Five years after I broke up with Martin Sheals, he became a titan of the business world. And I became one of the city’s most infamous socialites. To secure a partnership with Sheals Industries, my father served me up to him on a silver platter. Martin just sneered. "So this is the life you were so desperate for when you left me, Elara." He humiliated me without restraint, conspired with others to toy with my emotions, and methodically crushed every last one of my hopes. Then, when he finally learned the truth behind our breakup, he came back, begging me to take him back. But by then, I had already let him go. 1 Marcus Blake had finally tracked down the hotel where Martin was entertaining clients, and he dragged me there with him. His face was slick with a sycophantic smile as he pushed me to offer Martin a toast. "Elara, darling, make sure you take good care of Mr. Sheals tonight." I raised my glass, my hand trembling slightly, and met Martin's mocking gaze. I had tried to steel myself for this, but seeing the man I still loved look at me with such open contempt after all these years was suffocating. A greasy, middle-aged executive sitting next to him decided to make things difficult. "Come on, beautiful, one glass is nothing," he slurred. "If you really want to show Mr. Sheals how sincere you are, you'll drink this entire bottle." He was one of Marcus's biggest rivals, and since he couldn't attack Marcus directly, he aimed his venom at me. The problem was, I couldn't drink. A glass or two was fine, but any more and I’d break out in a painful, full-body rash. The men at the table started hooting and hollering. My face flushed, then drained of all color. Marcus was more than happy to let them make a spectacle of me; it livened up the party. My dignity, my safety—none of it mattered as much as his business interests. I instinctively glanced at Martin. He just sat there, a faint, detached smile on his lips. He didn't look at me, didn't say a word to stop them. He was an observer at a zoo, watching the monkeys perform. I lowered my eyes, a wave of self-loathing washing over me. I was the one who had ended things five years ago, screaming that I never wanted to see him again. Seeing me humiliated like this? He was probably enjoying it. I picked up the bottle of whiskey. The greasy executive, emboldened by Martin's indifference, bellowed with laughter. "Look at this one! She knows how to please a man! Hey, Sheals, if you're not interested, maybe you can let the rest of us have some fun with her tonight!" Martin nonchalantly twirled the signet ring on his finger, his smile never wavering. "Be my guest, Mr. Davies." As if I were nothing more than a trinket to be passed around. A sharp, searing pain pulsed through my chest. I couldn't help but remember a time when he had held me in his hands like I was the most precious thing in the world. Five years hadn't been long enough to numb me to the chasm between then and now. Half a bottle of bitter liquor later, my head was spinning. The air was thick with jeers and vulgar jokes. Someone finally noticed something was wrong. "Hey, Blake, is your girl allergic to alcohol or something?" The moment the words were out, Martin’s eyes, sharp as daggers, shot toward me. My cheeks were on fire, itching and burning. The rash must have already spread across my face. I quickly bowed my head, trying to hide my pathetic state. Suddenly, Martin let out a cold laugh and slammed his glass down on the table. "Really, Blake? You bring someone who can't even drink to my dinner? Are you trying to cause a scene and ruin my reputation, or are you just looking for a payout?" My spine went rigid. The heat on my face was no longer just from the allergy; it was from pure, unadulterated shame. "Mr. Sheals, my deepest apologies! How about I get someone else for you, someone who can handle her liquor?" Marcus said, scrambling to his feet and yanking me up to apologize. He looked one step away from forcing me to my knees. "No need. The party's over," Martin said, standing up abruptly. "And you should probably get your... asset... to a hospital." He walked out without a second glance. The room fell silent. With the main guest gone, the dinner dissolved. I hadn't managed to say a single meaningful word to him, hadn't even brushed against the sleeve of his suit. For that failure, Marcus was furious. While I was still lying in a hospital bed, he threw a card at me. On it was the address to Martin's private villa. "I don't care how you do it, but you will get that contract with Sheals Industries," he snarled. "Or I swear, I'll cut off your mother's medical treatments." 