6 "Dominic, I… I've been studying Pierce lately. The guy has a lethal eye, especially when it comes to art investments.

He never misses." "I guessed he would show up at the flea market today specifically for this painting. So, I brought you here to cut him off at the knees.

This is called… pulling the plug on his oxygen tank!" I actively painted myself as the ultimate, dangerously loyal attack dog—a guy willing to risk his own neck just so his boss could completely decimate the competition.

Dominic's breathing audibly deepened. He looked at me, an unprecedented mix of shock and appreciation flashing in his dark eyes. [He is starting to brainwash himself!

He is going to treat me like some godtier Wall Street operator! He is definitely thinking: This Hayes, he doesn't just have fists, he has brains!

He wasn't rebelling against me, he was helping me in his own twisted way! What absolute loyalty!] "Good work." It took Dominic a long time to finally grind those words out.

The tone was still rigid as hell, but coming from him, this was the equivalent of a massive parade. "Then… Dominic, what about the painting?" "Find the best expert to authenticate it, then send it straight to the auction house." He shoved the canvas back to me, his tone absolute. "I want Pierce to know that if he wants something, I am going to snatch it.

And the prize he couldn't get? I am going to sell it for an astronomical price!" [Yes, yes, yes.

As long as it makes us filthy rich, whatever you say is absolute gospel!] By the time we walked back into corporate headquarters, the rumors about our little "stunt" at the auction had already infected the entire building.

First thing the next morning during the board meeting, Douglas—an old board member who had always been overly friendly with Pierce's family—launched a public attack. "Dominic, I heard you nearly dropped fifty million dollars on a necklace for a woman yesterday, only for your own assistant to stop you?

You are dragging this entire empire's reputation through the mud!" The other board members instantly echoed the sentiment.

A wave of doubt filled the conference room, aimed straight at Dominic. Dominic sat at the head of the table.

His expression was dangerously still, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he prepared to go completely scorchedearth.

But I stood up, flashing a calculated smile as I cut the old man off. "Douglas, your intel is painfully out of date." I slid a file folder smoothly across the polished mahogany table. "Dominic didn't go blowing cash on some boring tabloid scandal last night.

Instead, he led me to uncover a new venture for this company worth… at least tens of millions of dollars." The second the words left my mouth, dead silence choked the entire conference room.

Every single pair of eyes locked onto me. Douglas's face turned a violent shade of red. He jabbed a finger in my direction. "You are just an assistant!

Who the hell gave you the right to speak in this room?" Dominic simply raised a single hand, instantly shutting him down.

He looked at me, a dark, entertained smirk hooking the corner of his lips. "Let him speak." I swept my gaze across the room.

Every board member was staring at me like I was a psychopath. An assistant running his mouth in a highlevel board meeting, claiming he just secured a multimilliondollar project.

If that wasn't insane, what was? [Don't panic.

I am about to drop all of your jaws straight to the floor.] I cleared my throat, keeping my posture completely straight and my tone dead level. "What the board fails to understand is that Dominic's early exit from the charity gala last night was not an impulsive breakdown.

It was a calculated, precisionstrike business play." I fully launched into my mindblowing stream of bullshit. "We received concrete intel that Pierce's actual target wasn't that necklace at all, but a buried oil painting hidden away in the flea market.

Dominic played right into his hands, stalling him at the auction, while sending me to sweep in through the back door.

We successfully hijacked the painting for a rockbottom price of one hundred dollars." I deliberately paused, thoroughly enjoying the violent shift on their faces as raw mockery morphed into pure, absolute suspicion.

Chapter 7 "And that painting, after a preliminary authentication by Professor Smith, the special consultant for the British Museum, is the authentic, sole surviving masterpiece by the Impressionist legend Vincent van Gogh—Starry Night Over Alain!" Boom.

The conference room exploded. "An authentic Van Gogh?!" "Impossible! How the hell could anyone find that in a dirty Brooklyn flea market!" "Smith?

The Professor Smith who runs the final authentications for Sotheby's?" Douglas, the board member who had just been tearing into us, went ashpale.

His lips visibly trembled. "You… you are lying! Where is your proof?" "Proof?" I cracked a smile. I glanced back at Dominic, a silent request for permission.

Dominic leaned back in his heavy leather chair, his long fingers rhythmically tapping the mahogany table.

He completely owned the room, casually letting his assistant run the slaughter. He gave me a barely perceptible nod. [Keep acting. Keep playing the untouchable king.

Like I don't remember who nearly threw me into the river to feed the fish last night.] Permission granted. I turned and hit the switch for the projector.

A series of highdefinition images flashed across the massive screen. The first was a fullscale shot of the painting.

The second was an extreme macro closeup of the rough 19thcentury Dutch linen edges. The third was the blurred cluster of paint in the corner.

After digital restoration, the unmistakable signature of Vincent stood out with absolute clarity. The final slide was a video file. I hit play.

The man in the video was the old guy with the vintage wirerimmed glasses—Professor Wallace Smith, the absolute titan of the authentication world.

Wearing pristine white cotton gloves and holding a magnifying glass, he hovered over the canvas. His entire body shook with pure adrenaline.

He kept muttering, "It is perfect… it is authentic… absolutely authentic!

My God, this is the single greatest discovery in the art world this century!" At the very end of the video, Professor Smith looked dead into the camera and delivered his final, heavy verdict. "A conservative estimate for this piece?

It will not fetch a single dollar less than fifty million." "Fifty million dollars…" Douglas collapsed back into his chair, his face taking on the color of wet cement.

You could hear a pin drop in the massive room. Every single board member stared blankly at the screen, then at me.

Finally, their terrified, awestruck gazes shifted to the man sitting in absolute power at the head of the table. In their eyes, Dominic was no longer the unhinged, violent heir.

He was a terrifyingly calculated apex predator playing three steps ahead of the entire market.

And I was the razorsharp blade in his hand, slicing through anyone he pointed at. [God, this feels good.

This feeling of perfectly masking myself as a nobody, only to crush all these arrogant titans beneath my boots, feels a hundred times better than someone handing me fifty million dollars in cash!] I caught the corner of Dominic's mouth hooking into a deeply satisfied, dangerous smirk.

The way he looked at me completely shifted. The cold dissection and suspicion were gone.

What replaced it was raw, unapologetic appreciation—and a dark, territorial possessiveness. [The way he is staring at me… it is exactly how a predator looks at his favorite new toy.

Whatever. A toy is a toy.

If being his toy keeps me breathing, I will be the best damn toy he has ever seen.] After the board scattered, Dominic ordered me straight into his private office.

He stood with his back to me in front of the massive floortoceiling windows, looking down at the crawling city below. "Hayes." "Right here, Dominic." "That authentication video.

When did you pull that off?" "I got Professor Smith to process it overnight," I replied.

In reality, I had burned a massive pile of cash and abused every underworld contact from my past life to force it through the VIP express channel. "Good work." He turned around.

His towering frame closed the distance between us, utterly trapping me in his shadow. He reached out, his long fingers smoothly adjusting my crooked tie.

His fingertips were freezing. They brushed faintly against my Adam's apple. My breath instantly hitched in my throat. Every single hair on the back of my neck stood straight up