My family’s business went bankrupt. To pay my younger brother’s medical bills, my creditors pushed me to the edge.

That was when I met Rhys Prescott again, the first love I had abandoned, now a titan of Wall Street.

He stared down at me from his ivory tower. "Genevieve, be my mistress, and I'll clear your debts."

Without hesitation, I signed the degrading contract.

After we were reunited, I was no longer the proud artist I once was.

He brought his fiancée to humiliate me, and I served them with quiet submission.

Even when he deliberately doted on another woman right in front of me, I would only offer a vacant smile and turn away.

I had become the pliant toy he’d always wanted.

But when I finally paid my debts and prepared to walk away, he clutched my wrist, his eyes wild. "Who gave you permission to leave?"

"Genevieve," he rasped, "you stopped loving me a long time ago, didn't you?"

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1

The cold winter wind whipped snowflakes through the narrow alleys of Brooklyn.

I huddled in a corner slick with grime, shivering uncontrollably.

Scalding coffee had been thrown on the back of my hand, leaving it red and swollen. A piercing pain still throbbed beneath the skin.

This was the debt collectors’ idea of a “greeting.”

"The precious daughter of the Sterling family... If you can't scrape the money together by tonight, next time this coffee will be going in your face."

They departed, leaving a torrent of profanities and my torn coat in their wake.

A harsh beam of headlights sliced through the darkness, pinning me in its glare.

I instinctively raised a grimy hand to shield my eyes.

A black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a stop, the window half-lowered.

It was the same model I used to ride in before my family went bankrupt.

The car door opened, and a gleaming Oxford shoe stepped into a murky puddle.

My gaze traveled up his perfectly tailored trousers to a priceless, custom-made suit.

An outfit worth at least six figures.

The man held a black umbrella, looking down at me with eyes colder than the December wind.

I froze.

Rhys Prescott.

The boy from the Bronx my family had once scorned, the one they’d thrown off our estate.

Now, he was a revered financial titan on Wall Street.

And I was a down-and-out artist drowning in debt.

The debt collectors, so menacing moments ago, plastered on fawning smiles when they saw Rhys.

"Mr. Prescott! What brings you out in a blizzard like this...?"

Rhys ignored them, his gaze locked on me.

He strode toward me and lifted his foot, pressing his shoe onto the back of my scalded hand.

I didn't flinch. I let him grind it into my flesh.

It was so cold that the pressure from his shoe brought a twisted sort of warmth.

He slowly increased the pressure, twisting his heel.

The friction on the raw burn sent a sharp, scalp-numbing pain through me.

"Genevieve, does it hurt?"

His voice was a low rumble, laced with a bone-chilling cold.

"How does this compare to that snowy day your family tossed me out like trash?"

I clenched my jaw, refusing to make a sound.

It hurt. Of course, it hurt.

But I had lost the right to cry out.

The debt collectors watched, understanding now. To this financial titan, I was nothing more than a toy for him to break.

Rhys removed his foot, wiping the sole of his shoe on a clean patch of snow with a look of disgust.

"Genevieve Sterling, beg me."

I lifted my head. Slush dripped from my matted hair into my eyes, stinging.

"Mr. Prescott, could you lend me fifty thousand dollars? My brother is in the hospital..."

"Lend?"

He let out a cold, sharp laugh.

"The Sterling name is worthless. What could you possibly use to pay me back? That body of yours? Who knows how many men have touched it."

I said nothing, my nails digging into my palms.

He bent down, his fingers pinching my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his.

"Be my mistress, and I'll clear your debts."

I didn't hesitate for long.

Faced with Noah’s crushing medical bills, my dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"Okay."

I heard my own voice, a hoarse whisper torn from my throat.

My quick agreement seemed to displease him. A flicker of violence flashed in his eyes.

"Get in the car."

The car was warm, filled with the crisp scent of cedarwood.

A pink handbag sat on the passenger seat—unmistakably Chloe Radcliffe’s style.

Soaked to the bone, I perched on the edge of the leather seat, afraid to get the expensive material wet.

When Rhys got in, his brow furrowed deeper at the sight of me.

"Who are you trying to fool with this damsel-in-distress act?"

He grabbed my waist and ruthlessly pulled me onto his lap.

