George Milton took me eight times in a single night.

By the ninth, his hand gripped my waist, his voice rough with satisfaction as he rasped, "Baby, I want you to use that innocent-but-sexy look you've got to go seduce Jordan."

My entire body went rigid. Then I found out—George's first love, Sarah Byrnes, had been ditched by Jordan Baker, leaving her heartbroken.

He wanted me to take revenge for her, to make Jordan taste the agony of being abandoned by the one he loved.

After my family had gone bankrupt, I was delivered straight to George's bed. Naively, I believed he treated me differently. After all, I had been the woman at his side the longest.

But he only sneered. "The reason I keep you is because you look like Sarah. She's hurting. Now it's your turn to do your part.

With reddened eyes, I agreed, swallowing every foolish hope I should never have harbored.

Soon, I captured the aloof and untouchable Jordan's heart.

And for the first time, George lost control. He wept as he begged, "Catelyn, I regret it. Come back to me, please?"

George Milton's hand clamped around my waist, his voice hoarse and heavy with desire. "Baby, I want you to use that innocent-but-sexy look you've got to go seduce Jordan Baker."

I went completely still.

Confused, I looked up at him, my eyes wet, the corners red.

The sight only made his breathing rougher, and he thrust into me with a new, raw intensity. After another round of frantic movement, he finally went quiet.

Satisfied, he wrapped himself around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, his hot breath spilling over my neck.

"Catelyn, you heard me, right? Sarah's hurting. Now it's your turn to do your part."

My body went stiff.

Sarah Byrnes was his first love. There wasn't a thing she could ask for that George wouldn't give her.

Just last night, while he was inside me, Sarah had called.

On the phone, she cried pitifully, telling him Jordan had dumped her.

Sarah was the kind of rich girl who always got even. She was determined to make Jordan feel what it was like to be thrown away, and she sweetly begged George to help her.

Of course, he didn't say no.

Even with me pinned beneath him, his movements harsh, he softened his voice for her, comforting her with gentle promises.

So that was it—he wanted me to seduce Jordan, just so I could dump him and get revenge for her.

I was just his kept woman. I didn't have the right to refuse.

After my family's business went under, my father jumped from a skyscraper.

My mother got into a car crash as she was rushing to the hospital. That crash left her in a vegetative state, kept alive only by expensive medicine.

With nowhere else to go, I got into George's bed. That night, he was gentle, nothing like the ruthless, spoiled heir everyone said he was.

Afterward, he held my chin between his fingers and asked my name.

"Catelyn Stark," I said, my voice shaking like any girl's would after first time.

He gave a faint smile. "Stay."

He handed me an unlimited black card and promised to cover all my mother's medical expenses. When he wiped my tears away, his thumb lingering on the beauty mark by my eye, he said softly, "Catelyn, you have me now."

From that moment on, I was his.

George was infamous in our circles—a playboy who changed women faster than he changed clothes. But after me, he seemed to calm down.

For three whole years, I was the only one by his side. And I really started to believe I was different.

"Why?" My voice broke with the hurt.

He let out a low, mocking laugh, his fingers stroking my lips as gently as they always did after intimacy, but his words were cruel.

"Baby, if it wasn't for that face of yours looking so much like Sarah's, you'd never have made it into my bed. The only one I love is Sarah."

My throat closed up. A bitter taste filled my mouth. I had been so unbelievably naive.

I thought time could change anything. I thought three years would be enough to replace the one he really loved.

But the whole time, I was just her sad imitation.

It felt like a hand was squeezing my heart, tighter and tighter, until I could hardly breathe.

When he saw the tears welling in my eyes, he frowned. "I don't like it when women act like this."

My heart dropped.

George hated crying. He thought it was just a trick women used to get sympathy.

Impatience sharpened his tone. "Enough. It's just seduction. Who are you putting on a show for?"

I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood, and forced the tears back. My voice came out dry and scraped raw. "Okay."

