"Okay."

My voice came out hoarse, scraped raw from somewhere deep in my throat.

Anthony was far from satisfied with my compliance; a flash of cruelty passed through his eyes.

"Get in the car."

The heat inside hit me like a wall, sharp with cedar.

A pink cartoon throw pillow sat on the passenger seat—Audrey Swanson's style.

I was soaked through, shrinking back, not daring to sit fully.

Anthony got in. Seeing me like this, his brow furrowed deeper.

"What's with the innocent act?"

He clamped a hand around my waist and yanked me onto his lap.

Mud and dirty water smeared across his expensive suit pants.

I panicked, trying to get up. "Mr. Vance, it's dirty—"

"So you know you're dirty too?"

His tone was mocking, and his fingers traced mercilessly across the burn on my forehead.

"Who you are now is only worth this price."

The car sped through the city, arriving at a hillside villa in the south.

That was where Anthony lived now.

Inside, he pointed straight at the bathroom.

"Go wash yourself clean. Don't dirty my floor."

There were no clean clothes to change into.

I came out wrapped in a bath towel. Anthony was on the sofa, smoking.

He tossed me a silk nightgown.

It wasn't new.

"Put it on."

I unfolded it and caught the scent of perfume.

Mon Paris. Audrey's signature.

I turned my back, untied the towel, and pulled on the nightgown.

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

On the screen, Audrey smiled sweetly. "Anthony, are you asleep? I miss you."

The man who'd looked so cold moments ago now spoke in a voice so gentle it didn't seem like him.

"Not yet. Just finished dealing with a bit of trash. Go to sleep early. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

I stood three yards away, listening to him be tender with another woman.

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

He looked at me—undisguised desire and disgust intertwined in his eyes.

He stood, crossed the room in a few strides, and shoved me down onto the sofa.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body tensed like a bowstring.

The violation I expected never came.

A snort of laughter sounded by my ear.

"Smells poor. Makes me lose my appetite."

He let go and pulled out a wet wipe, carefully wiping his hands.

"Get out to the guest room and sleep on the floor. Don't let me see you."

Clutching my collar, I scrambled into the guest room.

The room was big, but I didn't dare touch the bed.

I curled up on the floor, fingers brushing the spot on my left ring finger.

A faint ring-shaped mark still lingered there.

Once, a straw-braided ring had circled that finger.

That poor boy, Anthony, had made it for me in the Sullivan family's back garden, his hands covered in blood.

He said: Layla, someday I'll replace it with a real one.

Now, the ring had long since rotted in the mud.

Me too.

At six in the morning, I fried eggs and toasted bread, cutting off the hard crusts.

Anthony doesn't eat lettuce, and he doesn't eat fried eggs with overcooked yolks.

I remembered his habits more clearly than my own birthday.

Out of habit, I swapped the lettuce for cucumber slices.

At seven, Anthony came downstairs.

Seeing the breakfast on the table, his steps faltered.

I stood by the dining table, hands folded, eyes lowered.

"Mr. Vance, breakfast is ready."

He walked over, his gaze landing on the sandwich.

The next second, he swept the plate straight into the trash.

A crisp clatter.

Anthony looked at me coldly. "Layla, who do you think I am? I stopped eating this cheap taste a long time ago."

I stared at the fried eggs scattered in the trash, and my chest tightened.

Back then, I'd hated how bland cucumbers tasted and made him switch to lettuce.

To please me, he'd forced himself to get used to it.

Now he didn't even want the cucumbers he used to love.

"Sorry. I didn't know your preferences."

I crouched down and started cleaning up the mess.

A shard of porcelain sliced my finger. Blood beaded up.

Anthony didn't even glance at it. He stepped over me and grabbed a bottle of Evian from the fridge.

"There's a banquet tonight. You're coming."

His tone was ice.

"With my current status, it's not appropriate—"

"What status?" He cut me off with a sneer. "A prostitute? Or Miss Sullivan?"

I had no answer.

"If you're going to be arm candy, act like it."

He tossed me a black gift box.

"Put this on. Don't embarrass me."

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

When I opened the box, I found a red, skintight spaghetti-strap dress.

There was barely any fabric. The entire back was bare, the slit climbing all the way to my upper thigh.

This was something a nightclub dancer would wear—not a gown for a business banquet.

But I had no right to refuse.

After putting it on, I stood before the mirror and lowered my eyes. The woman staring back looked no different from an antique on an auction block.

Eight o'clock that night. Harborview City's largest banquet hall.

I walked in on Anthony's arm.

Instantly, countless gazes landed on me.

"Isn't that Miss Sullivan?"

"What Miss Sullivan? The Sullivans went under ages ago. I heard she'll do anything to pay off debts."

"Tsk. Dressed like that—she's probably being kept by Mr. Vance, huh? She used to act like she was better than everyone."