The muddy water from my clothes instantly stained his expensive trousers.

I scrambled to get up. "Rhys, I'm dirty…"

"So you know you're dirty?"

His tone was mocking as his merciless fingers traced the angry, red burn on my hand.

"This is all you're worth now."

The car sped through the city, arriving at a penthouse apartment in Manhattan.

This was where Rhys lived.

As we entered, he gestured curtly toward the bathroom.

"Go wash up. Don't get my floors dirty."

There were no clean clothes for me.

I emerged wrapped in a bath towel. Rhys was on the sofa, a cigar smoldering between his fingers.

He casually tossed a silk gown at me.

It wasn't new.

"Put it on."

I unfolded the gown. The faint scent of another woman's perfume clung to the fabric.

Jo Malone. Chloe's signature scent.

I turned my back to him, let the towel drop, and slipped the dress on.

When I turned around, Rhys was on a video call.

On the screen, Chloe Radcliffe was smiling sweetly. "Rhys, are you in bed yet? I miss you."

The man whose expression had been thunderous moments before now spoke with impossible gentleness.

"Not yet. Just dealt with some trash I picked up. You should get some sleep. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

I stood ten feet away, listening to him whisper sweet nothings to another woman.

After he hung up, the softness vanished from his face.

He looked at me, his eyes a volatile mix of lust and disgust.

He shot to his feet, crossed the room in a few long strides, and shoved me down onto the sofa.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body tensing like a drawn bow.

The assault I braced for never came.

A sneer echoed in my ear.

"You reek of cheapness. It's nauseating."

He let go of me and took out a wet wipe, meticulously cleaning his hands.

"Get out. Sleep on the couch in the study. I don't want to see you."

Clutching the silk of the gown, I all but crawled into the study.

The room was large, but I didn't dare venture beyond the space I was allotted.

I curled up on the cold leather sofa, my fingers tracing the faint indentation on my left ring finger where a daisy-chain bracelet once sat. A promise from a poor boy named Rhys in Central Park. "Gen," he'd said, "one day I'll replace this with a real one."

Now, the daisies had long since rotted away.

Just like me.

At six in the morning, I brewed his coffee just the way he liked it and bought his favorite bacon, egg, and cheese bagel from the corner shop.

Rhys didn’t like lettuce, and he didn’t like his coffee too bitter.

I remembered these things better than my own birthday.

Out of habit, I had the clerk add an extra slice of cheese.

At seven, Rhys came downstairs.

He paused when he saw the breakfast laid out on the table.

I stood beside the dining table, my hands clasped meekly before me.

"Mr. Prescott, breakfast is ready."

He strode over, his eyes landing on the bagel.

The next second, he scraped the plate and its contents into the sink and flipped the switch on the garbage disposal.

A harsh grinding sound ripped through the silence.

Rhys looked at me coldly. "Genevieve Sterling, what do you take me for? I stopped eating cheap trash like this years ago."

I watched the food disappear, a dull ache in my chest.

I was the one who’d once complained bagels were too dry, making him switch to croissants just for me.

To please me, he had forced himself to acquire a taste for butter.

Now, the bagels he once loved were beneath his notice.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of your preferences."

I crouched down to clean up the spilled coffee.

He didn't even glance at me as he stepped over my hunched form and took a bottle of Fiji water from the fridge.

"There's a charity gala tonight. You're coming with me."

He took a sip of water, his tone flat.

"Given my... situation, I don't think that's a good idea."

"What situation?" he interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The whore, or the fallen heiress of the Sterling family?"

I was speechless.

"You're my date. You'll act the part."

He threw a black gift box at me.

"Wear this. Don't embarrass me."

That afternoon, a stylist arrived to do my hair and makeup.

I opened the box. Inside was a scandalously revealing designer gown.

There was barely any fabric. The back was completely bare, the slit running all the way up my thigh.

This was the kind of dress a desperate starlet wore to get noticed on the red carpet, not a gown for the Met Gala.

But I had no right to refuse.

I put it on and stood before the mirror, my eyes downcast. The woman in the reflection was just an object up for auction.

At eight that evening, we arrived at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I entered on Rhys's arm.

Instantly, hundreds of eyes were on me.

"Isn't that Genevieve Sterling?"

