Chapter 2 Entering the Lion's Den

"You can't trust a man like him. Especially when he smiles."

Those were her mother's words. Said half-jokingly once over burned pancakes and instant coffee. Said years ago, when her mother was still alive. And Lily Hart never imagined she'd remember them now, standing in front of a fifty-story glass tower with nothing but a damp jacket and a rich man's business card clutched between her fingers.

Stone Tower. It rose like a monument to money, slicing into the cloudy sky with sharp corners and mirrored arrogance. This was Alexander Stone's world. All power, no mercy. And she'd be lying if she said she wasn't terrified of stepping into it.

But terror didn't change rent deadlines.

It didn't change the way her stomach twisted in hunger.

And it sure as hell didn't change the fact that she had nowhere else to go.

She took a breath. Then another. Then walked inside.

The lobby was every bit as intimidating as the building's exterior: black marble floors, gold accents, ceilings so high they echoed. Everyone inside looked like they belonged in a fashion magazine or on a courtroom drama, pressed suits, designer shoes, lips painted in unforgiving reds.

Lily pulled her sleeves over her hands. Her thrift-store blouse and worn jeans felt like a punchline. But she kept walking, chin high, to the reception desk.

The woman behind it barely blinked. "Name?"

"Lily Hart. Mr. Stone asked me to come."

The receptionist's eyes flicked over her like she was scanning a barcode. Then, without a word, she pressed a button on her headset.

"Miss Hart is here," she said into the mic.

Moments later, a tall man in a fitted navy suit appeared. Sharp jawline, earpiece, the kind of guy you didn't argue with. "This way, Miss Hart."

He didn't speak again. Just led her to a private elevator hidden behind a dark panel. As the doors closed, Lily caught her reflection in the mirrored walls: wet hair, pale face, eyes too tired to pretend. She looked exactly like what she was.

Desperate.

The elevator doors opened directly into a penthouse office so beautiful, it didn't feel real. Chrome, glass, leather, and light. New York stretched beyond the windows in all directions, glittering beneath the clouds like a city made of stars.

And in the center of it all, like he owned the skyline itself, stood Alexander Stone.

He had no jacket on. Just a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, a glass of something amber in one hand. He stood in front of the window, back to her, like he was contemplating war or empire-or maybe they were the same to him.

"You came," he said without turning.

"I almost didn't."

He turned then, slowly, his gray eyes meeting hers. The intensity in them made her chest tighten.

"But you did."

She stepped inside, heart thudding. "I don't know why."

"I think you do."

He walked toward her, deliberate, unhurried. Everything about him screamed control-from the precise way his shirt hugged his chest to the way he didn't blink until he was two feet in front of her.

"Still wet," he murmured, his gaze flicking to her hair.

"Still poor," she snapped.

A hint of amusement touched his mouth. "Poverty doesn't make you weak, Lily. It just makes you interesting."

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you want from me?"

"Your time. Your presence. A few weeks, maybe a month. You'll attend some events with me, smile for the cameras, pretend you're mine."

Her throat tightened. "So... an escort?"

"Not quite. You won't sleep with anyone. Not even me. Unless you want to."

She swallowed. His voice dropped on that last sentence, like an invitation she hadn't asked for but couldn't ignore.

"Why me?"

He studied her for a moment. "Because you don't flinch when I talk. Because you didn't grovel when I offered help. Because you intrigue me."

Lily shifted on her feet. The hunger in his gaze was different from the way other men looked at her. He wasn't seeing just her curves or her vulnerability. He was reading her. Calculating. Testing.

"And if I say no?"

He turned, walked to a sleek bar at the side of the room, poured himself more whiskey. "Then you're free to leave. No strings. No judgments."

"But if I say yes?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Then you live here. You get paid. You get protection. And when our arrangement ends, you walk away with enough to rewrite your life."

She hated how tempting it sounded.

But she wasn't stupid. "There's always a catch."

"Of course."

She waited.

He walked back to her, gaze darkening. "The catch is me."

She didn't respond. Couldn't. Because suddenly, his phone buzzed and the tension snapped. He checked the screen, and his entire demeanor changed.

The calm vanished. Replaced by something colder. Sharper.

He pressed a button on the desk. "Trace it. Find out who leaked the photos. I want a name and a motive by midnight."

Lily stiffened. "What photos?"

Alexander looked up at her, all emotion wiped from his face.

"Someone took pictures of you entering the building. They're already on two gossip sites."

She felt her stomach drop. "What?"

He walked to his desk, turned the monitor toward her.

There she was. Her soaked jacket. Her tired face. Her shame.

The headline read: "Billionaire Alexander Stone Seen with Mystery Woman. Gold Digger or Girlfriend?"

Lily could barely breathe.

"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.

He leaned against the desk. "I know. But now you're in it. And they won't stop."

Her eyes met his. "Then give me a reason to stay."

He didn't blink. Just stepped forward and murmured,

"Stay the night. Let them wonder."