I locked away every foolish hope, and with it, the heart I never should have given him.

The next day around noon, I was on the phone with my mother's hospital wing when the sharp click of heels echoed through the foyer, mixed with George's low, easy laugh.

"Georgie, I brought you lunch," Sarah's syrupy-sweet voice chirped.

My grip on the phone tightened. He never laughed like that with me—so freely, so sweetly, like it was dipped in honey.

And he never allowed me to call him "Georgie." He said it was too intimate.

He was walking beside her, deliberately slowing his long stride to match her shorter one.

She tilted her head, said something playful.

He leaned in close, turning his face toward hers, listening with a soft smile playing on his lips.

The sight was a physical ache. He had never been that way with me. With me, he was always just George—distant, untouchable, someone I was constantly straining to reach.

The difference between being loved and being tolerated was painfully obvious.

"Oh, Catelyn, you're here too," Sarah said, her smile saccharine.

I forced a stiff smile in return. "Sarah."

She pulled an elegant box from her bag and held it out. "I heard George asked you to get close to Jordan. I picked out something special for you. "I know his type better than anyone. He'll definitely like this."

I opened the box. Inside was a set of black lace lingerie, so flimsy and revealing it was practically indecent.

It sat heavy in my hands, a wave of humiliation washing over me. Even George's expression darkened, a faint frown creasing his brow.

I thought maybe it was her words—"I know his type better than anyone"—that had annoyed him.

No man likes to hear another guy's preferences described so casually by the woman he loves.

My throat felt raw. "Thank you," I managed to force out.

But Sarah wasn't done. She curled her hand possessively around George's arm and cooed, "Catelyn, why don't you go try it on now? Let us see how it looks."

She smiled, all wide-eyed innocence. "That way I can give you some pointers. We want to make sure nothing goes wrong."

I stood frozen, clutching the box until my fingertips turned white.

George said nothing—his silence was a form of permission.

In the dressing room, the mirror reflected a stranger. The black lace barely contained my chest, the straps were whisper-thin, and the cutouts along the waist revealed the dark bruises his fingers had left there the night before.

Steeling myself, I pulled the door open—and walked straight into a room full of eyes.

The living room was packed. At least a dozen men and women, all the elite children of powerful families, were lounging around.

Their stares hit me—a mix of admiration, mockery, disdain, and raw hunger.

Sarah widened her eyes in feigned surprise, putting a hand to her mouth. "Oh my gosh, Catelyn, I am so sorry. It's my birthday tonight and my friends just insisted on coming over early. I had no idea you'd come out dressed like that. This is so awkward."

Her voice oozed fake apology, but her eyes sparkled with triumph.

My face burned. Instinctively, I tried to retreat back into the room.

But Sarah caught my wrist, pulling me forward into the full view of everyone. "Don't be shy. Let everyone see George's exquisite taste."

The room erupted in laughter. Someone wolf-whistled. Phone cameras were lifted, flashes popping.

"Damn, George, so this is the little minx you've been hiding? She's a stunner!"

"Tsk, that body, that skin… puts all those models to shame."

"I heard she used to be a wealthy socialite. Looks like she'll stoop to anything for money now."

The filth rained down on me, wave after wave.

"Didn't Catelyn use to study dance?" a guy with bleached-blond hair jeered. "How about a little performance for us?"

"Yeah, a striptease!" others catcalled, howling with laughter.

I swallowed back the tears and looked straight at George.

He was lounging against the sofa, with Sarah tucked contentedly under his arm and laughing heartily.

But his eyes were dark, his lips pressed into a thin line. The lighter in his hand clicked open and shut, trembling just slightly—the only sign that something was churning beneath the surface.

But he said nothing.

And in that silence, my heart plunged, sinking deeper and deeper into a cold, dark abyss.

Just then, my gaze snagged on a figure in the crowd.