"What heiress? The Sterlings are finished. I heard she’s desperate enough to do anything for money."

"Well, well. Dressed like that, she must be Prescott's new pet. To think she used to be so arrogant."

Rhys, seemingly deaf to the whispers, guided me through the throng.

The wealthy heirs who once swarmed me now eyed me with a mixture of amusement and malice.

A greasy investor approached, holding a glass of wine.

"Rhys, not bad. She looks familiar. Great body on her."

His lecherous eyes raked over my chest.

I instinctively shrank behind Rhys.

But Rhys took a deliberate step to the side, leaving me fully exposed to the investor’s gaze.

He sipped his champagne, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"She has her uses. If you're interested, I can have her pour you a drink sometime."

I looked up at him, searching his face.

There was no protection in his eyes, only cold satisfaction.

"It's a deal then!" The man reached out to touch my waist.

I fought back a wave of nausea and sidestepped his touch.

"Ooh, feisty," the man muttered, a flicker of displeasure in his eyes.

"It's more fun to tame them slowly, isn't it, Genevieve?"

Rhys turned his head, his voice a gentle caress that made my blood run cold.

I lowered my head.

"Yes, Mr. Prescott is right."

Just then, Chloe Radcliffe swept in, wearing a white haute couture gown.

Her face lit up with a sweet smile when she saw Rhys.

"Rhys! I'm so sorry I'm late, the traffic was a nightmare."

Rhys immediately abandoned me and strode to her side, his arm wrapping naturally around her waist.

Chloe pretended to have just noticed me, her hand flying to her mouth in feigned surprise.

"Oh, is that Gen? Long time no see. Why are you dressed like that...?"

A flash of triumphant malice crossed her eyes, quickly masked by a look of concern.

"Have things been hard for you? You've gotten so thin."

She took a step closer, and the hand holding her champagne glass suddenly "trembled."

The amber liquid spilled directly onto my chest.

I raised my hand to block it, and the back of my hand brushed against her wrist.

"Ah!"

Chloe cried out as the glass shattered on the marble floor.

She clutched her wrist, her eyes welling with tears as she looked at Rhys.

"Rhys, I was just trying to say hello to Gen. I think she’s still mad at me for... for taking you from her."

The crowd fell silent.

Rhys strode over, grabbing Chloe’s wrist to inspect it before turning on me.

"Genevieve Sterling, do you have a death wish?"

A tremor of raw heartbreak and injustice shot through me.

"I didn't push her. She spilled it on purpose."

"And why would Chloe spill champagne on herself?"

Rhys sneered. "Apologize to her."

There was no trust in his eyes. Only disgust.

Chloe tugged on his sleeve, whispering, "Rhys, please, let it go. I'm sure Gen didn't mean it. Everyone is watching..."

Rhys’s gaze on me grew colder. "Genevieve. Don't make me say it again."

Any backbone I had left, any shred of pride, had long been ground to dust by this man.

I bent at the waist, facing Chloe.

"I'm sorry, Miss Radcliffe. It was my fault."

My swift surrender didn't satisfy him.

He pointed to a row of specialty strong whiskeys on a nearby table.

"Since it was an accident, drink these as your apology. Finish them, and we'll call it even."

There were five or six different bottles of hard liquor.

I looked up at him. "Mr. Prescott, I have a stomach ulcer. That much hard liquor... I could start bleeding internally."

"That's your problem."

He put his arm around Chloe and turned away, not sparing me another glance.

The crowd watched, hungry for the spectacle.

My hand trembled as I picked up the first glass.

The liquid burned a path down my throat, and a searing pain erupted in my stomach.

One glass, two, three...

By the fifth glass, a violent cramp seized my gut.

I covered my mouth and ran for the restroom.

I threw up until I was dizzy, until all that came out was bright red blood.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and stared at my ghostly reflection in the mirror.

Outside, I could hear the faint sound of men's laughter.

"Serves her right. It's about time she was brought down a peg."

I stayed in the restroom stall for what felt like an eternity, until my phone began to buzz insistently.

It was the hospital.

"Miss Sterling, your brother has developed sudden complications and needs emergency surgery. We need a payment of one hundred thousand dollars immediately, or we can't proceed."

One hundred thousand dollars.