2 I stared at his retreating back, a profound chill seeping into my bones. No one would believe it if I told them. The man who treated me like a bargaining chip, a piece of property to be traded for profit, was my own father. Before he married my mother, he was the picture of a gentle partner. After, when he realized she couldn't adLunn his career, he took out all his professional frustrations on his wife and daughter. My mother, terrified he would one day kill me, finally gathered the courage to leave, taking me with her and leaving everything behind. But fate is a cruel mistress. Years later, my mother fell gravely ill. I had no choice but to go back to him, to beg him to save her life. It just so happened that his company, Blake Enterprises, was facing a crisis. He agreed to send my mother to a top clinic in Germany for treatment. The price was that I had to stay with him, to be his pawn, to charm and appease whichever powerful man he deemed useful. I never imagined he would then hide my mother away, using her as leverage to control my every move. I clutched the card, the address burning into my palm. Martin's last words to me from our breakup echoed in my ears: "You'll regret this." And now, here I was, about to crawl back to him, to smile and beg. I could already imagine the scorn, the humiliation he would heap upon me. But the private investigator I’d hired still hadn't found my mother. If I wanted her to be safe, I had to swallow my pathetic pride. It wasn't the first time I'd had to do something like this anyway. That's what I told myself. But as I stood before the imposing gates of Martin's villa, the urge to turn and run was overwhelming. As I hesitated, the gate swung open silently. I took a deep breath and walked in. The house was quiet. Just as I was about to call out, someone grabbed me from behind, slamming me down onto the sofa. Martin was on me like a man possessed, his hands tearing at my dress. Hot, frantic kisses landed on my ear, my neck, my shoulder. His hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my screams, leaving me to flail in a blind panic. I struggled so fiercely that he finally stopped, letting out an annoyed "Tsk." He loomed over me, watching with cold amusement as I scrambled to pull my tattered clothes together. "My apologies," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. "Wrong person. I thought you were my fiancée." 3 Fiancée? My hands froze. My heart, which was just beginning to recover from the assault, took another direct hit. "You're... you're getting married?" I stammered. "What do you think?" he shot back with a derisive laugh. I hung my head, hiding the devastation on my face. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I had actually thought... that he still had feelings for me. I forced my lips into a smile, trying to keep it from looking as broken as I felt. "Congratulations." I don't know what I said wrong, but his expression instantly darkened. "Did you come all this way just to spout nonsense?" I wrestled with the storm of emotions inside me and finally found my voice. "Mr. Sheals, could you please consider the partnership with Blake Enterprises?" "The losses from partnering with Blake outweigh the benefits," he stated flatly. "I'm not running a charity. Or are you suggesting you can make up for those losses?" How could I? I had nothing. But I needed this deal to keep Marcus placated. "As long as you partner with the Blakes, I'll do anything you ask." "Anything?" he purred, leaning in. "Would you be willing to be my secret lover?" My head snapped up. His eyes were locked on mine, deadly serious. There was no hint of a joke. But... "But you have a fiancée. Even if you want revenge on me, you shouldn't degrade yourself like this." Martin burst out laughing, as if I'd told the funniest joke in the world. "Elara, what is there about you that's even worth my revenge? You really think too highly of yourself." His words were like a slap. Heat flooded my face, and a bitter ache spread through my chest. I turned my head away, as if not seeing the unfamiliar cruelty in his eyes could make it disappear. After a long, heavy silence, I finally whispered, "Mr. Sheals, I can't..." At my refusal, he smiled again. He moved closer, his breath ghosting across my cheek. "Marcus sent you to me because he assumed I still had some lingering feelings for you, didn't he? So why are you playing the saint now?" He had guessed my humiliation exactly. I flinched away from his piercing gaze. Suddenly, we heard the beeping of the front door's keypad. My