Taming Her Fiancé

"Too bad my socalled fiancée is right next door." Vance ruthlessly yanked my strap down. "Then… should I keep it quiet?" I breathed against his ear.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

He shoved me roughly against the back of the door, pinning me as his teeth sank hard into my bare shoulder. "If you're looking for a thrill, sweetheart, you'd better do all the work." Chapter 1 After a night of pure madness.

The next morning, I stared into the bathroom mirror. My lips were visibly swollen. I hissed, tracing the tender skin with my fingertip.

Flashes of last night hit me, making my brow furrow. I had definitely underestimated him. Shaking off the memories, I forced myself to get moving. I had breakfast to cook.

Passing through the living room, a chorus of laughter and chatter greeted me. I pasted a tight, rehearsed smile on my face.

The two families were gathered to discuss the engagement of my socalled stepsister, Tinsley. That was the only reason I'd been summoned back to this hellhole. And her fiancé?

The very man who had ruined me last night. Vance, the billionaire heir to the Vance empire. "Vance, your wound is bleeding again.

Wasn't it healing yesterday?" Tinsley crouched by the sofa, looking at him with sickeningly sweet devotion as she dabbed at his side with a cotton swab. My pulse spiked.

I couldn't stop my eyes from darting over. On the left side of his waist was a jagged, angry scar, looking suspiciously like a stab wound from a blade.

Definitely not a good guy, I noted dryly. Cynthia marched over at the commotion.

Spotting the blood seeping through his bandages, she frowned. "How on earth did you get hurt this badly?" But Vance's dark gaze was locked entirely on me.

Had been since the second I walked into the room. He shot me a wicked, knowing smirk.

When I quickly averted my eyes, a low, breathy laugh escaped him. "Last night… I got a little reckless," he drawled. Last night. A hot flush crept up my neck at the memory.

He had certainly given me a masterclass in thrillseeking. It meant a man could lay perfectly still and still push you to the absolute brink of exhaustion.

Even when I was biting my lip so hard I almost drew blood, he had just leaned in and whispered, "You're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart." Shifting all the blame entirely onto me. "Briar, these eggs are like rubber!

Can you not even brew a simple cup of coffee without messing it up?" Cynthia stormed into the kitchen, slamming a mug of scalding coffee so hard onto the counter that it sloshed over the rim.

The crash snapped me out of my daze. My shoulders jumped. "I cooked them early so they'd be ready," I muttered. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?

It's the first time your sister's future inlaws are here, and you're already acting like a bitch." She kept her voice down, but the venom was thick.

I bit the inside of my cheek and kept my mouth shut. "Let me make this perfectly clear.

If you don't serve my future inlaws perfectly, I will stop signing those checks for your grandmother's nursing home tomorrow.

I'll have her tossed right out onto the street!" Cynthia jabbed her cherryred acrylic nail painfully into my collarbone. My grandmother. My one ultimate weakness.

Cynthia knew exactly where to twist the knife. "Got it," I clipped out, turning my back to her and gripping the chopping knife.

If I had felt even a shred of guilt for sneaking into Tinsley's fiancé's bedroom last night, Cynthia had just obliterated it.

I had dragged myself out of bed at six in the morning, my entire body aching, to make breakfast while they all slept in. And this was the thanks I got.

It had been like this for years. I was so incredibly done. But I was trapped. The exorbitant nursing home bills were the leash Cynthia had securely around my neck.

So, they couldn't blame me for playing dirty.

I knew exactly how desperate Cynthia and Mitchell were to use Tinsley to climb the social ladder and latch onto the Vance family wealth.

Vance's actual parents hadn't even bothered to show up—just an uncle. Yet, Cynthia had invited every distant relative we had.

It didn't look like an engagement dinner; it looked like a hostage negotiation to force a marriage. I carried the dishes out to the dining room one by one.

The family started taking their seats.

I slid into a corner chair, fighting to keep my heavy eyes open as I scrolled aimlessly on my phone. "Vance, Mitchell and I were thinking… since your trust stipulations mean you can't officially sign the marriage papers for another two years, you and Tinsley could throw a massive engagement party first.

How does that sound?" Cynthia leaned in, her smile so obsequious it was nauseating. Wait, two years? I scoffed internally.

Cynthia was so desperate to secure the bag that she couldn't even wait for the legal paperwork. She had to lock him down with a flashy party right now.

I finally lifted my gaze from my screen and looked at him. He slouched in his chair, rocking that messy ashgray hair and black stud earrings.

Even with a bandaid slapped across his cheek, he looked utterly, dangerously untouchable.

Chapter 2 When he showed up yesterday, his face and knuckles were busted up from a street fight. What kind of prize catch was that? Cynthia didn't care.

She was only looking at the Vance family's corporate empire. "Ask my uncle." Vance pushed his food around his plate, completely unbothered.

Cynthia's obsequious smile cracked. "Well, what do you think?" The uncle in the tailored suit sat rigidly, radiating an oppressive authority. "My advice is for the kids to date a bit longer.

There's no rush for an engagement party." Ha. I got it now. This was a shakedown. "We have a reputation to uphold in this city.

After what they… what they did, you're saying they shouldn't get engaged?" Mitchell slammed his fork down on the table. "Mitchell, let's be realistic here. Young people hook up.

It's consensual.

You can't use that to force a ring on her finger." The uncle's tone was infuriatingly smooth, not yielding an inch. "If they clash later… breakups happen." Meanwhile, Vance didn't even look up from his phone screen, completely tuning out the crossfire.