Jordan sat at the far edge of the room, dressed in a simple white shirt. His posture was aloof, refined, his brow furrowed tightly.

A thought, sudden and reckless, took hold.

If I was supposed to seduce him, why not start now?

I steadied my breathing, forcing my voice into something calm. "Alright. I'll dance. But I'll need a partner."

Every eye followed the line of my pointed finger, landing on the man in the corner. "Him."

With a sharp clink, George's lighter hit the floor. His gaze snapped to me, dark and venomous.

Even Jordan seemed startled, caught completely off guard.

Before anyone could react, I stepped forward barefoot, walking toward Jordan with a deliberate, practiced poise. His ears flushed red, yet he didn't pull away as I took his hand and led him to the center of the room.

The brushed fabric of his trousers grazed my bare leg—a touch like a feather that ignited a spark deep within me.

The music swelled.

George shot to his feet.

I leaned close to Jordan's neck and let out a soft, conspiratorial laugh. From the corner of my eye, I saw George’s fists clench, his knuckles turning white.

Sarah tilted her face up to speak to him, but his eyes were locked on me, something violent churning in their depths.

And just as I tried to catch that flicker of emotion, he turned away… and pressed a kiss to Sarah’s forehead.

I let my fingers trail across Jordan's chest, casual yet deliberate, my body molding against his. I felt his stiffness and the uneven drag of his breath.

The room erupted in cheers and whistles.

George’s face grew darker, his gaze searing, like a fire ready to consume everything.

Then, just as I spun in Jordan's arms, about to fall back against him—

The music cut off.

George stormed forward, yanking me violently from Jordan's hold. He ripped off his own jacket and wrapped it around me, roughly covering the skin that had been on display.

"Enough!" he snarled, his voice vibrating with a fury he could barely contain.

Something fragile fluttered in my chest. Was he… jealous? Did he actually care?

But then I saw Sarah’s red-rimmed eyes, her face a mask of wounded grievance.

The answer was clear.

It wasn’t me he cared about.

It was his perfect Sarah. He couldn't bear to see her hurt.

Of course—right in front of her, I had danced with her ex-lover in a blatant, intimate display. How could she not be wounded?

George swept a cold, commanding glance across the room.

"Out. All of you."

The room cleared instantly. Sarah lingered, her lips parting to speak, but one look from him silenced her. She shot me a venomous glare, stomped her heel, and stormed out.

In the blink of an eye, the vast living room held only us.

George’s hand clamped around my wrist, dragging me mercilessly toward the bedroom.

My back slammed against the wardrobe. His fingers gripped my chin, his breath hot and ragged against my face. "Did you enjoy yourself? Dancing for him?"

"Catelyn," his voice was a low, dangerous threat, "you dare seduce another man right in front of me?"

I pushed against his chest, struggling. "Weren't you the one who told me to seduce him? I'm just getting a head start on my assignment."

His eyes flashed with pure darkness. In the next instant, he threw me onto the bed, his body looming over mine.

With a vicious rip, the flimsy lace tore apart.

The sound of shredding fabric filled the air as I stared blankly at the chandelier above, my mind flashing back to being seventeen, dancing under a single spotlight in the school auditorium. Back then, too, there had been eyes like his, burning with an intensity hot enough to set the whole spring on fire.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, his gaze dripping with scorn. "You're nothing but something I bought. Whatever I tell you to do—you do. When I say stop—you stop. You don't have the right to refuse."

Each word was a vise around my heart, squeezing tighter.

Yes. I was just a purchased stand-in. What right did I have to resist?

George said no more. He took me with a punishing fury, every movement laced with retribution.

And I just lay there, still and silent, staring up at the ceiling as tears slipped soundlessly down my temples and into my hair.

When he finally noticed my absolute stillness, he froze. His forehead pressed into the crook of my neck.

And then, I felt hot droplets on my skin.

His voice trembled, hoarse with apology.

"I'm sorry, Catelyn. I lost my temper… I just—"