mind jolted, and I shoved him away with all my might. The woman who walked in was Martin's fiancée, Sasha Pierce. She had a chic, short haircut that framed a face with a striking, almost boyish confidence rarely seen in women. Her every move was graceful and self-assured. She and my timid, shrinking self were polar opposites. I had no idea how Martin could have "mistaken" me for her. I hadn't expected to meet her. I stood awkwardly, not knowing where to put my hands. After a brief introduction, Sasha slung an arm around my shoulder, a strange, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her eyes roamed over my face. "Well, well. I had no idea this dog Martin had such a beautiful friend." She paused. "But... why is your lipstick smudged?" My entire body went rigid. In that one second, I planned out exactly which ocean I wanted my ashes scattered in. I frantically tried to cover my mouth, my eyes darting to Martin, who looked completely unconcerned. I realized my reaction was a dead giveaway, but thankfully, Sasha didn't press the issue. I mumbled a lame excuse and fled to the bathroom. The moment I saw my reflection, I wanted to dissolve into thin air. Anyone seeing my swollen, bruised lips would know exactly what had just happened. And I had pathetically tried to act like nothing was wrong in front of his fiancée. I couldn't stay a moment longer. Exhausted and guilt-ridden, I came out of the bathroom and quickly said my goodbyes. But Sasha grabbed my hand, her face alight with excitement. "It's settled then! We're all going camping on the mountain peak tonight to watch the sunset!" Before I could even refuse, I was bundled into a car, utterly bewildered, on my way to a mountain I'd never seen. Sasha chattered excitedly the entire way. I stole a glance at the driver's seat. Martin's face was a cold, hard mask. If he hated me so much, why was he bringing me along? I soon found out. He wasn't going to miss a single opportunity to humiliate me. 4 After a bumpy ride, we reached the summit. It was only then that I realized their friends were already there. The moment our car stopped, a group of wealthy heirs and heiresses, deep in their revelry, swarmed over to greet us. Someone teased Martin, saying he must be a god descending from the heavens to deign to go camping. Martin just smiled, wrapping an arm around Sasha's shoulders. "Can't be helped," he said, his voice laced with affection. "Sasha loves it." The group cheered and whooped, only then noticing me standing awkwardly by the car. I had a certain reputation in these circles: the shameless social climber from the Blake family. It wasn't a flattering title. These rich kids probably never imagined I'd have any connection to the great Martin Sheals. Subtle, knowing glances were exchanged. Martin made no move to introduce me. The atmosphere turned awkward. Someone finally tried to smooth things over, asking Martin who I was. He glanced back at me, his expression flat. "No one important." Martin's attitude dictated how I was treated. To curry favor with him, someone immediately took a jab at me. "Wow, some people have no shame. Throwing themselves at an engaged man." "Is it really that surprising? She latches on to whoever has money and power." I dug my nails into my palms and pretended I didn't hear them. A lanky, thuggish-looking guy came over to toast me. I still had a patch of rash on my leg that hadn't healed. I politely declined. The man took it as a personal insult. His face turned crimson. He shoved the wine bottle right at my lips. "You can drink with everyone else, but not me? Who does a whore like you think you are, playing hard to get?" The clearing fell silent. In my peripheral vision, I saw Martin take a leisurely sip of his wine. Everyone was waiting to see me made a fool of. He was no exception. I cursed myself internally. What was I hoping for? If he had so much as frowned, none of them would have dared to be so bold. But I still needed something from him. If he wanted to torture me, I had to endure it. I tried to control my shaking hands as I reached for the bottle. Suddenly, a foot shot out, kicking the man to the ground. Sasha stood in front of me, her face cold as she scanned the crowd with disdain. "Whoever brought this piece of trash can get the hell out with him." Someone was standing up for me. It was a novel experience. A pang of emotion hit me, and my nose started to sting. I let Sasha lead me, dazed, to a tent. It wasn't her fault, but she apologized sincerely. "I'm so sorry, Elara. A friend of mine brought him. Martin and I had no idea he was that kind of