Anthony acted like he heard nothing, guiding me through the crowd.

Those trust-fund kids who used to swarm around me—now they looked at me with something between mockery and hunger.

A potbellied man named Jesse Lambert walked over, wineglass in hand.

"Mr. Vance, you've got good taste. This one looks familiar—killer body."

His eyes crawled over my chest.

Instinctively, I shrank behind Anthony.

But he stepped aside, leaving me fully exposed to Lambert's gaze.

He sipped his champagne, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

"It is pretty killer. If Mr. Lambert's interested, I'll have her pour you drinks sometime."

I looked up at him.

No protection in his eyes. Only cold satisfaction.

"Then it's a deal!" Lambert reached out, fingers aimed at my waist.

I forced myself to dodge, swallowing back nausea.

"Oh, she's got some fire." Lambert's expression soured.

"That's what makes the training fun, isn't it, Layla Sullivan?"

Anthony turned to me. His voice was soft—the kind of softness that made your skin crawl.

I lowered my head.

"Yes. Mr. Vance is right."

Just then, Audrey glided in wearing a white custom couture gown, a designer bag hooked over her arm.

The moment she spotted Anthony, a sweet smile bloomed across her face.

"Anthony! Traffic was a nightmare—I'm so late."

He left me behind and strode toward her, his arm sliding naturally around her waist.

Audrey seemed to notice me only then, covering her mouth in exaggerated surprise.

"Oh! Isn't that Layla? Long time no see—why are you dressed like this..."

A flash of vicious satisfaction flickered in her eyes, but her face stayed painted with concern.

"Have things been rough? You've gotten so thin you barely look like yourself."

She stepped closer. The hand holding her red wine trembled.

The wine splashed straight onto my chest.

I raised my hand to block her, and the back of my hand grazed her wrist.

"Ah!"

Audrey cried out as the glass shattered across the floor.

She clutched her wrist, eyes glistening, and looked at Anthony. "Anthony, I just wanted to say hello to Layla. She still blames me for taking you away."

The room went silent.

Anthony strode over, checked Audrey's wrist, then turned to me. "Layla, are you looking to die?"

The injustice—the bone-deep cold—made my whole body shake. "I didn't push her. She spilled it on herself."

"Why would Audrey spill red wine on herself?" He sneered. "Apologize to her."

No trust in his eyes. Only disgust.

Audrey tugged his sleeve, her voice soft. "Anthony, forget it. Layla didn't mean to. So many people are watching…"

His gaze on me turned colder. "Don't make me say it twice."

Whatever backbone I once had—whatever self-respect—had long since crumbled to dust in front of this man.

I bent toward Audrey. "I'm sorry, Ms. Swanson. I wasn't careful."

Anthony wasn't satisfied that I gave in so quickly.

He pointed at the row of liquor on the table. "Since it was 'not careful,' drink these to make up for it. Finish them, and we'll let this go."

Five or six bottles of hard liquor.

I looked up at him. "Mr. Vance, I have a serious stomach condition. If I drink that, I'll have internal bleeding."

"That's your problem."

He wrapped his arm around Audrey and walked away without looking back.

Everyone watched.

With trembling hands, I picked up the first glass.

The liquid slid down my throat, and burning pain flared through my stomach.

One glass. Two. Three…

By the fifth, my stomach spasmed.

I covered my mouth and rushed to the restroom.

I threw up until the world spun. By the end, it was nothing but bright red blood.

I wiped the blood from my mouth and stared at the ghost in the mirror.

Outside, men's laughter drifted in. "Seeing her so pathetic, begging like that—damn, that felt good."

I stayed in the stall for a long time, until my phone buzzed nonstop.

The hospital.

"Miss Sullivan, your brother developed sudden complications and needs emergency surgery. Please pay $50,000 immediately, or the procedure can't proceed."

Fifty thousand.

To the old me, that was just the price of a handbag.

To the current me, it was a life.

I rushed out. Anthony was at the jewelry counter, helping Audrey pick out a diamond ring.

I ran over and grabbed his sleeve. "Mr. Vance, please—give me $50,000. Right now. My brother is being resuscitated!"

Anthony frowned and shook off my hand. "What are you doing, making a scene in a place like this?"

Audrey covered her mouth and laughed. "Layla, even if you're begging for money, pick the right moment. Anthony's choosing my engagement ring."

"Anthony, that's a human life! That's William! He used to call you brother!"

Anthony's hand paused.

Then his eyes turned even darker. "He's a Sullivan. What does that have to do with me? It'd be better if everyone in that family died off."

He turned back to the rings. "The contract says payment per session. You made me very unhappy tonight. This one—no money."

"What do I have to do? I'll do anything."

Anthony turned, his gaze dropping to my knees. "I want you to kneel down and tie my shoelaces."