Her head was throbbing like a bitch.

Okay wait. She didn’t use curse words.

Her head was throbbing…what was the right word? Jane struggled to open her eyes, gingerly reaching for her forehead. Bright, blinding light shut filled her vision as one eye finally opened, sending a stab of pain through her skull.

She closed then again, groaning loudly.

Why did it hurt so much? She couldn’t remember what she was doing last night. Drinking? The last time she had too much and ended up with a hangover, it wasn’t as bad as expected.

This was hell.

Unless Amanda had convinced her to do something stupid again.

Wait.

Amanda had convinced her. They were at an arena to watch underground racing. There was something about an oversized, unfunny bra and a guy with a perfect face, smirking at her.

Oh god.

She shot upright, the sudden movement sending a wave of dizziness through her. Her eyes blinked open to find Amanda rushing toward her.

“You’re awake!”

Amanda all but collapsed onto the bed, wrapping her in a tight, bone-crushing hug. “Oh my God,” she sniffled, her voice shaking with relief. “I thought you’d died.”

Yeah, Jane thought to herself. She thought so too.

She peeled Amanda’s arms off. “What happened?”

Her best friend pouted. “You fell. Took a tumble down the steps. And then we had to call an ambulance, because—” she glanced away guiltily, “—you were unconscious and I couldn’t carry you on my own.”

The scene flashed through Jane’s mind in slow motion. Her attempt to demand compensation from Marcus, the slip and the great fall. She facepalmed with a loud, mortified groan, peeking through her fingers. “Please,” she begged. “Tell me nobody saw it happen? I don’t think I’d be able to live if even one person…” she trailed off.

Amanda was looking at her weirdly. Jane squinted, zeroing in on her brow. It was her best friend tell-tale sign. Her right brow wouldn’t stop twitching when she was concealing something or lying to Jane. It was doing so now, like an exposed live wire in a bubble bath, dancing all over the place.

“Oh god.” She couldn’t breathe. “Oh god. Please say no, Amanda,” Jane pleaded. The horror that was going through her mind was unbearable, because one of her biggest fears had come to pass.

“Okay…” she tried to pull herself together, taking deep breaths and pressing a hand down her chest. “One or two people saw me. Just tell me they didn’t immediately whip out their phones while you waited for the ambulance?”

Amanda shook her head slowly.

Jane wanted the hospital floor to open up a gaping black hole and swallow her. “Show me,” she croaked.

“I don’t think you want to see it,” her best friend protested weakly.

Her hand shot out, her expression stern. “If there a video of me on the internet that I didn’t consent to, then I want to see it.” She said hoarsely, hand still stretched out. Amanda’s shoulders drooped as she walked over to a chair in the corner of the room, picking up a tiny bag. She brought out a phone with a plain black pouch, her thumb scrolling the screen.

Her gaze lowered as she walked back to Jane’s bed, handing her the phone.

There was a video on pause.

“The video is on my phone?” Jane asked with an incredulous scoff. She shook her head. She couldn’t deal with the technicalities of that right now. She pressed play—

It was worse than she’d thought. Worse than anything she imagined. The video began playing from when she fell, hitting the ground with a thud. Someone had screamed and then there was more shouting, with the camera angle too shaky to make anything out.

Then it panned to her face.

Her unmoving face. The person videoing had taken their time to film her slowly, panning it down her chest—where the ugly soda stain had spread across her chest—to her jeans and her foot. She had one sneaker on. The second must’ve flown down when she took the tumble. Then it moved, to the audience.

…to the hundreds of people with their phones pointed at her unconscious body.

“Ugh. I bet she fell because she couldn’t carry her body.”

“She should be in the gym or doing lipo instead of dragging her overweight self here.”

The comments. They just kept coming, each one worse than the last.

“You’ve seen enough.” Amanda snatched the phone from her hand. “It doesn’t matter what they think,” she said firmly, as if Jane needed the vote of confidence. “The doctor said the damage wasn’t extensive. They want to watch you for today and they’ll discharge you tomorrow morning.”

Jane couldn’t speak.

She was frozen in the moment—back in the video—still watching herself. Tears gathered in a lump at the base of her throat. She could deal with mean comments. She’d developed thick skin through the years, but not when she couldn’t defend herself. When she was helpless and vulnerable.