Mitchell's face turned a mottled purple, his hands shaking with rage. I watched the bloodbath like it was reality TV.

What kind of dirt did Cynthia have on Vance to drag him into this corner in the first place? "Vance," Tinsley whined, tugging at his sleeve to break the heavy tension. "Yeah." He didn't even blink, his thumbs still flying across the glass. "Fine, the party can wait.

But we need a timeline. You can't just string her along," Cynthia conceded, grinding her teeth. The exhaustion hit me like a truck.

I tuned out the rest of the haggling, my head nodding forward. Right as my eyes fluttered shut, my screen lit up with a text. [Sleepy, sweetheart?] It was Vance.

The adrenaline spiked, wiping out my sleepiness instantly. Then I remembered—I had swiped his number after we finished last night. I shot my gaze up. He was staring right at me.

The nerve of this guy! His entire future was being negotiated across the table, and he was under the table texting his fiancé's stepsister. I didn't even blink.

My thumbs tapped out a rapid reply. [Why, want to come put me to bed?] I peeked at him over my screen. His face was stonecold, but a dark amusement flickered in his eyes.

Another buzz. [I'll pass. I value my life.] My chest tightened. See? He always flipped the script.

He started it, but somehow he made it sound like I was the predator. [Value your life, but don't know the meaning of selfcontrol?] I fired back.

A sharp snort of laughter broke from his lips. The entire table went dead silent. Every head snapped toward him. He didn't even flinch under the spotlight.

He just waved a lazy hand. "Don't mind me. Keep going." The silence in the room turned suffocating. Now I was the one biting my lip to keep from laughing.

Not wanting to blow my cover, I shoved my chair back and slipped away to the bathroom.

The thought of going back to that toxic dining room made me sick, so I bypassed the hallway and headed straight for the back patio.

I barely rounded the corner when a hand clamped around my wrist. A vicious yank sent me stumbling forward, crashing hard into a solid wall of muscle.

A low hiss vibrated against me. "Sweetheart, why do you always have to leave a mark?" I whipped my head up. Vance's devastatingly sharp jawline was inches from mine.

He looked like he had just stepped out of a highfashion editorial and straight into a street fight.

I shoved hard against his chest, putting distance between us. "What the hell are you doing out here?" Chapter 3 I'd be lying if I said my heart wasn't hammering against my ribs.

Under the cover of night, I could be reckless, but in broad daylight, the stakes were entirely too high. I quickly scanned the perimeter, checking for any prying eyes.

Vance's lips twitched in amusement at my paranoia. "Just getting some air." He pulled out a cigarette, tilted his head to light it, took a deep drag, and slowly blew a ring of smoke into the crisp air.

I watched his fluid, practiced movements. It only confirmed what I already knew: he was trouble. Just like me. "Got a spare for me?" I asked, flashing a smile.

He paused, his lighter hovering. "You want a hit?" "Yeah." He hesitated. He didn't say no, but he made no move to hand over the pack either.

Just as my brow furrowed in confusion, he took a heavy drag. His large hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, and he crushed his mouth against mine.

The harsh, stinging bite of tobacco mixed with the searing heat of his kiss, flooding my mouth and plunging straight into my lungs.

The sudden deprivation of oxygen made the entire world spin. Less than a second later, the acrid smoke clawed at my throat, forcing tears to stream down my face.

I broke the kiss, choking wildly. He realized I was actually struggling and finally, reluctantly, let me go. I doubled over, my shoulders shaking violently as I coughed.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, and gently patted my heaving back. "See? Smoking isn't for you, sweetheart. Bad habit." "You—" My face was burning hot.

I wanted to hurl every curse word in the book at him, but my throat was completely shredded. "Vance!" A sweet, highpitched voice sliced through the tension.

My entire body flinched. I ripped myself away from Vance like I'd been burned. "Briar?" The voice stopped a few feet away. A cold shiver spiked down my spine. Tinsley.

Caught redhanded. The blood drained from my face. "Why are you two… out here together?" Tinsley's perfect, practiced smile looked like brittle glass, seconds away from shattering.

I shot Vance a desperate glare. He just stood there, completely unbothered, hands shoved in his pockets.

The bastard was throwing me entirely to the wolves. "He asked where he could smoke.

I just pointed him to the patio," I blurted out, a pathetic, flimsy lie to save my own skin. "Is that so?" Tinsley clearly didn't buy a word of it.

She shifted her intense gaze to Vance, but he just smirked and kept his mouth shut. "Briar, why is your face so flushed?" My heart slammed against my ribs.

I realized the coughing fit had left my cheeks burning bright red. The phantom heat of his kiss still seared my lips. Panic flooded my veins.

How the hell was I supposed to explain this?

For a terrifying second, I thought the ground was going to open up and swallow me whole. "She didn't know how to smoke, but insisted on trying a hit.

Are all you girls this rebellious?" Vance finally drawled from the sidelines.

His dark, consuming gaze never left my face. "Briar, you were trying to smoke?" Tinsley's eyes went wide with shock.

The pieces clicked in her head—that explained the flush. "Smoking isn't what good girls do." My brain shortcircuited trying to process their tagteam routine. Whatever.

I had just dodged a massive bullet. "Only occasionally," I muttered, taking a deep, ragged breath.

I shot Vance a lethal glare. "Don't tell Cynthia." I turned on my heel and marched away.

I barely made it three steps before I heard it. "I just don't know what's wrong with my sister lately. She brings a different guy home every single day.

