Martin Lewis, Manhattan’s crown prince, got rejected by Seraphina Vance for the ninety-ninth time. He turned and shoved a bouquet of blood-red roses—and his unlimited black card—into my hands. I was digging through a dumpster for food. Helicopters swarmed overhead, showering petals. He pinned me against the wall, his breath hot on my cheek. “Hey, little stray,” he growled. “Care to be my princess?” I saw Seraphina’s icy smirk. Broke and near dropout, I took the deal. My life became a whirlwind of champagne, tutors, and reckless spending. I burned his money like there was no tomorrow. On my eighteenth birthday, his fingers traced my collarbone. “Let’s make a video,” he whispered, “to commemorate our first time.” I knew then: this was the endgame. Seraphina’s mother was my father’s discarded mistress. Her revenge was to see me ruined. But I just smiled and waved my plane ticket and Harvard acceptance letter. “Your bed is soft, Martin, and your card’s limit is high.” My smile widened. “Too bad they can’t contain my future. Bye!” 1 “Miss Monroe, your visa application was successful. You can pick it up in seven days.” I hung up the phone just as Seraphina’s cloying, high-pitched laughter floated in from the living room. Inside the sprawling villa, the party was in full swing. Seraphina, hooking her strawberry-print panties with two fingers, spun around and playfully tucked them into Martin’s hand. “A little reward for you, baby.” She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. “And if you get that video of Mia, the next reward… will be me.” A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He tilted her chin up, his voice a gravelly, decadent purr. “Don’t worry, babe. I throw a little cash her way, and the little stray actually thinks I love her. She’s already agreed to give herself to me on her eighteenth birthday.” “Her eighteenth? That’s tomorrow!” Seraphina’s eyes lit up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a loud, wet kiss on his lips. “Just make sure you don’t get your hands dirty for real. I don’t want you after she’s touched you.” He let out a low chuckle, his hand roaming wickedly over the small of her back. His grin was lazy, dangerous. “By the time I’m done with her, she won’t just make a video. I could tell her to strip naked and crawl down Fifth Avenue, and she’d do it without a second thought.” The room erupted in jeers and laughter. “I thought she was the type to dig through trash rather than sell out? Guess everyone has a price!” “The pure, innocent Mia Monroe turning into a slut? Now that’s gonna be some explosive content!” I stood just outside the door, a faint, placid smile on my face. What would a bunch of trust-fund kids, who’d never known a day of hunger, understand about true desperation? I knew what it was like to scavenge for food in dumpsters, to sleep under bridges, to drink filthy water from park sprinklers. I’d licked the last crumbs from the paper bags of stale bread the bakeries threw out. I was twelve when I did those things. Now, I was eighteen. And I swiped Martin’s no-limit black card without batting an eye. Dignity? What’s the market price on that? The laughter inside continued. Someone’s voice cut through the noise, teasing Seraphina. “Sera, you sure about pushing Martin onto Mia like this? What if he actually falls for her?” Martin grabbed a silk pillow and tossed it at the speaker, a smirk on his face. “My eyes are only on Sera. Got it?” Honestly, I couldn’t care less who Martin loved. I only cared about his money. The funny thing is, my family was rich. Very rich. My mother was a high-stakes lawyer with a crippling gambling addiction. My father was a renowned tycoon with a wandering eye. And trapped between them was me, a girl who sometimes couldn’t even afford a box of tampons. Neither of them cared about me. I was just a bargaining chip in their miserable marriage. If it weren’t for Martin, I would have already rotted away in that swamp of a home. And I had Seraphina to thank for all of it. Her hatred for me was so potent, so all-consuming, that she couldn’t wait to shove Martin into my life, just so she could be the one to orchestrate my destruction. 2 When I was twelve, my mother lost two million dollars at a poker table. She smashed the piggy bank where I’d saved up my school fees and threatened me not to tell my father. Her only form of apology was using my own money to buy me some greasy fried chicken from a street cart. As we stood there, surrounded by the stench of old oil, we saw him. My father, his arm wrapped around his mistress as they walked out of a designer boutique. Trailing behind them, clutching a shopping bag, was their illegitimate daughter: Seraphina. That night, my mother forced a bottle of drain cleaner down my throat, screaming at my father over the phone that if he didn’t break it off with that woman, she’d kill me. The chemical burn was a bitter agony. The glare of the surgical lights made me wish for death. It took three full-body blood transfusions to save my life. And that’s what it took to get my father to promise to come home, to patch together the hollow shell of our family. Seraphina hated me. She hated that I hadn’t died. Hated that my survival had led to her mother being abandoned. Hated the stain of being an illegitimate child. She wanted to destroy me with her own two hands. The truth is, I was there for every one of Martin’s over-the-top, school-wide declarations of love for her. He was handsome, magnetic, and obscenely rich. Money was just a game to him. Seraphina basked in his attention, reveling in the feeling of finally having something over me. And so, she always kept him at arm’s length, never saying yes. There was a time when I was sick with jealousy. I hated that I wasn’t the one being showered with roses and money. I hated being trapped in poverty, struggling to escape a swamp that only pulled me deeper. So one day, I posted a cryptic message online: “Being abandoned is the original sin. There’s no washing it away.” That was all it took. Seraphina couldn’t stand it. When Martin landed a helicopter on the academy’s football field, unleashing a rain of petals, I knew the show was about to begin. “Hey, little stray,” he’d said with that devilish grin, holding out his hand. “Care to be my princess?” He was offering to pull me straight to hell. That same night, Seraphina posted on the school’s forum: “So-called ‘pure and innocent girl.’ Turns out her price was just a little high.” She was right. I wanted money. Lots and lots of it. Enough to weave into a pair of wings that could carry me out of this godforsaken life. My parents always told me it was my fault they couldn’t get a divorce. But they were the sinners, and I was the one with the life sentence. My father would come home drunk, a storm of rage, beating me until my head was bleeding before he’d finally pass out in his room. My mother, after her gambling binges, would tear the house apart looking for money. She once spent an hour on her hands and knees, digging a single quarter out from under my bed. Leftovers, garbage, and endless beatings. I was done. Every time I got my report card back, I’d stare at the perfect red ‘A’ and imagine it turning into a pair of wings, flying me far away from my twisted, suffocating family. On my desk was a tattered romance novel I’d read a hundred times, where a prince lavished a broken girl with untold riches. I used to fantasize about that. That a prince would appear for me, too, throwing money at my problems and lifting me out of the dirt. I never would have crossed paths with someone like Martin Lewis on my own. But then Seraphina used herself as bait, sharpening Martin into the perfect weapon to use against me. He stepped right out of the pages of my book: from a powerful family, worth billions, handsome as a fallen angel, with a crowd of admirers wherever he went. Most importantly, he threw money around like it was nothing. That was enough. I just needed another two hundred thousand dollars. Enough to get out of the country and start over. 3 Choosing my moment, I pushed the door open, feigning ignorance as I held up a bottle of tequila. “Got the booze.” Seraphina slowly, deliberately, slid off Martin’s lap, giving him a look freighted with meaning. The man lazily crossed his long legs and patted the empty space beside him. “Come here.” I had just settled obediently beside him when Seraphina lunged, snatching the diamond bracelet from my wrist. “This is pretty. Must have been expensive.” “It was. A gift from Martin.” Someone in the room snorted. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the freebie that came with the necklace Sera’s wearing.” The room filled with mocking laughter. They’d been building up to this moment all night, waiting for me to finally crack. But I didn’t. I met their gazes coolly. “Freebie or not, it’s from Martin. So I’ll treasure it.” I saw Martin’s hand, the one holding his cigarette, freeze for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something dark and unreadable crossed his eyes. That was exactly the reaction I wanted. I knew where his soft spots were. I knew which buttons to push. The truth was, I’d already found a buyer for the bracelet. It would fetch six thousand dollars—enough to cover two months of living expenses once I was gone. Humiliation like this? I hoped they’d give me more. Someone was about to pile on with another jab, but Martin cut them off, his voice cold. “The drinks are here. Let’s play a game.” Truth or Dare. I lost the first round. Seraphina held up her phone, ready to document my every humiliation. “Truth: Have you and Martin slept together?” I picked up my shot glass and downed it in one go. I chose dare. Second round. I lost again. Seraphina smirked. “Truth: Do you love Martin, or his money?” I drank again. With everyone ganging up on me, I lost the third round, too. I can hold my liquor, but after the third shot, it was time for my performance. I had to be drunk, and I had to end up in Martin’s arms. Like I said, I knew exactly how to play him. So when I swayed, mumbling, and collapsed against him, I felt his arm tighten around me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Fourth round. Seraphina was relentless, her phone still pointed at me. “Mia. Truth: Do you think you’re a vain, gold-digging bitch?” I reached for another shot, but a hand clamped down on my wrist. Martin’s. His lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. “That’s enough for tonight.” Later, in the bathroom. Martin pinned me against the tiled wall, his body a furnace against mine, his breath scorching my skin. “Why didn’t you answer her questions?” I lifted my eyes, making them wide and wet, and stared into the bottomless depths of his. Perfect. When a player starts asking why, it means he’s already caught feelings. He just doesn’t know it yet. I bit my lip and said nothing, my silence a weapon. Finally, he dipped his head, his lips brushing against my collarbone. “Sera was out of line tonight,” he rasped. “I’ll make it up to you.” A notification pinged on my phone. A wire transfer. One hundred thousand dollars. Before I left the bathroom, I deliberately messed up my clothes, pulling my collar askew. Seraphina was waiting right outside the door, her face a mask of fury. She mouthed a