Unforgivable Mistakes, Unpaid Debts

For seven years, I used my inheritance to sponsor my college crush. I took Keegan Valdez, a brilliant but disgraced student working as a bartender, and turned him into a Silicon Valley billionaire. We lived together, and I was the fool who believed our transactional relationship was love.

Then his childhood sweetheart, Cora, came back.

The humiliation was public and swift. At a charity auction, he outbid me for a two-million-dollar necklace, fastening it around her neck for everyone to see. That same night, he rescued me after I was drugged and nearly assaulted, only to abandon me in a hotel room because Cora called with a fake emergency about a stuck shower door.

But the final nail in the coffin came after a car hit me. As I lay bleeding in the ER, the nurse called him for consent for my emergency surgery. I heard his voice on the phone, cold and irritated.

"I'm comforting my girlfriend," he said. "Whatever happens to her is not my concern."

The line went dead. The man I had built from nothing had just left me to die.

With a trembling hand, I signed the consent form myself. Then I made another call.

"Edwin," I whispered to the man who had proposed to me a year ago. "About that wedding... are you still interested?"

Chapter 1

The call came at 2 AM. A sterile, calm voice on the other end of the line told Haven Parks that her parents were gone. A drunk driver had run a red light. It was instant, the voice said, as if that was a comfort.

That single phone call turned her from a daughter into a tech heiress. The weight of Parks Industries, her father' s life's work, settled onto her shoulders. The grief was a vast, empty room inside her.

Two months later, she was trying to feel normal. Her friends dragged her to a bar downtown, a place with dark wood and sticky floors. And that' s where she saw him.

Keegan Valdez.

He was wiping down the counter, his back to her. But she knew that silhouette. She' d spent four years at MIT memorizing it from the back of lecture halls. He was the brilliant scholarship kid, the one who was going to change the world. The one she' d had a hopeless, silent crush on.

Then, one day, he was just gone. Expelled. Rumors flew, but the most persistent one was that he' d gotten into a brutal fight.

Now he was here, serving drinks, his movements tired.

"Keegan?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He turned. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by a shadow of something else. Shame.

"Haven Parks," he said, his voice flat.

Later, after the bar emptied out, he told her the story. It was about a girl, of course. His childhood sweetheart, Cora Short. Some guys had cornered her, and he' d stepped in. He didn't regret protecting her, but it had cost him everything. His scholarship, his future, his ticket out of the poverty he' d been born into.

Haven looked at the man who had once burned so brightly, now extinguished by circumstance. The old affection, buried for years, stirred within her. She had the money. He had the genius.

"I have a proposition for you," she said, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside her. "I' ll pay for you to finish your degree. Any school you want. After that, I' ll fund a startup. Whatever you want to build."

He stared at her, suspicious. "Why?"

"I' m a good investment," she said simply.

He needed a lifeline. She needed a purpose, something to fill the echoing silence her parents had left behind. And maybe, she thought, she just needed him.

He accepted. Their new relationship was a transaction. Her money for his time. Her financial support for his companionship. It quickly bled into something more. An unspoken physical connection that filled the nights but left the days feeling hollow. He never spoke of love, only of a debt he would one day repay.

Seven years flew by.

Keegan Valdez was no longer a bartender. He was a Silicon Valley billionaire, the founder of a tech giant that had, just as he' d promised, changed the world. He had repaid his debt a hundred times over, making Haven wealthier than she' d ever been. They lived together in a sprawling mansion overlooking the bay, a monument to his success.

But he was still repaying a debt. Just not to her.

Cora Short was back.

Suddenly, the tabloids were full of them. Keegan and Cora at exclusive restaurants. Keegan and Cora on a weekend trip to Napa. He lavished his time and money on her, a public spectacle of devotion. For Haven, he had only a cool, respectful distance.

He treated Haven like a business partner. He treated Cora like the sun.

The first real cut was at a charity auction for children's health. A simple diamond necklace was on the block. Haven didn't care about the jewelry, but she knew the cause was important to her late mother. She raised her paddle.