Amanda saw the first tear before it fell.

“Jane—” she rushed forward.

“I want to be alone.” Her voice broke as she laid down slowly, turning her back to her best friend. She bit her lower lip until it hurt, fighting the tears. She wasn’t going to cry. Not today. Not while her skull still felt like it was about to split into two.

She heard Amanda’s reluctant retreating footsteps. As the door opened, something occurred to her.

“Who paid for the room?” she asked, turning around.

Amanda smiled brightly as she waved her hands. Too bright. “You don’t have to worry about that. Just get better, hm?”

In other words, she had to be worried. “Who?” She asked. “Because I know you have bad credit and a bunch of credit cards to pay off.”

“You think I can’t do something nice for my friend?” Amanda sounded offended as she thrust her hands on her hips. Jane levelled her with a look. She broke after a few seconds, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m sorry. It’s just that they wanted payment as soon as they were done stitching up the wound and then he came and he just took over. He was willing to pay for a VIP room and I couldn’t say no.”

He? Who was Amanda talking about?

The door opened before Jane could ask. A man walked in, wearing a helmet. The visor was down, covering his entire face.

“Who are you?”

He took it off, slowly. The first thing she saw were his eyes. Those bright brown eyes and his annoying jawline and the stupid mouth that had the smug smile. Marcus Wolfe.

“Y—you?!” She shot up, pointing at him. He was the reason she was here, with a humiliating video of her circulating the internet. “You…” she gritted her teeth. She couldn’t say the words she really wanted to use.

Smug, infuriating, egoistic ASSHOLE. “Asshat!” She settled for the closest thing. “What do you want? To finish what you started? Knock me out a second time so I can end up in a coma so I don’t have to see your stupid face?”

“No, no.” Amanda stepped forward, holding out both hands like a mediator. She sighed. “He followed the ambulance here, Jane.”

Jane snorted. “So?” she folded her arms as she tipped her head, glaring dagger at him. “It’s his fault. I am going to sue you to one inch of your life,” she hissed.

Her best friend dropped her hands with a big sigh. “He forfeited his race too. He’s been here since. And,” Amanda smiled awkwardly. “He’s the one who paid for the medical bills and upgraded your room. He’s sorry. I think you should forgive him.”

Oh, she would.

She stared at him straight in the eye as she said, with a bright grin that felt euphoric,

“ hell freezes over.”

Marcus

Marcus stared at the girl on the bed, with a hospital gown that looked like the color of puke—yellow and pale against her skin.

And something inside his chest curled.

He’d gone most of his years surrounded by fans that sang his praise, to the point where he had to wear face masks to go out in public.

It was partially his fault, though.

His brother had warned him that a social media presence was only going to bring him more attention. But Marcus thought it was the right thing the arena needed.

They were trying to shut them down, the authorities. But the underground arena had hundreds and thousands of people willing to visit to a site that went down two hours after tickets were put up for sale.

And they sold out.

Every last ticket. Every single time. With resales going up for thousands of dollars.

Plus, maybe he did like the attention. It was addictive, watching the girls swoon over him when he walked into a club. They’d raise their shirts, flashing their tits his way.

For a while, at least.

He’d gotten bored. And he was someone who needed the thrill…the rush.

He’d been planning to tank the race, anyway. It would’ve shocked the entire audience, but it would’ve given him the buzz he needed.

She—the girl who was staring daggers at him, with her chest heaving, was the perfect excuse.

He smiled as he stepped forward, placing a hand to his chest.

It always worked. It was the perfect combo, charming and humble at the same time. “Allow me to apologize, Miss…” he trailed off, his brows slightly raised when it hit him that he’d forgotten her name.

Crap.

“It’s Jane,” she snapped. “Getting your drink all over my blouse and humiliating me for the entire world to see wasn’t enough for you to remember my name?”

He shook his head as molten heat raced down his throat. The feeling was almost palpable, as if he could taste it on his tongue if he tried hard enough. “I was hoping to address you formally, Miss Jane,” he said easily, his smile widening.

“I apologize for how we got off. I was mistaken. I saw no reason why a non-fan would be at the arena. It’s hard to get tickets, you see.”

Her mouth opened, in a retort, but it hung open as her face turned red.