I try to talk some sense into her, but she never listens. My parents are at their wits' end." A sharp, stinging numbness spread across my scalp. Look at that.

My sweet, innocent, perfectly angelic stepsister. I had no idea what anyone else would think of me after hearing that garbage.

A bitter taste coated the back of my throat, but then again, Vance and I were just two sides of the same ruined coin. Why bother defending myself?

I tuned out the rest of her toxic performance and practically sprinted back inside. After the agonizing dinner wrapped up, the family was still locked in intense negotiations.

Behind every polished, plastic smile lay a ruthless, calculated scheme.

The Vance family empire was a massive, bleeding piece of meat, and everyone in this city wanted to sink their teeth into it.

I cleared the massive dining table in silence, scrubbing the dishes and aggressively mopping the kitchen floor. I didn't know how much time had passed.

The guests must have finally left because a suffocating quiet settled over the house. "Briar…" I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing a stain out of the tile. I jerked my head up.

Tinsley was standing right there. Chapter 4 "What do you want?" I didn't even bother looking at her. With the audience gone, we both knew exactly where we stood.

The plastic sister act was officially off. Crash. A heavy ceramic bowl slipped from the counter, shattering against the tile I had just spent an hour scrubbing.

Splinters of expensive porcelain and a massive puddle of greasy vegetable soup exploded across the kitchen floor. "Oops.

Butterfingers." Tinsley didn't even try to hide the vicious, calculated smirk spreading across her face. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ground together.

I stared at the ruined floor, the urge to rip her hair out burning hot in my chest, but I bit it back. I shoved myself off the ground, grabbed the broom, and started sweeping.

I barely got a pile together before the toe of Tinsley's designer stiletto kicked the shards back across the room. I gripped the broom handle until my knuckles went white.

I slowly straightened up, locking eyes with her. "What exactly is your problem?" "My problem?" Tinsley crossed her arms, raking her eyes over me with pure disgust. "You think just because my fiancé is dropdead gorgeous and loaded, you can throw yourself at him?" She took a slow step forward, her tone dripping with venom. "I mean, I get it.

Compared to the broke losers you usually drag around, Vance is in a totally different stratosphere." "But seriously, Briar, have you looked in a mirror lately?

You look more pathetic than Nancy, the maid. You think a guy like him would ever look twice at you?

Do yourself a favor and stay in your lane." "You're exactly like your mother—only fit for scraps and cripples." It wasn't the first time she had spat venom at me.

But tonight, the leash snapped. I dropped the broom. The wood clattered loudly against the tile.

I dusted off my hands and took a slow, deliberate step toward her. "What are you doing?" Her smug facade faltered, and she took a panicked step back. "I'm warning you.

You lay a hand on me, and I'll make sure you look like hell." I paused, tilting my head as I studied her face. "Not that you look that great to begin with." Before she could blink, my hand shot out.

I grabbed a fistful of her silk collar and violently yanked her forward. Caught off guard on her stilettos, her ankles gave out.

She went down hard, crashing directly into the greasy puddle of soup. "Ah!

You bitch!" Tinsley stared down at her fivethousanddollar haute couture dress, now completely soaked in oily, brown sludge. She shrieked like a total lunatic.

She pointed a trembling, soupstained finger at me. "You're dead! Mom… Mom!" "I'm shaking," I deadpanned, crossing my arms and bracing myself for the inevitable.

Cynthia materialized in the doorway three seconds later. She didn't ask what happened. She didn't need to. Smack.

The sharp crack of her palm against my cheek echoed through the kitchen. Heat instantly flooded my skin. I tasted a sharp, metallic tang on my tongue.

Her massive diamond ring had sliced right through the corner of my mouth. I didn't even flinch. I stood there like a statue while Cynthia screamed and Tinsley sobbed.

When they finally ran out of breath, I calmly spat a glob of blood onto the floor. "Are we done here? Because I'm exhausted.

You guys can clean up this mess yourselves." I turned my back on them and walked out. Don't hit back. The mantra repeated in my head with every heavy step up the stairs.

Grandma's nursing home check clears this week. Take the hit. I collapsed onto my flimsy mattress, staring up at the water stains on the ceiling.

The stinging in my cheek throbbed in time with my pulse. A suffocating tightness gripped my throat as the past crawled out of the dark corners of my mind.

It was a classic, cliché tragedy. My dad had built a wildly successful company from the ground up.

Right when the money started rolling in, his loyal secretary—Cynthia—decided she wanted an upgrade. She played her cards right, manipulated him perfectly, and forced my mother out.

My mom packed her bags, didn't even glance back at me, and bolted to start a new life with some other guy. Dad married his shiny new secretary. But the fairy tale didn't last.

Less than three years later, an anonymous tip blew the whistle on massive corporate fraud. Dad took the fall and was slapped with a heavy federal prison sentence.

Behind the scenes, Cynthia played the devoted, panicstricken wife.

She convinced my dad that to protect his assets from the feds, he needed to sign everything over to her and grant a paper divorce. He fell for it. He signed away the entire company.

Less than a year later, Cynthia was walking down the aisle with Mitchell. It wasn't until the wedding that the real bombshell dropped.

Cynthia and Mitchell had a secret of their own. A daughter. Tinsley. She was only three years younger than me. The math wasn't hard to do.

The affair had been going on long before my dad was even in the picture. How many lies can one person swallow before they choke on them? Dad would never see the truth.

He was rotting in a maximumsecurity cell, staring at a tiny, barred patch of concrete sky.