scum." I had already composed myself. I thanked her gratefully and told her it was okay. Sasha sighed. "You're just too soft, that's why people walk all over you. Next time you run into someone like that, you have to..." She started shadowboxing the air, making me laugh out loud. The exhaustion must have been written all over my face. After making sure I was really okay, Sasha ignored my protests, pushed me into a sleeping bag, and zipped it up. She even patted the top of it gently, the way my mother used to when I was a child. It was a little funny, but a wave of warmth spread through me. Ever since returning to Marcus's world, I had been surrounded by nothing but deceit and manipulation. I hadn't felt this kind of simple kindness in a very long time. Even though my chronic insomnia made it impossible for me to sleep in a strange place, I closed my eyes to humor her. And I made a silent vow. For what she did for me today, I would never, ever do anything to hurt her. 5 Remarkably, I slept soundly until it was dark. I had just stretched luxuriously when a dark shadow in the corner of the tent nearly made me scream. The figure lunged, covering my mouth. The smell of alcohol filled the air. Martin's voice was a low, hoarse whisper in my ear. "Be quiet. Everyone's right outside." I could hear the faint sounds of the party. I nodded frantically. Martin finally removed his hand but kept me pinned in his arms. Even in the pitch-black tent, I could feel his gaze, sharp enough to pierce my skin. I lowered my head, uncomfortable. My slight, squirming movements seemed to annoy him. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him, and the arm around my waist tightened. The vast difference in strength between a man and a woman was starkly, terrifyingly clear. This wasn't even a kiss. It was a punishment. All I felt was the stinging pain of his teeth against my lips. He moved to my neck, my collarbone. The buttons of my blouse popped open. Silent tears finally streamed down my face. I pressed my hands uselessly against my chest, my voice trembling as I begged. "Martin, don't do this... please..." His hot palm paused on the small of my back. His lips brushed against mine as he whispered, his voice a soft, seductive poison. "I can let you go." "You know what you have to do." He was obviously talking about becoming his mistress. My breath hitched. The image of Sasha smiling and tucking me into bed flashed in my mind. I pressed my lips together and shook my head, my vision blurred with tears. The corner of Martin's mouth tightened. The faint smile vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl. He sat up, letting out a sharp, derisive laugh. He wiped a tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb. "Elara Lunn," he said, his voice laced with cold confidence. "I'll wait for you to come crawling to me." The next week and a half passed in a state of nervous tension, but the incident at the campsite didn't seem to have any major repercussions. I began to relax. Martin's threat must have just been an empty one. Still, I started deliberately avoiding him, which meant the partnership with Sheals Industries was now impossible. Ironically, Sasha and I became friends. Seeing me stressed and scrambling to find a replacement for the Sheals deal, she was incredibly thoughtful and offered to introduce me to some of her contacts. Thanks to her, I finally secured a new partnership. Blake Enterprises was in a slump, and the Sheals deal had a long timeline. This new project was a much-needed lifeline for Marcus. He begrudgingly accepted it and, as a reward, gave me my mother's latest medical report. Seeing the photo of her gentle, smiling face, I breathed a sigh of relief. This crisis, at least, was over. I thought my entanglement with Martin would end there, that we could both go our separate ways. But then, we ran into each other at a private restaurant. I was in the middle of a pleasant conversation with the head of the new project, a Mr. Norris. Suddenly, Martin strode out of a private room. In his position, everyone in the city wanted a piece of him. Mr. Norris shot up from his seat, greeting him with effusive warmth. Martin was polite but distant. I tried to make myself as small as possible, but his sharp gaze still found me. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Miss Lunn. You're every bit as resourceful as they say." I knew what people said about me. I knew it wasn't a compliment. I froze. By the time I snapped out of it, all I could see was his cold, retreating back.
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