Bright red. Marcus bit back a grin. He liked the color on her face. It washed out the rest of the ugly yellow. And seeing her flustered did something to him he couldn’t explain.

He moved closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I wish you could’ve had time to watch me race. Maybe I would’ve offered you a ride afterwards.”

Her face turned even brighter as he pulled away. “I’d rather get an allergic reaction and bring myself close to death, than go anywhere close to your bike.”

“You almost died…” he pointed out, biting back a smile. “But you shouldn’t knock it until you try it”.

She snorted. “The only reason why you ride bikes, is because you can’t bring out your dicks and measure them in public.” Her eyes widened as the words tumbled out and she slapped her hand to her mouth.

Almost as if she’d said something forbidden.

The corner of his mouth curved with a smirk as he watched her. “Depends on the crowd. In the right setting, an orgy perhaps, I wouldn’t mind showing you. If—” he tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “—that’s what you’re into, Miss Jane.”

Jane stuttered for a few seconds as she tried to reply. “Amanda,” she zeroed in on her best friend, visibly fuming. “Could you give me a moment with him?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, putting on his killer smile as he winked at the friend. She sighed, swooning almost instantly. “I don’t want to separate you from your friend, but—”

“It’s fine!” Amanda declared, cupping her face with an ecstatic grin. Marcus frowned a bit. Was she okay? He’d seen a handful of faintings from fans. “I’ll give you as much space as you need!”

She rushed out of the room, returning a second later to close the door.

“Here’s what I think about you.” A cold voice cut through the silence.

He turned.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, her chest heaving from the effort. God. His throat went dry. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her in that way, but he couldn’t help it.

Her eyes were the most vibrant shade of hazel, flecks of gold flashing as she glared at him.

“You’re a…” She was stuttering again, her hands moving around.

Marcus opened his arms. “You can go ahead. I deserve it. Every bit of it. An asshole, for not stopping the crowd from taking the videos and invading your privacy. Egoistic, for assuming you were a fan.”

“Yes,” she nodded briskly. “You have a terribly annoying ego.” She thrust her hands on her hips, looking every bit like a storm passing through a bright cloud. “You have fans that throw bras at people’s faces…”

He zoned out of her words, as his gaze dropped to her chest. She wasn’t wearing one. The gown was painfully light too and he could see her nipples outlined against the material. It fell off her shoulders as she gestured animatedly, showing off soft, tanned skin.

His gut tightened as he forced his gaze away—back to her face, where it didn’t help any more.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put on the act.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping her.

Her brows knit together in confusion.

“Everything you’ve said is true. Would you let me make it up to you by helping while you’re getting back on your feet?”

“You’ve paid the hospital bill.” She bit hard at him. “And I plan to refund every last dollar.”

“It was a nasty fall,” he explained. “You shouldn’t be alone for the next week or so. I have a house. I can hire a staff to make sure you’re taken care of properly.”

Her frown fell off as she folded her arms loosely. “Why?”

Because he was a terrible person, that’s why. Marcus Wolfe was an entitled human who always went after whatever he wanted, even if he was told he couldn’t have it.

He’d won every race since the arena opened four years ago, even when he had a sprain and the doctors told him to go easy on it.

He had a company too—at twenty-five and was a multi-millionaire on Forbes list.

Because he wanted her, as egoistic and illogical as it sounded.

“Think about it,” he murmured instead. “You hate me. You want your pound of flesh for what I did. What better way to get it than to have me indebted to you? I’ll be at your beck and call, and you can use me…” he drawled, “…as much as you want.”

She pursed her lips, thoughtfully.

His phone rang just then and Marcus bit back a curse. “I need to take care of this,” he told her. “I’ll be back. Think about my offer, will you? I’m willing to draw up a contract if that would suffice.”

He walked out, closing the door behind him as he reached into his pocket for his phone.

Ryder.

His brother.

“If you’re wondering if I’m still alive,” he said cheekily as he answered, “I am. The race,” he added when Ryder didn’t speak. He could picture his brother, rubbing his forehead with an exasperated expression. “How did it go?”

“You were going to lose, weren’t you?” Ryder said, his voice rough and low.

Marcus grinned. “You know me too well.”