And I was the only one left holding this toxic, radioactive secret, letting it slowly rot me from the inside out.

Chapter 5 I was a twentythreeyearold college senior, and my grandmother was rotting in an expensive longterm care facility back in my hometown.

Cynthia had my Social Security card and passport locked away tight in her safe. I couldn't even get a minimumwage waitress job. I couldn't make a single red cent on my own.

I had to beg on my knees just to keep the nursing home checks clearing. Well… not just Cynthia. There was also my stepdad, Mitchell, and his occasional allowances.

The heavy thud of a knock on my bedroom door shattered my thoughts.

I shot off the mattress, splashed cold water on my face in the attached bathroom, and cracked the door open. "Mitchell." He stood in the hallway, holding a dripping ice pack.

I quickly pulled my hair forward, trying to hide the angry, swollen welt on my cheek. "Did Cynthia hit you again?" Mitchell's voice was a low, grating rumble. "Yeah." I didn't want to talk.

I just wanted him to leave.

Especially with Cynthia and Tinsley in the house. "Let me ice that for you, you poor thing." Mitchell pushed past me, forcing his bulky frame into my bedroom.

He reached behind him and locked the door. The sharp, metallic click echoed like a gunshot in the cramped space.

His greedy, predatory gaze crawled up and down my body like he was appraising a piece of meat on a butcher's block. "Mitchell, it's fine.

I can do it myself," I protested, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "Don't be a stranger, Briar," Mitchell said, his eyes darkening with a sickeningly familiar intent.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I had no choice but to step back into the room. "Come here.

Sit with me." He dropped onto the edge of my mattress, patting the space next to him. My pulse hammered wildly in my ears.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I forced my leaden legs to move forward. "Tsk… that woman is too damn rough with you." He pressed the freezing ice pack against my cheek.

At the same time, his thick, clammy hand dropped onto my bare thigh. He played it off as an accident at first.

But then, his fingers began to slowly, deliberately stroke the bare skin of my leg. "Mitchell, I—I just remembered.

Cynthia wanted me to clean the kitchen." I sprang off the bed like I'd been electrocuted. "I already told Nancy to do it. We have a maid. You don't need to do that grunt work.

I'll have a talk with Cynthia later." He grabbed my wrist, violently yanking me back down onto the mattress. A layer of cold goosebumps erupted across my skin. "Look at you.

So gorgeous. Skin so soft. You shouldn't be ruining your hands with chores.

By the way, did you burn through the allowance I gave you last month?" He pulled out a thick stack of hundreddollar bills from his leather wallet and dangled it right in front of my face.

I stared at the crisp green paper. My jaw locked so tight my teeth ached. I forced myself to sit still, letting his clammy hand slide further up my thigh.

He was just copping a feel. He wouldn't actually cross the line.

He wouldn't dare. "Cynthia…" I choked out, trying to remind him of the very real threat downstairs to get him to back off. "She took your sister out shopping.

All those two do is drain my bank accounts." Sirens blared in my head. Pure, unadulterated panic flooded my veins. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin. The house was empty.

We were completely alone. The fightorflight instinct kicked into overdrive.

I slid my hand blindly into my pocket, my trembling fingers desperately mashing the buttons on my phone screen.

The deafening, obnoxious ringtone of a video call suddenly blasted through the suffocating silence.

Mitchell's hand froze on my leg. "Who the hell is that?" he snapped, his face contorting with ugly irritation at being interrupted. "My—my boyfriend." I snatched the phone, bolted upright, and practically dove into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. "Need something?" a deep, lazy drawl vibrated through the speaker.

An icy shiver shot down my spine. In my blind panic, I had accidentally called Vance. "Yes. Yes, I do." I didn't care who it was. I just needed him to stay on the line.

I needed a lifeline to buy time and get Mitchell out of my bedroom. "What is it? Need me to play the boyfriend?" He chuckled darkly.

He had clearly heard my panicked excuse through the door. "You've got quite the roster, sweetheart. What number am I in the rotation?" "No. I need your help.

Please, can you help me?" If I wasn't utterly terrified, I would never have begged a onenight stand for a favor. But I was cornered.

I had zero leverage against a grown man with complete financial control over me. "Oh?" The sharp clink of ice against crystal echoed through the phone.

Vance sounded mildly amused. "How exactly do you want me to help you?" "Can you come over?

Just come to my house." If he showed up, Mitchell would be forced to go downstairs and play the dutiful host. I'd be free. It was the only desperate play I had left.

Chapter 6 "You want me to come over again?" Vance paused.

A heavy sigh crackled through the speaker before his low, rough voice drifted back. "Do you really think of me as your oncall highend escort, sweetheart?" "Just ring me whenever you have an itch?

Sorry to disappoint. But as you know, my back is already wrecked. Go let one of your other boyfriends service you." Click. The line went dead.

A deafening dial tone rushed into my ears. My mind completely flatlined. Then— Bang. Bang. Bang. Heavy knuckles slammed violently against the bathroom door.

Ice injected straight into my veins. I frantically mashed the redial button on my screen. It rang and rang, but he didn't pick up.

My fingers shook so violently the phone almost slipped from my sweaty palms. My chest heaved. I was suffocating in the cramped, windowless space.

I opened his contact, my thumbs trembling as I typed out a rapidfire string of messages. [I'm in trouble. Please, can you just come over…] [If you can't come, just call Mitchell.

Tell him you're on your way.] [Or just pretend you want to discuss the wedding with him. Anything.] [Please… just help me…] Silence.

