"Are you really that desperate for money?"

"Yes."

"How desperate?"

I locked my eyes on hers and spoke slowly, each word deliberate.

"Desperate enough to come here knowing I'd be wrecking someone's marriage."

The woman broke into a wide grin, genuinely amused.

"I didn't expect you to be so honest."

At that moment, I felt like a complete fool. I knew she was toying with me, humiliating me on purpose, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

"The deposit. I'll find a way to return it to your husband."

"If there's nothing else, I'll be going."

The instant I stood up, she grabbed my arm.

"Wait."

I stopped. Turned back slowly.

"What? Does Ms. Fletcher want something to happen between us after all?"

She removed her sunglasses and looked at me with an expression that was dead serious.

"Tristan, do you really not remember me?"

Every muscle in my body locked. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

"How do you know my name?"

She motioned for me to sit, then spoke in a measured voice.

"We sat next to each other for three years. All through high school."

The words hit me like a freight train, and a face surfaced in my memory. A girl with twin ponytails who was always tugging at my sleeve, pestering me with questions.

"You're Cordelia?"

The woman sitting across from me blinked, and her eyes went red at the rims.

"I thought you'd forgotten me."

I couldn't move. Couldn't think.

Of all the ways I could have run into a high school classmate, this was the last scenario I would have imagined. And the thing I could not wrap my head around was that the girl I once had a secret crush on had married a man in his fifties.

"How could you..."

The rest of the sentence died in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to finish it.

Cordelia slid her sunglasses back on and waved her hand lightly, brushing it off.

"What? You're allowed to work as a host, but I'm not allowed to marry into money?"

My whole body was shaking.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous your situation is right now?"

"I know."

Her voice was so quiet it barely carried across the table, as if she were talking about the weather.

"But I want you to get that money."

I stared at her.

"So, what? You're planning to sleep with me?"

"And the next day, photos of us end up circulating through every elite circle in Bayport."

Cordelia said nothing. She just stirred her coffee with one finger tracing slow circles around the rim of the spoon.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. My voice came out loud enough to turn heads.

"Cordelia, have you lost your mind?"

"My mom's surgery, I'll figure it out myself. I don't need your charity!"

She raised her head slowly. When she spoke, there wasn't a trace of hesitation.

"No. This isn't charity. This is my choice."

"Between being in bed with an old man and being in bed with you, you're the more attractive option."

"After all, you're the top-earning host, aren't you?"

I sucked in a breath and forced myself to calm down.

"We were classmates, fine, but you don't have to go this far for me!"

Cordelia looked at me as though this was a decision she had made long before I walked through the door.

"Tristan, I already told you. This is my choice."

"As for why, that's my business. You don't need to know the reason."

"But..."

I still couldn't accept sleeping with a woman I'd known for less than an hour. Even if she was the girl I once had a crush on. The prettiest girl in our class.

"There are no buts. Do you have another way out?"

I didn't.

If I did, I wouldn't be sitting here.

When I said nothing, Cordelia smiled faintly and pulled a key card from her purse.

"Tonight at eight. The Hilton. Room 888."

"Whether you show up is entirely up to you."

She flagged down a server and paid the bill.

"Cordelia!"

The name left my mouth before I could stop it.

She paused mid-step but didn't turn around.

I stared at her back and asked the only question that mattered.

"I need to know. Why are you helping me?"

Her body gave a small tremor, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with something she was trying to swallow down.

"It's not the right time."

After I left the café, I went straight to the hospital and paid off the remaining balance on my mother's account.

The attending physician pulled me aside. The surgery couldn't wait any longer, he said. Any more delays and we'd be risking her life.

My father died young. My mother raised me alone, and there hadn't been a single easy day in all those years. She'd scraped and sacrificed so I could make something of myself. And just when I'd finally started working, just when she should have been able to rest, they found the heart condition.

I dragged myself through the streets, exhausted down to the bone, and before I knew it I was standing outside the hotel.

I stood in the lobby feeling like a complete joke.

When the elevator doors opened, I was still telling myself to turn around and leave.

My feet carried me inside anyway.

The elevator stopped on the eighth floor without a sound.

I rang the doorbell. Cordelia had already changed into sleepwear, as though she'd been waiting. She looked at me like she'd known all along I would come.

"Come in."

I chose the chair farthest from the bed and sat down.

She must have noticed how tense I was, because she laughed out loud.

"What's the matter? Not ready yet?"

I tugged at the corner of my mouth. "What do you think?"

She poured me a glass of water and sat across from me.

"To be honest... this is my first time too."

That caught me off guard. Words rose to the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them.

"You're sure you won't regret this?"

She blinked, then broke into a wide, open smile.

"I won't."

I stopped hesitating. I stood and lifted her into my arms.

She turned her face away, burying it shyly against my chest.

"Tristan."

"Yeah?"

"Be gentle. I'm scared it'll hurt..."

Her face was flushed crimson. I couldn't hold back any longer. I lowered my head and kissed her, hard.

Afterward, I lit a cigarette. My mind was blank.

Cordelia sat against the headboard, the sheets pulled up around her, quiet.

"You seem to have forgotten something."

Before I could respond, she picked up my phone and photographed the spot of red on the sheets.

"It's getting late. Take that and go report back to your boss."

I cursed myself a thousand times over, but my hands still took the phone.

"I'm sorry..."

I threw my clothes on and couldn't bring myself to look at her again.

The door slammed shut behind me. The sound was final.

I sat on the steps outside the hotel, burning through cigarette after cigarette.

My phone kept ringing. Over and over.

I stared at the screen, hesitated, and finally answered.

The voice on the other end was the same as always, dripping with a cruelty that enjoyed itself.

"I hear from the hotel staff that you've already slept with my wife?"

I blew out a ring of smoke and said nothing.

My silence didn't bother him. If anything, he sounded thrilled.

"Ha! They don't call you the top dog for nothing. I knew I picked the right guy! One day. One single day and you already sealed the deal!"

Every word was a needle driven straight into my chest.

"What are you waiting for? Send me the photos. Now."

I looked up instinctively and saw Cordelia watching me from the window above.

She just stood there, silent and still, as though waiting for me to hand down her sentence.

When I didn't speak, the voice on the other end of the line grew impatient.

"Kid, are you deaf? I told you to send me those photos!"

I gripped the phone. My palm was slick with sweat.

The client's patience was wearing thin, and his tone dropped to something cold and hard.

"Kid, I'd think real carefully if I were you. Your mother's surgery can't wait much longer."

My fist clenched on its own. I lifted my gaze toward the hotel.

Cordelia had opened the window. She waved at me, a small, urgent gesture, as if telling me to just hand the photos over and be done with it.

The call was still connected. The client's voice kept drilling into my skull.

One tap. That was all it would take. One tap and my mother's surgery would be paid for.

But the moment I sent those photos, I'd be destroying a woman's entire future with my own hands.

"Kid, since you won't hand them over willingly, I'll just have to come collect them myself."

The line went dead. A chill shot down my spine and I spun around.

A fleet of Rolls-Royces was tearing down the road toward the hotel. At least a dozen of them.