“You’re an open book, Marc,” his brother’s tone dripped with dry sarcasm. “It’d be impossible for me not to predict your next move.”

“You sure?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, at the hospital door and the woman inside the room. His brown-haired, hazel-eyed firecracker.

A sly smile spread across his face.

His brother wouldn’t see that one coming, that was sure.

Jane

“…he asked me to move in with him.”

“He…oh my god!” Jane plugged her fingers into her ears before Amanda began screaming. Her best friend was all over the place, as if Jane had told her that she won the lottery to pay off their joint college loans and credit card debts.

Amanda rushed over to her bed side, grabbing her hands. “Tell me you said yes!” She squealed. “Tell me you said yes?”

Jane said nothing.

Her best friend's enthusiasm fell from a thousand to a zero as she blinked rapidly. “You turned him down?”

She hadn’t.

Not yet, at least.

She didn’t buy his whole speech about being indebted to her, as tempting as he made it sound. Because she really wanted to wipe the smug off his face.

But she wasn’t sure she could stand him long enough for her to think of the best way to revenge for the global humiliation.

Amanda slumped against Jane’s shoulder with a devastated sigh. “You don’t know how many people would kill to be in your shoes.” She looked up, her bottom lip jutting out. “I spent thousands of dollars on raffle tickets to attend his fan signing.”

Jane scoffed quietly. “Did you get in?”

“No.”

“How many times did you try?”

Amanda raised a finger. Then two, then five. Then both hands, with all ten fingers open. “That was just last year alone,” she mumbled.

Jane patted her back. “Sorry for your loss. But,” she added firmly and resolutely, “—I’m not moving in with some stranger, handsome or not. I could ask him on your behalf, though. We could trade places.”

Her best friend waved her arms frantically. “Absolutely not. I’ve gotten close enough to smelling his cologne and getting his autograph. That’s good enough for me.”

Jane was confused. “You literally have his pictures plastered all over your bedroom walls. You had his face on your twenty-first birthday cake.”

“That’s how being a devout fan works,” Amanda told her. “You love them so much, but you know that you can never and should never cross the line.”

It sounded like horseshit.

“He’s not a random person either. He has over ten million followers and he posts everything he does online. You’ll be perfect—” she grinned, “—safe.”

“And,” she joined the tips of her index fingers together, wriggling her brows, “if you’re there, then I could use you as an excuse to get closer to him. Within the boundary, of course.”

The answer was still no.

“Remember the promise you made to me?” Amanda said, making a pleading face. “And you have that project, remember? The one with the documentary?”

Shoot.

She’d forgotten about that. She was about to enter her final year of college, studying journalism. One of her projects was to document how relationships formed.

“There’s no relationship between us, ” she argued, even as his roguish smile, with his messy, gorgeous hair, flashed through her mind.

Amanda shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be romantic. He caused your fall, you ended in the hospital and now he’s offering to take care of you. You’re also…” she tapped her chin, searching for the right word, “…polar opposites. He’s a popular biker, a heartthrob and you’re…”

“Normal?” Jane quipped sarcastically.

Her best friend nodded eagerly. “Exactly. It’s perfect. It’s A material.”

It was trouble, that’s what.

But her best friend had a point. She could either spend the semester searching for the right materials—couples, friends-or she could use Marcus Wolfe as her muse.

“Mm?” Amanda nudged her.

A wild idea popped into her head. Wild, scandalous and exciting. It was the way to get her revenge.

A wry smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She shoved her fingers in quickly, muting Amanda’s ear-piercing squeals and wincing as her best friends threw her arms around her neck. “This is going to be the best summer break ever!”

Oh, it was.

Because Jane had a plan.

She was going to make Marcus Wolfe fall in love with her in thirty days. And then she was going to dump him, on camera, for the world to see.

That would be the perfect revenge.

***

A black Mercedes-Benz sprinter was waiting outside the hospital doors when Jane was wheeled out by a nurse, with Amanda by her side.

Her best friend had ignored her decision to stop by her studio apartment—and rushed there herself—to pack a bag.

A man in a clean-pressed suit and black shades got out of the driver’s seat, walked over to them. He took off his glasses as he nodded curtly. “Miss Forrest?”

He was looking at Amanda.

Jane groaned under her breath. Her best friend quickly shook her head, pointing at her. “That’s Jane. Not me.”