The messages sank like stones into a bottomless ocean. I was trapped. The neon lights of the VIP booth pulsed against the heavy bass of the club.

I stared at the cards in my hand, my jaw tight. Ever since that phone call, a jagged edge of irritation had been gnawing at my gut.

I threw down another losing hand. "What's eating you, Vance?

Got a lot on your mind?" Carter slid onto the leather sofa next to me, grabbing a heavy crystal decanter to pour me a fresh glass. I didn't answer.

I pulled a cigarette from my pack and tilted my head, letting Carter flick his lighter. "Word on the street is you got into a bloodbath with Jace the other night.

Had to shell out a couple hundred grand to settle it," Carter pressed, eyeing the bandage on my face. "You got yourself sliced up too.

Was it even worth it?" "I'd pay it again just to break his jaw." I blew a plume of smoke, flashed a dark smirk, and downed the amber liquor in one shot.

I tossed my cards onto the glass table and stood up. "Whoa, leaving already?" Carter jumped up, grabbing my forearm. He probably thought I was heading out to crack another skull.

I didn't even look at him.

I just stared down at the glowing screen of my phone, a low, cynical chuckle vibrating in my chest. "Just some garbage I need to take out." I shook off his grip, turned on my heel, and walked straight out the heavy double doors without a backward glance.

I huddled in the corner of the cold bathroom floor, my knees pulled tightly to my chest. Let Mitchell pound on the door all he wanted. The deadbolt was thrown.

I wasn't making a single sound. I was so incredibly done with this nightmare. If this all blew up in my face tomorrow and I lost everything, so be it. I was taking my stand tonight.

I lost track of how long his heavy fists rattled the wood. My mind was a blurry, disassociated mess. But then… the pounding stopped. Dead silence settled over the hallway.

Even then, I didn't dare move a muscle. I had to wait until Cynthia got back. She was a toxic nightmare, but she kept Mitchell on a tight leash.

With her in the house, he wouldn't dare try anything. I didn't know how much time had passed.

Suddenly, a voice drifted through the thick wood of the door. "Not going to open up?" The deep, lazy drawl was utterly devoid of emotion. Vance? How… how was he here? "Seriously?

You begged me to cross half the damn city, and now you're going to leave me staring at a closed door?" A dark amusement laced his tone.

Mitchell had backed off because Vance had actually shown up. For some inexplicable reason, every ounce of fear drained out of my body.

I had only spent one chaotic night with him, yet standing on the other side of this door, he was the only thing I wasn't afraid of.

I reached up, my hand shaking as I twisted the deadbolt and pulled the door open. "Can I go to your place?" were the very first words that tumbled out of my mouth.

His eyes landed on my face, and for a split second, he completely froze. The vicious, swollen handprint across my cheek was impossible to miss. The lazy smirk on his lips shattered.

A deadly, icy shadow passed through his dark eyes. But a second later, the mask slammed back into place.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and tipping his head back with that arrogant swagger. "My place?

What exactly do you want to do there, sweetheart?" The raw edge in his voice caught me off guard. He was entirely too dangerous to play games with, but I was out of options.

I forced myself to meet his piercing gaze, lifting my chin. "Whatever you want. I don't care." He stared down at me.

The heavy silence stretched, thick with a chaotic, electric tension. Then, a sharp snort of laughter broke from his chest.

He shook his head, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek like he couldn't quite figure out if I was a nuisance or a prize. "Let's go." He turned his back on me without another word.

His long legs carried him effortlessly down the hallway, radiating an arrogant, untouchable energy. It wasn't until later that I found out exactly how he had pulled it off.

Vance had called Mitchell, demanding an immediate meeting to discuss Tinsley's situation.

Mitchell, absolutely terrified of blowing the engagement, had scrambled out of the house instantly. Only to be completely ghosted by Vance.

I watched him from the passenger seat of his car. He drove with one hand casually draped over the steering wheel, his profile sharp and utterly unbothered.

Even when Mitchell's frantic calls lit up his phone screen over and over again, Vance didn't even blink. He just let it ring into the silence. Chapter 7 He was so incredibly toxic.

But God help me, I kind of loved it. I didn't go home that night. It wasn't the first time I'd stayed out. And just like always, not a single person in that house gave a damn.

Vance's penthouse was massive, modern, and coldly pristine. It looked like nobody actually lived there.

When I walked out of the steamy bathroom, he was slouched on the leather sofa, a cigarette still dangling from his lips. "So, are you going to give me a reason now?

You dragged me all the way across the city just to play games?" He held the cigarette loosely between his fingers, his dark, burning gaze tracking my every move. "You know my time doesn't come cheap." "How expensive?" I leaned against the doorframe.

I was wearing nothing but a plush white hotel robe, my bare legs exposed, wet hair clinging to my collarbones.

I flashed him a wicked smile. "How many times do I have to sleep with you to clear my debt?" A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

He exhaled a long plume of smoke, dropping the act completely. "You used me." I watched his eyes narrow slightly.

He had shown up at the house, seen Mitchell scrambling out the door, and found me cowering behind a deadbolted lock. He didn't need a map to connect the dots.

My messedup family dynamic was fully exposed. "Yeah. You guessed it. As you can see, my charming stepdad—your future fatherinlaw—has a bit of a predatory streak for young girls.

And I just happen to live right down the hall…" I combed my wet fingers through my hair, keeping my tone terrifyingly casual, like we were discussing the weather instead of the horrifying scene he had just interrupted. "Between the two of you… I'd much rather take my chances in your bed." Vance froze.

