PRICED BY MY BILLIONAIRE NEMESIS

from every angle, catching every uneven breath, every tiny twitch of uncertainty that I keep trying to iron out of my face. I square my shoulders and tilt my chin, as if post

never happened. I should have told Mia to find someone else to play dress-up with lonely old men in hotel dining rooms. Instead, I used the key, because apparently I like making c

ink about Adrian standing somewhere above me, calculating, turning this into a ledger entry in that ruthless brain, adding this night to whatever story he has w

ast warm pools of light that look soft but feel accusatory, and everything smells faintly of expensive polish and quiet, smug money. The kind of money that never d

ationery knows its place in the hierarchy. My hand hesitates for a fraction of a second, a microscopic pause that tastes like humiliation and fury mixed together. Then I swipe the card anyway, because pretending I have a choice

th a small, traitorous

spreads itself like an invitation, every building lit up and busy, while in here everything feels suspended and still. The air is cool, faintly scented with something expensive and masculine, and under it all

d my lungs almost loosen. Then

ou long

a blade drawn slow

ds a glass of amber whiskey in one hand, the light catching in the liquid and throwing sharp, poisonous glints across his fi

ho stuttered the first time he said he loved me, holding out wilted roadside flowers like a trophy. The affection burned out of him a long time ago; what's le

aware we s

ou knew exactly what you were do

as shoved i

s." He lets the words hang there for a beat, then adds, "You got the c

n I intended. I am not going to stand here and sound small. If he

eryone has a choice," he says, his tone softening in the way tha

its all day and what is one more. "If you dragged me up here to insult me," I say, keep

ward me with that unhurried, predatory ease he has perfected. "You seemed very occ

ead wives and I tried not to choke on my own mortification. "Mr. Sutton is not what you think," I say. The words come out tight

e he's tallying sins on a ledger. Every second of his silence feels like another line item: dinner, envelope, k