The price climbed. Soon, it was just her against one other bidder.

"One million," Haven said clearly.

A new voice cut through the room. "Two million."

It was Keegan. He was standing near the back, his arm around Cora, who was looking at the necklace with wide, wanting eyes. Haven froze, her paddle in her hand. Everyone turned to look at her, then at Keegan. They all knew who she was. They all knew she lived with him.

The auctioneer, smelling blood, looked at Haven. "Do I hear two and a half?"

Haven felt a hundred pairs of eyes on her. The humiliation was a physical heat rising up her neck. She slowly lowered her paddle.

Keegan won the necklace. He clasped it around Cora' s neck right there, in front of everyone, and kissed her forehead. He didn't even glance at Haven.

That night, Haven went home and called Edwin Rice. Her father's old business partner, a man who was stable, kind, and devoted to her in a quiet, unwavering way. He had proposed to her a year after her parents' death. She had politely declined then, her heart still caught on Keegan.

"Edwin," she said into the phone. "Is your offer still on the table?"

There was a pause, then his warm, steady voice. "For you, Haven? Always."

She hung up and walked into the master bedroom. It was a vast, cold space. She opened Keegan' s closet, the one filled with suits she' d picked out, ties she' d knotted for him. Methodically, she began to pack his things into boxes. His clothes, his books, the photos of them from the early years. It was a cleansing. A severing.

She needed to see him one last time, to tell him. She knew he would be at a tech gala that weekend. Her wedding was in a month. She had to end this now.

She found him on the terrace, Cora tucked under his arm. Cora was laughing, her head thrown back. Keegan was watching her with an expression of such unguarded tenderness it made Haven' s stomach clench.

"What a lovely couple," someone murmured nearby. "He looks at her like she' s the only woman in the world."

Keegan finally noticed her. His smile tightened. "Haven. What are you doing here?" The question was laced with surprise, as if her presence was an inconvenience.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice even.

"I' m a bit busy," he said, nodding towards Cora.

"Keegan, don' t be rude," Cora said, her voice sweet as syrup. "Haven, you look lovely. Is there something wrong?"

"I want to talk about our future," Haven said, looking directly at Keegan.

He sighed, annoyed. "Can this wait?" Before he could finish, Cora stumbled, letting out a small cry.

"My heel," Cora gasped, leaning heavily on him. "I think I twisted my ankle."

Instantly, all of Keegan' s attention was on her. He crouched down, his hands gently probing her ankle. "Does it hurt here? Let me see." He spoke to her in a low, soothing voice, the one he used when he was trying to coax a frightened animal.

Haven watched them, a silent, invisible ghost. He had a PhD in engineering, but he couldn' t see the shoddy acting in front of him. Cora wasn' t hurt. She just couldn' t stand to have his attention on Haven for more than thirty seconds.

Haven had felt a stab wound in her side once, after a riding accident. The pain had been white-hot, blinding. This felt worse. She was just an obligation. Cora was his heart.

At the gala' s dinner, Keegan sat Cora next to him, ordering all her favorite dishes without asking, even though he knew Haven hated seafood. He peeled shrimp for Cora, his long, capable fingers working deftly. The same fingers that had traced paths on Haven' s skin in the dark.

The thought made her want to vomit. She drank. Wine, then champagne, then something harder from a flask a friend offered. The alcohol did little to numb the pain, but it made the room tilt.

She felt a hand on her arm. It was one of Keegan' s business rivals, a man with a slick smile she' d always disliked. "You look like you need some air, Ms. Parks."

She let him lead her out of the ballroom. The hallway was blessedly quiet. But he didn' t stop there. He guided her toward a private suite.

"Wait," she said, her head thick and fuzzy. "Where are we going?"

"Just to a quieter place," he said, his hand tightening on her arm.

He pushed open the door to a dark room. The lock clicked behind them. She realized her mistake too late. The wine hadn't just been wine. Something was mixed in it. Her legs felt like lead.

She stumbled back, trying to get to the door. "Let me out."