Through the hazy veil of smoke, his piercing gaze locked onto me, completely stripping away my breezy, unaffected facade. A sharp exhale punched through his lips.

He took another slow drag, his jaw ticking, his expression utterly unreadable. "What's so funny? Don't tell me you aren't enjoying this," I challenged.

I knew exactly which nerve I was hitting. "Oh, I'm enjoying it. What's not to like?" A dark, predatory smirk curled his lips.

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and yanking me forward until I crashed onto his lap. With his free hand, he pushed a damp strand of hair behind my ear.

His head dipped, his teeth scraping sharply against my earlobe. "But even a bastard has standards, sweetheart.

And I only like you when the sun goes down…" A violent shock of electricity shot straight down my spine. A visible shiver wrecked my frame.

I stared at him, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Standards. Right. Since when did either of us have any principles?

But he had dragged me out of that hellhole tonight. Every rescue came with a price tag. I fully understood the rules of the game. I swept my damp hair over one shoulder.

Straddling his lap, I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, leaning in until my lips hovered a breath away from his. "Are you up for it?" I whispered.

His Adam's apple bobbed sharply.

The heavy, suffocating heat flooding his dark eyes shattered his cool composure for a split second before his intense gaze snapped back to mine. "You know exactly what I'm capable of, sweetheart," he rasped, tilting his chin up to press a soft, agonizingly slow kiss to my jawline. "Lights out?" I offered, fully taking the lead. "Your call," he murmured, his hands already gripping my waist. "Then it's lights out." I reached up and hit the switch on the wall.

Later, we lay tangled in the pitchblack room. I didn't sleep a wink.

My muscles ached, and a heavy, suffocating tightness gripped my lungs—a physical manifestation of the absolute wreckage inside.

I stared at the ceiling until the digital clock flipped to 7:00 AM. I slipped out from under his heavy arm. I dragged my clothes over my bruised skin.

I stood over his discarded wallet on the nightstand for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, I gritted my teeth and pulled a sleek black credit card from the leather fold.

I had a hospital bill to pay. Standing on the freezing sidewalk outside his building, I pulled out my phone and typed out a rapid text. [Took one of your cards to buy a new dress.

Hope you don't mind.] Hit send. During the darkest hours of the night, he had pulled me tightly against his chest.

His touch had been terrifyingly tender, a silent, grounding weight against the absolute nightmare I was living in.

In the breathless heat, I had whispered stupid, vulnerable things against his skin. 'Are all you rich boys this sweet?

Call me yours and see what happens.' And when his rough voice murmured it back, I had completely lost my mind. For a dangerous second, I had almost believed the illusion was real.

But daylight was a brutal wakeup call. I had to force the boundary line back into place. That cold, calculated text was the perfect weapon.

It would completely shatter whatever tender illusion we had built in the dark, slamming the reality of our transaction right back into his face.

I locked my screen and hailed a cab to the hospital. Chapter 8 I waited, but the screen stayed dead.

I didn't know it then, but he had simply locked his phone and completely deleted my number.

I was the kind of girl who could smile and coax him in the dark, but it wouldn't stop me from kicking him to the curb the second my feet hit the floor. He saw right through me.

By the time I reached the hospital, Gran was still asleep. The second the head nurse spotted me, she immediately marched over and demanded the overdue nursing fees.

Even though I had fully expected Cynthia to cut the checks this month, a cold knot still formed in my stomach.

I reached into my bag, my fingers brushing the cool plastic of the sleek black card I had taken from his wallet. I headed straight for the billing counter.

The credit machine prompted for a PIN. I flipped the card over, spotted a string of numbers scribbled on the back, and punched them in. Approved.

When I pushed open the door to her private room, my heart dropped. Gran was fully dressed.

She was violently stuffing a duffel bag with her clothes and hoarding toiletries, looking like she was preparing to evacuate a war zone. "Gran, what are you doing?" I rushed forward, desperately grabbing a stack of shirts from her frail hands and tossing them back on the bed.

She stubbornly snatched them right back. "Cynthia and Tinsley are terrorizing you again, aren't they? The nurses already gossiped.

I know she cut off the hospital payments." Gran locked her aged, fiercely unyielding eyes onto mine. "Did they put their hands on you?" "No, Gran, stop overthinking it.

Cynthia just forgot to sign the check. And this—" I touched my bruised cheek, "—I just tripped and hit the counter." I scrambled for an excuse.

I couldn't let her discharge herself. "They treat you like garbage! Stop lying to me, Briar.

That toxic family is incapable of a single act of kindness." "That's not true." I tried to force a reassuring smile, but my facial muscles were completely frozen.

I didn't want her to worry. "Keep lying to me. I'm leaving this hospital today, and you can't stop me." Gran dropped the clothes.

She abandoned the bag completely and marched straight for the door, emptyhanded. "Gran!" I chased after her, panic spiking in my chest. "Please, don't do this.

Your body can't handle being discharged!" Gran stopped. She turned around, her redrimmed eyes locking onto the ugly welt on my face.

A raw, devastating sorrow cracked her tough exterior. "I'm an old woman, Briar," she rasped. "Even if these doctors buy me another ten years, what's the point if I have to watch you suffer?

I'd rather drop dead right now." She reached up, her trembling, paperthin fingers gently brushing the edge of my swollen cheek. "My sweet girl.

I'd rather live six months watching you be truly happy than live a decade watching you get tortured. Do you understand?

You do not have to sell your soul just to keep me breathing." She turned her back on me and walked out, her frail shoulders set with absolute, irreversible determination.

