PRICED BY MY BILLIONAIRE NEMESIS

tone. But instead, here I am-standing in the marble lobby of the Corinthian Hotel, wearing a dress I definitely cannot afford, waiting to escort a seventy-eight-year-old millio

harmless. He just wants company. He'll be asleep

felt like it was held together with hope and desperation. Then the universe decided to punish me for that optimism, because the moment I step out from behind the column to greet M

and the

g at me like I just crawled out of the sewer and tracked filth across his Ital

ing the role of "pleasant female dinner companion" when he is the

ust a brilliant, infuriating boy who could make professors stutter. But now? Now he stands in the center of the lobby like a lion b

n beams. "You loo

ght smile. "T

a polite kiss to my knuckles. The look on Adrian's face darkens instantly, sharp and lethal, as if he's watching some

still working your way

mmets. "Excuse

ockets like he owns the oxygen in the room. "You lef

ally happened-never wanted to. He just swallowed whatever poisonous story someone whisper

r into my burning lungs. "

Sutton-sweet, confused, unaware he's being

silence, of no closure, no explanation, nothing but one devastating winter night that

ay everything I've held back

er, d

m through his and guide him toward the restaurant. But Adria

I say

orced me into. He looks at me the way someone looks at fruit that has just begun to rot-mild disgust, mild

se suite is prepared. W

He doesn't look away from me

s mind about why I'm here with a seventy-eight-year-old man. He wants to see the spectacle

h wild enthusiasm. I'm nodding politely, sipping from my spoon, pretending I'm not hyperaware of Ad

ng a small gold-plated platter. A cream envelope r

lready took its dinner fee. Tip

, mi

ng up. The weight is light but stiff. I

5,

ch

le's distinctive, a

across the room. Adrian. Still at his table. Still pretending to eat. Still analyzing me like I'm a cr

in

into my purse with a grateful smile and pretend this isn't a humiliation wrapped

nd taps two fingers

ngers.

en

housand

ultures waiting for the body to fall still. My hand trembles and I place it on my chest to steady myself. Mr. Sutton mistakes the m

s chair, crosses his arms, and tilts hi

e it. Prov

ll, and rage burns away the last shred of shame. I pick up the e

tles, like a switch flipping behind his eyes. So I lift my own hand,

doesn't need to. In that moment, the truth slices straight through me: he isn't judging me. He's evaluating me. Pricing me. Calcu

ck, heavy, suffocating. When I look up again-against my better judgment-Adrian isn't even watching me. He's eating now. Small, deliberate bites of steak, as if fueling himself for w

ey. So you're min

ad even though he

ine-not at him-but at myself, for one awfu

," I whisper. A lie. Pap

lest nod toward the exit. A signal. A summons. A bill being called due. Then his gaze locks wi

xactly what conc

wo

what he inten