St. Roma Holiday Hotel.
"The hospital said if they don’t get that million by tomorrow, they're kicking Roscoe Caldwell out."
Nathaniel Thornton pulled out a card and tossed it beside Lena Caldwell.
"There’s a million on this. Spend one night with me, and it's yours."
Lena gave a sharp laugh.
Nathaniel Thornton.
Once a street kid, now the richest man in Jin City.
Twelve years ago, she saved him off the street—basically let a wolf into the house.
Twelve years later, he crushed the Caldwell family. Took everything. Became top dog.
Her father, Roscoe Caldwell, couldn’t handle the blow. Suffered a brain hemorrhage. He’d been in a coma ever since.
She hated him so much it burned, but her lips curved into a soft, mocking smile.
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes gleaming as she moved with effortless grace—a mix of allure and danger. “Sure. A single night with Mr. Thornton for a million? Sounds like a deal.”
Kneeling on the bed, Lena let her pale finger trail down Nathaniel’s sharp jawline, voice dripping with playful tease. “Mr. Thornton, would you mind giving me a moment? Gotta wash up first. Don’t wanna get your sheets dirty—wouldn’t that be rude?”
Nathaniel frowned slightly, staring at her.
This wasn’t how he remembered her.
They grew up together, and the Lena he knew had been pure, bright, stunning.
But now, though her face was still heartbreakingly beautiful, something had shifted. She had an edge now, this sultry charm that made her feel like a stranger.
Lena stood and walked into the bathroom.
Thirty minutes later, she stepped out, wrapped in a snow-white towel that barely covered from chest to upper thigh.
Nathaniel’s gaze followed her as she slowly walked over, one hand securing the towel, the other resting lightly on his shoulder, guiding him back onto the bed with just a bit of pressure.
She looked down at him, smiling with mischief. “Mr. Thornton… Lena's here to serve you tonight.”
Her soft, honey-sweet voice made his chest tighten.
Even through the fabric, he could feel her delicate hand resting on him.
There had been a time—so many times—when their fingers had been intertwined...Lena Caldwell straddled Nathaniel Thornton’s lap, her lips inching toward his.
A heat flared in Nathaniel like someone lit a fire inside him. His hands clamped down on her waist, ready to flip her onto the bed.
“Don’t move,” Lena’s sweet, soft voice turned razor-sharp.
A jagged piece of broken glass pressed against the artery in his neck.
She still wore a seductive smile, but the light in her eyes had turned bitter cold. It wasn't temptation in her gaze now—just sheer, burning hatred.
The glass glinted under the dim light as it pressed harder into his skin. Lena slowly straightened up, eyes fixed on him with a cold smirk. “Want to sleep with me? Please, you’re not even qualified.”
Nathaniel glanced at the glass at his throat, then looked back at her. “You wouldn't dare.”
“Wanna bet?” Her hand tightened, the glass digging into his skin. Blood welled up instantly, trickling down his neck in slow, warm drops.
Some of the blood was his. Some was hers.
She’d smashed a mirror in the bathroom and grabbed a shard—irregular and sharp-edged. Now, gripping it so tightly, it cut both of them. His throat. Her fingers.
Nathaniel turned his head slightly, eyes fixed on the blood dripping steadily. His gaze darkened, and something twisted in his chest.
He could handle his own bleeding neck. But her injured fingers? That, he couldn’t ignore.
His eyes lingered on her bloodied hand, then moved to her stubbornly set lips. He gave a faint laugh. “Alright, you win. Go.”
They’d grown up together. He knew her too well.
Break before she’d bend.
And from the look in her eyes, yeah—she’d rather die than give in.
And he couldn’t let her die.
*
Once out of the hotel and into the cold night air, Lena suddenly realized—she was flat broke.
Left with no choice, she walked.
Maybe it was the aftereffects of the wine, or maybe she’d just lost too much blood—but every step got harder, and everything around her started blurring.
She squinted. Her building wasn’t far.
She pushed herself to keep moving, staggering forward a few more steps before everything went black and she collapsed.
A black Range Rover screeched to a stop beside her. Damon Whitaker jumped out, knelt beside her, and checked for a pulse.
A moment later, he leaned down, picked her up, and carried her to the car.
