Chapter 2

The music in the club was a heavy, pulsing beat that vibrated through the floor and up my legs. It was loud, chaotic, and a good place to hide in plain sight.

For the past three years, this was my life. Sequined dresses, high heels, and the practiced smile of a woman who was paid to be charming.

"Chloe, darling, another drink for Mr. Henderson."

Mr. Davis' s voice was slick with false affection. He was my... provider. My "sugar daddy," as the other girls whispered. A wealthy, cynical man who paid for my father' s round-the-clock medical care and Ethan' s heart medication. In exchange, I was his pretty accessory.

I nodded, my smile never wavering, and moved toward the bar.

That' s when I saw him.

Ryan Stone.

He was sitting in a corner booth, surrounded by men in expensive suits. He looked the same. Powerful, handsome, and with an air of cold authority that made people quiet down when he looked their way.

For a second, I couldn' t breathe. My feet froze to the floor. All the noise of the club faded away, replaced by the pounding in my own ears.

I needed to get out. I turned, trying to melt back into the crowd, to get back to Mr. Davis' s table before Ryan saw me.

"Well, well, if it isn' t Chloe Miller."

The voice wasn't Ryan's. It was Mark Henderson, the man I was supposed to be getting a drink for. He was one of Mr. Davis' s business associates, a man who had tried to ask me out years ago, back when I was still an architect with a future. I had turned him down politely. He never forgot it.

He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. His eyes ran over my tight dress, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I have to say, Chloe, this is a much better look for you. The whole successful architect thing was a bit... intimidating. This is much more... approachable."

His friends laughed. Mr. Davis, from his table, just watched with an amused glint in his eye. This was part of the game. Part of the price.

"Mr. Henderson," I said, my voice even. "Your drink."

"Forget the drink," he said, leaning in closer. His breath smelled of whiskey. "I remember when you wouldn' t even give me the time of day. Now look at you. Davis' s little pet. Tell me, how much does he pay to have a fallen goddess on his arm?"

I felt my cheeks burn, but I kept my expression blank. I pretended I didn' t hear him. I tried to step around him, my hand already reaching to steady Mr. Davis' s chair as I returned to my place.

"Don' t ignore me," Mark snapped, grabbing my arm. His grip was tight. "I' m talking to you."

The music seemed to swell, and a few people at nearby tables turned to look. I could feel the humiliation crawl up my neck.

"Mark, that' s enough."

The voice was low and cut through the noise like a knife.

It was Ryan.

He was standing now, his chair pushed back. He hadn't moved from his booth, but his presence filled the space between us. His eyes were fixed on Mark' s hand, the one wrapped around my arm.

Mark Henderson, who was usually loud and arrogant, seemed to shrink. He let go of my arm instantly, as if it were on fire.

"Ryan," he stammered. "I... we were just having some fun."

Ryan didn' t even look at him. His gaze shifted from my arm to my face. It was unreadable. Was it pity? Disgust? I couldn' t tell.

"Is this the life you chose, Chloe?" he asked, his voice quiet but carrying a strange weight.

Mr. Davis finally decided to intervene. He stood up, putting a possessive arm around my waist.

"Ryan, good to see you," he said smoothly. "Chloe is with me. Mark was just getting a little carried away with the compliments."

He then turned to me, his smile tight. "Chloe, honey, Mark asked you a question. It' s rude not to answer." He gestured to a full glass of whiskey on the table. "He wants to know how devoted you are. Why don' t you show him? Drink this for him. All of it."

It was a test. A public display of my submission.

My hands were shaking. My throat was tight. But I thought of my father, lying motionless in his bed. I thought of Ethan, his small chest struggling with every breath.

For them. It was always for them.

I picked up the glass. My eyes met Ryan' s across the room for a fleeting second. I saw something flicker in his expression, something I couldn' t name.

Then I tilted my head back and drank the entire glass of whiskey in one go. The liquid burned its way down my throat, but I didn' t let myself choke.

I put the empty glass down on the table with a soft click.

"Is that devoted enough for you, Mr. Henderson?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

The laughter around the table was loud, but all I could hear was the roaring in my own head.