I stood frozen in the middle of the sterile hallway, staring at her retreating back. A sharp, violent burning clawed at the back of my throat.

In this entire miserable world, she was the only person who actually gave a damn about me. Left with zero leverage, I walked to the front desk and signed her discharge papers.

After finishing the discharge paperwork, I hugged a cardboard box filled with personal clothes and medications, and rushed into the elevator with my head down.

It wasn't until I steadied myself that I noticed a man leaning in the corner, wearing a black mask and sporting a head of rebellious ashgray hair.

Because the box in my arms was so massive, it practically shielded my entire upper body. I couldn't really see them, and they definitely couldn't see me.

But that hair… it triggered a violent flashback to a certain someone who rocked that exact same shade… "Is your back just permanently ruined at this point?" Wait. That voice.

It sounded exactly like Gran's attending physician, Elliott. The guy with the gray hair didn't say a word. "It's a minor laceration.

The fact that it keeps hemorrhaging is making me seriously question my entire medical career," Elliott complained. "You've only been practicing medicine for two years," the grayhaired guy finally drawled.

The tone was lethally cold and dripping with arrogant sarcasm. My heart slammed violently against my ribs. Total system failure. I should have known. The ashgray hair.

The bleeding waist injury. If it wasn't Vance, who the hell else could it be? My palms instantly started sweating, my fingernails digging desperately into the cardboard.

If I could rewind the clock exactly sixty seconds, I would have thrown myself down the concrete stairwell rather than step foot inside this metal death trap.

I shrank back against the steel wall, holding my breath, praying to God the massive box would act as an invisibility cloak.

Just ten more floors. "Briar?" Elliott's voice sliced right through the heavy silence. I was completely dead. "Dr. Elliott," I choked out.

Cornered with absolutely nowhere to run, I slowly lowered the cardboard box just enough to reveal the top half of my bruised face.

Chapter 9 "Why the sudden rush to discharge your grandmother? In her condition…" Dr.

Elliott hesitated for a second before reaching out, taking the heaviest cardboard box from my arms. "Can you come by my office?

We need to go over her charts in detail." The entire time, Vance leaned against the back of the elevator, his face a mask of pure ice.

He stared straight ahead, acting like I didn't even exist. Perfect. Honestly, it was for the best.

Our twisted little arrangement couldn't exactly see the light of day, so playing absolute strangers was the safest bet. "Okay. Thank you, Dr.

Elliott." I didn't fight him on it, letting him take the weight of the box. "No… no problem." Elliott visibly stiffened, a sudden, awkward tension radiating off him.

Vance didn't miss the shift. He stood there with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, radiating an arrogant, untouchable energy.

From the corner of my eye, I caught his dark gaze flicking sharply between me and Elliott. His jaw ticked, a muscle feathering dangerously under the skin of his cheek.

He looked like he was seconds away from snapping. Was he buying into Tinsley's toxic rumors? Did he think I was just playing his straightlaced cousin, too? "Dr.

Elliott, are we treating my back or what?" Vance's voice was a sudden, lethal strike of ice in the small space. "Yours isn't urgent." Elliott lowered his voice, shooting him a warning look. "It's just going to rip open again anyway." I blinked, thoroughly confused. "Not a chance of that happening anytime soon." A dark, cynical smirk curled Vance's lips.

He let the words drag out lazily, his piercing gaze sliding directly to me. "I'm staying far away from women." My stomach executed a violent drop.

The heavy, loaded implication in his tone made my pulse spike. "Watch your mouth, Vance," Elliott snapped, shooting his cousin a glare.

He was clearly fed up with the reckless playboy reputation Vance dragged around the city. Ding. The elevator doors slid open.

A low, mocking scoff vibrated in Vance's chest as he pushed off the wall and stalked out, his long strides aggressively eating up the hallway.

I stared at his broad back, a knot of irritation forming in my chest. What was his deal?

If he was pissed about the credit card I swiped this morning, he could just be a man and demand it back instead of shooting daggers with his eyes. Cheap bastard.

Did he really expect a free ride after last night? For a toxic playboy, he was being ridiculously petty.

Once we hit Elliott's office, he poured me a paper cup of water and dove straight into Gran's medical files. He talked for a solid thirty minutes.

The entire time, Vance sprawled on the leather sofa, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

But with every passing minute, the heavy, aggressive taps of his thumbs against the glass grew louder, betraying a violently fraying temper. "Thank you, Dr. Elliott.

Can I get your number?" I pulled out my phone. "Just in case Gran has an emergency, so I can text you directly?" "Of course." Elliott instantly reached into his coat pocket for his phone. "A patient texting a doctor's personal number?

Is that even legal?" The lazy, utterly abrasive drawl cut through the room from the sofa. "What's wrong with the clinic hotline?" Heat flushed the back of my neck.

I knew Vance was gunning for me today, but this was just crossing a line. "Shut the hell up, Vance," Elliott barked, throwing him a lethal look. "Dr.

Elliott, if it's against policy, the office number is perfectly fine." I didn't want to get caught in the crossfire.

Vance and I were barely more than a messy, transactional onenight stand; there was zero reason to drag his cousin into our toxic fallout. "Ignore him." Elliott rattled off his digits, completely dismissing the hostile energy radiating from the other side of the room.

Since Elliott was offering, I didn't hesitate. I typed the number into my contacts and hit save, completely freezing Vance out of the equation.

The guy on the sofa abruptly sat forward, the leather creaking violently under his sudden movement. His dark eyes locked onto me, burning with an unhinged, suppressed fury.