He laughed. "Keegan thinks he owns this town. Let' s see how he feels when I have his pretty little sponsor."

Panic clawed at her throat. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy. She managed to hit Keegan' s number on her speed dial just as the man lunged for her. The phone clattered to the floor.

The man pinned her against the wall. His breath was sour. She fought, kicking and scratching, but the drug was pulling her down, into a thick, dark fog.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Keegan stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. He pulled the man off her and threw him against the far wall with a sickening crunch.

"Don' t you ever touch her again," Keegan snarled.

He turned to Haven. She sagged against the wall, her body trembling. He scooped her into his arms and carried her out, not to the suite they sometimes used at this hotel, but to his own private penthouse upstairs.

He laid her on the bed. Her skin was on fire. The drug was making her delirious. She reached for him, pulling at his shirt. This was a familiar dance, the only one they knew.

It started seven years ago, in his sterile MIT dorm room. She had brought him dinner, an excuse to see him. He had been so focused, so brilliant. He' d looked up from his equations, and for the first time, he had really seen her. He kissed her then, a kiss of gratitude that she had mistaken for something more. That night, she gave him everything.

The next morning, he had looked at her with cool eyes and said, "I will pay you back for this, Haven. For everything."

He thought it was a debt. She thought it was the beginning of a life.

She tried to tell him that night, tried to explain it wasn't a transaction. But he had an early class. He' d kissed her forehead and left, leaving the words unspoken between them. A misunderstanding that festered for seven years.

For a long time, she had let herself believe she had him. That their nights together meant something. That his quiet care was a form of love.

Then Cora came back. And Haven saw what real love looked like in his eyes. It was a blazing fire for Cora, while for her, there was only the cool, dutiful glow of a lamp kept lit out of obligation. He was her lover, yes. But he was Cora' s love. And she, Haven Parks, was just his benefactor.

The realization was a slow, creeping poison. Now, it had finally reached her heart.

She was done.

In her drugged haze, she pushed him away. "Don' t," she mumbled.

He frowned, confused. "Haven, it' s me." He tried to kiss her.

She turned her head. "No."

Suddenly, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. It was Cora.

Cora' s panicked voice came through the speaker. "Keegan! Help me! The shower... it' s broken, the water is scalding hot, and the door is stuck! I can' t get out!"

Haven felt a moment of lucidity. Another ploy. Another perfectly timed drama.

But Keegan didn' t hesitate. He looked from Haven, lying drugged and vulnerable on his bed, to the phone. He chose the phone.

"I' m on my way," he said. He looked back at Haven, a flicker of something-annoyance? guilt?-in his eyes. "Stay here. Don' t move."

He left. The door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the silent, opulent room.

The drug was wearing off, replaced by a chilling clarity. He had left her. He had found her being assaulted, and he had left her for a jammed shower door.

A wave of nausea and despair washed over her. She stumbled to the bathroom, her body screaming in protest. The room was spinning. She needed to get the drug out, to be clean of him, of this whole toxic mess.

She saw a shard of glass on the floor, perhaps from a broken decoration. Without thinking, she picked it up. She needed pain. A real, physical pain to overwhelm the agony in her soul.

She drew the sharp edge across the soft skin of her forearm. The sting was sharp, immediate. It cleared her head for a second.

With a trembling hand, she pulled out her phone. She didn't call Keegan. She called the only other person who had ever offered her a safe harbor.

"Edwin," she whispered into the phone, her voice cracking. "I need help."

Then the world went black.

She dreamed. She dreamed of a sunlit lecture hall at MIT, of Keegan, eighteen and full of fire, arguing a point with a professor. She had fallen in love with his mind first.

Then the dream shifted. It was Keegan' s face, but he was looking at Cora, his eyes full of a raw, desperate love that he had never, not once, shown her.

He was repaying a debt. That' s all it had ever been. His body, his time, his success-it was all just interest on a loan she had given him.

She woke up with a single, clear thought.

The debt was paid. It was time to foreclose.