For the woman I once was, it was the price of a handbag. For the woman I am now, it was a matter of life and death.

I burst out of the restroom. Rhys was presenting Chloe with a massive diamond engagement ring, drawing gasps of admiration from the crowd.

I ran to him, grabbing his sleeve.

"Rhys, please, I need one hundred thousand dollars, right now! Noah needs surgery!"

Rhys frowned, shaking my hand off his sleeve.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, making a scene here?"

Chloe giggled beside him. "Gen, you have to pick your moments. Rhys is proposing."

"Rhys Prescott, it's a life! It's Noah! He used to adore you!"

Rhys paused.

Then, his expression grew even darker.

"He's a Sterling. What does he have to do with me? It would be better if all of you just died."

He turned his attention back to the ring, tossing a comment over his shoulder.

"Our arrangement doesn't cover charity. And tonight, you've done nothing but piss me off. You get nothing."

"What do I have to do? I'll do anything for the money."

Rhys turned, his gaze falling to the floor where one of his cufflinks had "accidentally" dropped.

"You want to please me? Get on your knees and pick it up."

His cufflink was still perfectly fastened on his cuff.

He was humiliating me.

But Noah was on an operating table, waiting.

I didn't hesitate. My knees hit the cold marble with a hard thud.

The room filled with gasps and muffled sneers.

My hand trembling, I picked up the cufflink and held it up to him.

"Mr. Prescott, here."

I looked up at him.

Rhys looked down at me, a complicated emotion flickering in his dark eyes.

He took the cufflink and, without a second glance, tossed it into a nearby ice bucket.

"Too bad. Now I'm in an even worse mood."

With that, he wrapped his arm around Chloe and strode away.

Leaving me kneeling on the cold floor.

I bolted from the banquet hall, sprinting out into the pouring rain.

Suddenly, I collided with a hard chest.

"Careful."

A pair of strong hands steadied me.

I looked up into a cool, intelligent face, his eyes sharp behind gold-rimmed glasses.

I had no time for his face. I tried to push past him.

"Move! I have to save someone!"

But the man didn't budge, handing me a payment receipt instead.

"I've already paid for Noah Sterling's surgery. You can pay me back slowly."

I froze, my mind a complete blank.

"Who are you?"

"Julian Croft. The lawyer handling the Sterling family's bankruptcy, and also your current creditor's representative."

He took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the rain from my face.

"Miss Sterling, you may be a debtor, but you don't need to debase yourself for a scumbag like him."

I stayed at the hospital all night. My brother was out of danger.

When I returned to the apartment the next day, it was already noon.

I was wearing the suit jacket Julian had lent me, which carried a faint scent of mint and tobacco.

As I pushed open the door, a tense atmosphere hit me.

Rhys sat on the sofa, a mountain of cigar butts at his feet.

When he saw the men's jacket on my shoulders, he exploded.

He rushed over, ripped the jacket off me, and tore it to shreds.

"Genevieve Sterling, you have some goddamn nerve! The moment you crawl out of my sight, you go find another man to sponsor you?"

His eyes were bloodshot as he spat the questions of a madman.

"Who is he? That Julian Croft? When did you two get together?"

He snatched a letter opener from the table and slashed the expensive jacket to ribbons.

"I didn't! He saved Noah!"

I lunged forward to save the jacket; it wasn't mine to let him destroy.

Rhys slammed me down onto the coffee table, which was still littered with ice buckets and glasses from the night before.

The sharp edges of glass dug into my back. I gasped in pain.

"Saved Noah? Or are you just addicted to selling yourself? You'd sleep with any man for that half-dead brother of yours, wouldn't you?"

Smack!

With all my strength, I slapped him across the face.

Rhys's head snapped to the side, a red handprint blooming on his cheek.

He slowly turned back, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, his eyes dark and murderous.

"Genevieve, you dare hit me?"

I was breathing heavily, tears finally blurring my vision.

"Rhys Prescott, you can insult me, but you will not insult Noah! And you will not insult the man who helped me!"

It was the first time I had fought back since our reunion.

That slap shattered the last shred of civility between us.

He suddenly laughed, a chilling, unhinged sound.

"Good. Very good. Since you've suddenly grown a backbone, let's see just how strong it really is."