The man looked visibly disturbed by his mistake. He lowered his head slightly. “My apologies, Miss Forrest. Mr. Wolfe didn’t give me a description of whom I was supposed to pick up.”

“It’s fine,” she said.

It wasn’t his fault. Nobody would think a celebrity like Marcus Wolfe would be bringing her to his home. Especially when she was wearing a faded shirt she had since eighteen and an equally ugly pair of sweats she bought from a thrift shop.

Amanda handed the bag to the driver as Jane struggled to stand. He offered a hand, helping her into the van.

“Call me when you get there!” Her best friend shouted as the door closed. The last thing Jane saw was her jumping up and down, tripping over the wheelchair and ending up sitting in it.

It made her laugh, at least.

She leaned into the chair, her fingers brushing over the soft leather. It was soft. Luxury. Unlike the car she bought for a few thousand dollars, that picked the days it wanted to work, had two windows that wouldn’t wind down and an AC that shot out hot air.

***

The ride was about thirty minutes long.

The bus came to a stop and the door slid open seconds later. “We’ve arrived, Miss Forrest.” The driver offered a hand again, helping her down. Jane’s mouth parted as she stared at the building in front of me.

It was…huge.

She had no idea what underground racers made, but Marcus Wolfe’s house looked absurdly expensive. The sleek mansion was larger than her entire apartment building, its glowing windows and towering entrance making her feel very, very small.

“I’ll take you in,” the man offered, sweeping his hand out. “Mr. Wolfe had to attend to some business after he left the hospital, but he’s given me instructions for you to settle in.”

Jane nodded and followed him inside.

The mansion was even larger on the inside, with ceilings stretching overhead and every surface polished to perfection.

She tried not to gawk, but it was practically impossible.

A sharp ringing sound cut through the air. The man fumbled as he dug into his pocket. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his face as he stared at the caller ID, his thumb hovering.

“You should answer that,” Jane said quickly, offering a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be fine. Really. Just point me in the right direction.”

He hesitated, clearly torn, but the phone buzzed again. “Third floor,” he said hurriedly, already stepping back. “Main staircase to the right, then left down the hallway.”

The phone was still ringing. “Just…the room with the blue accent walls. I’ll be up shortly.”

Before she could ask for clarification, he answered the call and strode away.

She stood alone in the echoing foyer for a moment, then shrugged.

Blue accent wall.

How hard could that be?

Jane’s crocs squeaked softly as she climbed, the sound swallowed by the sheer size of the place. She passed several doors, some locked and the others she had to open, but none had an obvious blue wall.

After two wrong turns and one very awkward peek into what looked like a home theater, she finally spotted a slightly open door with a faint blue glow visible beneath.

Relief washed over her.

Got it.

She walked in, glancing around. It was sparsely furnished, but the bed looked large and inviting. She kicked off her crocs and plopped face down on it.

The sheets smelled like cinnamon and she burrowed her nose inside, sniffing happily. She didn’t hear the soft click.

Or the sound of barefoot on the floor.

“Well,” a deep voice said. “Either I’ve forgotten that I invited you, or you’re in the wrong room.”

Jane gasped in horror, jolting and tumbling off the bed. She scrambled to her feet, coming face-to-face with the other person.

A man.

With nothing but a white towel secured low around his hips. Her throat went dry as her gaze settled on the water droplets glistening on his hard, chest muscles. His dark hair hung damp against his forehead.

He wasn’t Marcus Wolfe.

They looked somewhat alike, but he had a dark scowl on his face and an entire arm sleeve of colorful tattoos.

“I—” she stammered as her face turned red, forgetting how to breathe. “I’m here to see Marcus Wolfe.”

He arched his brow, his scowl deepening. “You’re one of his groupies, aren’t you?”

Groupies? Jane rolled her eyes. She might’ve ended up in the wrong room, but she wasn’t going to take insults from him.

She folded her arms tightly. “Who are you?”

He took a step closer, his towel slipping down a half-inch. Her gaze strayed to the sculpted Adonis line below his stomach and Jane’s face grew hotter.

“Ryder Wolfe. Marcus’s twin brother.”

Her eyes widened as her head snapped back to his face.

Marcus’s twin brother???