What exactly was his problem? Was his ego really that fragile?

Did it actually kill him that after wrecking his back for two nights straight, I bolted with his black card and was now casually exchanging numbers with his cousin right in front of his face?

Chapter 10 I watched him from the corner of my eye. Vance sat there, a dangerous, arrogant smirk slowly spreading across his face.

He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a predatory glint. "Dr. Elliott, didn't you just ask why my back isn't healing?" His voice was a slow, deliberate drawl.

He shot me a wicked, challenging look. "Why don't you ask her?" My scalp prickled. A cold knot formed in my stomach.

For the first time, I realized just how lethal Vance actually was. He was tossing a lit match straight into a powder keg. "Have you lost your damn mind, Vance?

You're really grasping at straws now!" Elliott snapped, aggressively rubbing his temples. "Just sit there and keep your mouth shut.

I'll deal with you in a minute." Elliott was clearly fed up with his cousin's toxic playboy routine, dismissing the comment as another one of Vance's sick jokes. "Dr.

Elliott, he's telling the truth," I said, my voice deadpan as I held Vance's burning gaze. "I'm the one who ruined his back. He's my stepsister's fiancé." "Fiancé?

Wait, you're Tinsley's older sister?" Elliott's jaw practically hit the floor.

He looked back and forth between us before a sudden, wild realization lit up his eyes. "Wait… did you catch him cheating? Did you beat the hell out of him for your sister?

Good for you. He completely deserved it!" A cold sweat broke out across my spine. I gripped the strap of my bag tighter. "Uh… sure. Let's go with that," I muttered.

Vance's broad chest shook with a dark, suppressed laugh. His eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered amusement.

He knew exactly what I was doing, mocking me for backing down from dropping the absolute, explosive truth on his straightlaced cousin. "I'll let you guys get back to… whatever this is.

I have to go." I didn't spare the smirking bastard on the couch another glance. I turned on my heel and walked straight out the door.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, the energy in the room completely flatlined. "Fuck!

Watch it!" I hissed through my teeth as Elliott violently ripped the medical tape off my waist without a single ounce of warning. "Oh, now you feel pain?" Elliott tossed the bloody gauze into the steel trash can. "I've been single for thirty damn years, Vance.

I finally meet a girl I actually like, and you couldn't keep your toxic mouth shut for five minutes?" "Are you out of your mind?

You like her?" A sudden, violent surge of irritation spiked in my chest. I didn't even know why I was so pissed off.

Maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of my straightlaced, saintly cousin falling for a manipulative, ruthless little user like Briar. "Are you completely blind?" I snapped, right before Elliott aggressively jammed a swab of antiseptic into my open wound, making me curse out loud again. "I'm warning you, stay the hell away from her," I gritted out through the burning pain. "Mind your own business, kid," Elliott shot back, his hands deliberately rough as he rebandaged the gash.

Jesus. He was being more brutal than she was last night. I clenched my jaw, absolutely fuming. An hour later, I hit up a pool party Carter was throwing at his mansion.

With my freshly stitched back, the water was offlimits, so I just slumped on a luxury lounger in the shade, downing expensive whiskey with zero interest in the chaos around me. "What's the deal, man?

An entire pool full of models and you're not even looking?" Carter strutted over, an arm wrapped around two girls in string bikinis.

I shot him a dark glare, took a heavy swallow of my drink, and pointed a finger at my bandaged waist. "I value my life." Carter snorted, almost choking on his beer. "Look at the great Vance, suddenly playing it safe like an old man." His cocky grin vanished the second my eyes locked onto his, the temperature dropping ten degrees below freezing. "Fuck off, Carter," I deadpanned. "Alright, alright, just messing with you.

Chill." Carter threw his hands up in surrender, quickly reading the lethal mood rolling off me.

He dismissed the girls and sat down cautiously. "Hypothetically… if someone deleted a contact, how do you get it back?" I muttered, staring into the amber liquid in my glass.

Carter literally spat his drink across the concrete deck. "Uh, do you remember their number? Or their handle?

Just type it in and hit add." He looked like he was absolutely dying to ask who it was, but the warning in my eyes kept his mouth firmly shut. "I don't remember," I clipped out, my jaw tightening in frustration.

I hadn't bothered to save it. "Then… tell me which girl it is, and I'll go track her down for you?" Carter offered, watching me like I was a ticking time bomb. "Girl?

Is that the only damn thing you ever think about?" I slammed my heavy crystal glass down on the side table, completely over the entire conversation.

I pushed off the lounger and walked out without looking back. Chapter 11 Who the hell did I think I was? Did I really need some idiot to track down a girl's number for me?

What an absolute joke. I ran a hand through my hair, a sharp edge of irritation gnawing at my gut. I never should have deleted her contact.

If I was going to cut her off, I should have at least warned her to keep her manipulative hands off my saint of a cousin first.

Gran and I had retreated to our hometown, a remote, rundown little town far from the city.

Gran had Stage 3 hypertension, complicated by a laundry list of other severe health issues. I didn't dare leave her side for a single second.

My entire day revolved around monitoring her blood pressure and texting the readings directly to Dr.

Elliott. "Your grandmother's blood pressure is surprisingly stable," Elliott texted back. "It's actually trending downward.

Did you put her on any additional medication back home?" He was clearly baffled. Her pressure had been impossible to control at the hospital, yet the second we left, she stabilized.

As a doctor, his first instinct was to suspect I was overdosing her on anti