silent message to Martin. Don’t you forget our deal. As the party wound down and the clock struck midnight, Martin’s patience finally snapped. He pushed me back onto the sofa, his mouth crashing down on my neck in a feverish kiss that sent shivers down my spine. “Darling,” he whispered against my skin. “Time to hold up your end of the bargain.” He swept me into his arms and carried me toward the bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, a hazy, intimate fog. His shirt was half-open, revealing a hard, muscular chest that radiated an almost dangerous heat. As if to punish me for my earlier silence, his kiss was bruising, savage, not letting up until the coppery taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. I glanced at the headboard and saw his phone, propped up and already recording. I allowed his hand to slip under the hem of my dress. I knew it was time for my next move. 4 Just as his fingers brushed against the last button of my blouse, I timed it perfectly, pushing him away. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, hand-carved wooden sculpture. It depicted a mother and child, clinging to one another. The craftsmanship was amateurish. But it was a perfect replica of the one raw nerve he had left. Just as I’d predicted, lust gave way to a cold, terrifying rage. His eyes locked onto the sculpture, his face turning into a dark, thunderous mask. “When I was… helping you tidy up once, I saw a broken sculpture you’d wrapped up so carefully. I thought it must be important to you, so I tried to carve a new one…” Before I could finish, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my throat in a vice grip. “Who told you you could touch my things?” As the world began to blur and my lungs burned for air, a strange sense of relief washed over me. A guy like him had a thousand ways to destroy me. I could escape this time, but not the next. But what if I could become the very thing he couldn’t bear to break? The original sculpture had been a birthday gift from his mother. The last gift she ever gave him before she clutched it to her chest and jumped from the roof of their penthouse. It shattered when she hit the ground. She must have been in so much pain. And so was he. I didn’t struggle. I just looked at him, forcing the words from my constricted throat. “I’m… sorry… I couldn’t make you happy.” His eyes widened, a flicker of shock in their depths. The pressure on my neck instantly loosened. As air rushed back into my lungs, I knew the fish had taken the bait. I watched him. He held the sculpture aloft, his hand trembling as if he were about to smash it to pieces, but in the end, he couldn't. I had won. I let my hand fall to my side, casually revealing the patchwork of faint scars and fresh cuts on my skin. All deliberately inflicted while I carved his gift. When his gaze fell upon my hand, his whole body went rigid. His lips started to tremble. With a roar of frustration, he kicked over a nearby table, sending his phone clattering to the floor. “Are we… still doing this?” I asked softly. His face was a storm cloud. He grabbed his jacket, wrapped it tightly around me, and snatched his phone off the floor. He thumbed the screen for a moment. Another bank alert. Another hundred thousand dollars. “That’s for your trouble,” he bit out, his voice raw. “I don’t owe anyone anything.” When he left, he took the sculpture with him. I knew then. His heart was in chaos. After graduation, I sold off all the jewelry and designer bags he’d ever given me. I had more than enough money for my escape. I had played my part. He had fallen for it. It was time to end the game. And this time, I was the one holding the controller. 5 The next day, Martin threw a massive birthday party for me, inviting our entire graduating class. His original plan had been simple: to project my sex tape onto a giant screen for everyone to see, a final, brutal act of revenge on Seraphina’s behalf. The atmosphere should have been cold, humiliating. But today, the venue was filled with my favorite flowers—Ecuadorian roses—and a cake he’d baked himself. Seraphina stared at these small, thoughtful details, her face twisting with suspicion. She pulled him aside. “Did you do it with her?” “No,” Martin said, his gaze fixed on the floor. Seraphina visibly relaxed, a cruel smile returning to her lips. “Then you have the video? Well, what are you waiting for? Play it! You’re killing me with the suspense!” Silence. A heavy, dead silence. The afternoon sun sliced across his aristocratic features, casting half of him in light, the other in shadow. I stood a few feet away, dipping my finger into the cake’s frosting. Mm. Sweet. Ignoring the escalating argument nearby, I poured myself a glass of champagne. And downed it in one go. In my peripheral vision, I saw Seraphina shove Martin in a fit of rage. But I was the one who fell. A strange, numbing tingle shot up from the pit of my stomach. That’s when I realized. Oh, hell. The champagne was drugged. The floor rushed up to meet me, and I collapsed onto the cold, hard marble. “You bitch,” Seraphina’s voice was a triumphant hiss as she stalked toward me. She gestured to a group of leering guys. “I have plenty of ways to deal with you.” “Have your fun,” she sneered. “Just make sure you film it.” Through a thick, disorienting haze, I heard Martin’s furious roar. “This wasn’t the plan!” “The plan?” Seraphina laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. “Martin Lewis, don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her.” “I… no.” “Good. Then tell me right now. Her or me? Who do you choose?”
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