The man's grip tightened around her throat, his voice a cold hiss against her ear. “Enough with the act...”

Clare gasped for air. The room was drowning in darkness, so she couldn’t make out his face, but the ice in his voice slid down her spine.

When his lips brushed against hers, it hit her like lightning.

She couldn’t hold it in any longer. A panicked cry tore out of her, shame crashing over her in waves. She wanted to fight, to get away, but reality held her down: this man had money, and money could pay for her mother’s medical bills.

Clare felt herself drifting further and further from her own body...

“No...”

“Oh, in a hurry now?” the man sneered, the faint light from outside just catching her face.

Just then, her phone rang. Fear ripped through her—was something wrong with her mother? The fog cleared, and she reached to answer, but he was faster. He snatched the phone and hurled it against the wall with a sharp crack, plunging the room back into silence.

“You had no right to break my phone!” She sat up, glaring at the shattered pieces scattered on the floor, her voice shaking with fury.

He moved in, pinning her against the wall. Panic spiked, and Clare shoved at him, but his arms locked her in place...

As dawn's first pale light slipped through the curtains, Clare woke up aching, every tiny movement making her wince. The man beside her was still asleep. He was almost unfairly handsome—thick brows, a sharply cut nose—but even in sleep, his forehead was creased with tension.

She couldn't remember when she'd finally drifted off, but the sudden panic to find her phone snapped her into action. It lay shattered on the floor, and she scrambled to gather the pieces, praying her mother hadn't called. Soon, she'd have the money for her mom's surgery. Soon, things would finally get better.

The second she powered it on, her phone exploded with missed calls and messages—over thirty missed calls and more than twenty texts, all from Fiona Lang, demanding to know where she was. But the last message made her stomach drop: "Where were you last night? You left Mr. Lewis waiting all night!"

Left waiting all night?

Clare glanced back at the man in the bed. Had she gone to the wrong room? Panic clawed at her chest as she spotted the room key on the table. The number 836 was engraved right there. She'd been such a nervous wreck last night, she'd walked straight into the wrong room. Worst mistake ever.

How the hell was she supposed to explain this when he woke up? Sorry, I accidentally walked into the wrong room?

Moving quickly, she pulled on the man's shirt. Her own clothes were way too torn up to wear after the wild night before. Keeping one eye on the bed to make sure he was still asleep, she stuffed the cash from the table into her bag. Wrong room or not, after everything that had happened, she figured she'd earned it. Before leaving, she scribbled a note on a piece of paper from the nightstand: "Service fee collected!"

When Lucien Bradley woke, Clare was already gone. He picked up the note she'd left behind. Service fee collected! His eyes slid to the now-empty nightstand, and a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. Did she really think she could just walk away like that?

He checked the time. Crap. He had a meeting this morning. After a quick shower, he ordered a fresh suit from the hotel lobby. Just before heading out, something on the floor caught his eye—a phone case. He picked it up. A cheerful, round-faced girl with dimples smiled back at him from the attached photo. The man chuckled under his breath.

"So that's who you are," he murmured. "You're mine now."

Six years later.

JFK International Airport.

“Oaky, come here. Let’s get your jacket on—and your little cap.” Axton Bradley held up a pink jacket for his little sister, Oaklynn Bradley. She stood there with her pacifier, eyes barely open, letting her brother fuss over her. Axton shot a glance at their mom, Clare, who was still dawdling. “Mom, it’s barely fifty degrees out. You trying to turn into a popsicle?”

Clare stood up, pulled on her coat, and pouted. “Axton, show a little respect. I’m your mother, you know!”

“Mommy, your buttons are all wrong,” Oaklynn pointed out in that adorable baby voice, staring up at Clare with big eyes and a tiny finger aimed at her crooked coat.

Clare sighed and didn’t bother with the buttons. “Alright, you two ready? If so, let’s move!”

Axton took Oaklynn’s hand as they stood in the plane aisle. Axton wore a sharp little racing outfit, looking proud and cute, while Oaklynn was in the pink version, pacifier still in place. A few passengers couldn’t stop staring at the adorable pair.

“Come on, hurry up. Aunt Harley’s waiting for us. Your mom has to go make amends, and it’s no easy task,” Clare said, scooping up both kids. They’d grown a lot lately; they definitely felt heavier.

“Mommy, what does ‘make amends’ mean?” Oaklynn asked, clinging to Clare’s neck, her big eyes full of questions.

Clare quickly carried the kids off the plane, set them down, and caught her breath before explaining, “It means I have to say sorry to Aunt Harley, even when it’s hard.”

Still confused, Oaklynn tilted her head. “But Mommy, why don’t you have a burden?”

Clare rubbed her forehead and turned to her son with a pleading look. She really couldn’t handle all of Oaklynn’s questions on her own.

Axton flashed a mischievous grin and held up three fingers. Clare bit her lip and raised two. Axton countered with four.

“You drive a hard bargain!” Clare said.

Axton smirked, cheeky as ever. “Sweetheart, I’m driving this bargain because I can.”

“Fine, three times a week. I’ll only eat salad three times,” Clare huffed. She’d never liked salad, but the doctor said she needed the vitamins. Three times a week was her absolute limit.

“Deal!” Axton gave her a smile so charming that Clare nearly lost her train of thought. She had to admit, some things just didn’t change.