Emily's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one tight, ragged. Alexander's words still echoed in her ears, sharp as steel. For a moment, she thought he would close the distance again, kiss her, claim her like he seemed to claim everything else.
Instead, he stepped back.
The sudden absence of his warmth left her shivering against the cool pane of glass.
"But first," he said, his tone shifting back to cold efficiency, the voice of a man used to boardrooms and battles, "you need to understand exactly where you stand."
He withdrew his phone, swiping the screen with brisk precision. When he turned the device toward her, Emily's stomach plummeted.
The headlines were worse. Much worse.
"Gold-Digging Waitress Seduces Billionaire Drake."
"From Rags to Riches: Emily Chen's Shameless Climb."
"Family Disowns Daughter for Selling Herself to a Billionaire."
Emily's hand flew to her mouth as her eyes locked onto one line in particular.
Her mother's statement.
"We are deeply ashamed of Emily's behavior. She is no longer welcome in our home. We raised her better than this."
Her knees nearly gave out. "No," she whispered, the word breaking in her throat. "No, they wouldn't—"
"Keep reading." Alexander's voice held no pity.
With trembling fingers, she scrolled down. More words carved into her like blades. Her father calling her "a disgrace to the Chen name." Her younger brother admitting he "no longer has a sister." Even her old coworkers at the diner describing her as "always chasing a rich man's attention."
"This isn't true," Emily said, though even to her own ears, it sounded weak. "None of this is true."
Alexander slipped the phone back into his jacket. "Truth doesn't matter. Perception is everything. And the perception, Emily, is that you're nothing more than a clever little gold-digger who reeled me in."
He showed her one final image before pocketing the phone: reporters swarming outside her apartment building, microphones thrust toward bewildered neighbors. The landlord's statement scrolled across the bottom: "We're reconsidering her lease due to the unwanted attention."
Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the bed. Less than a single day, and her life had been stripped bare. Family—gone. Job—gone. Home—gone.
"Why?" Her voice was fragile, breaking under the weight of it all. "Why are you showing me this?"
Alexander studied her with those dark, impenetrable eyes. "Because you need clarity. You have no family to crawl back to. No job to return to—I guarantee the diner has already cut ties. No apartment, not with that circus outside your door. And no friends brave enough to stand next to you while the world sharpens its knives."
Each word landed like a calculated strike.
"You have nothing, Emily Chen," he said softly, ruthlessly. "Nothing… except what I choose to give you."
She wrapped her arms around herself, as though she could shield her body from the truth. "You… you planned this."
"I planned nothing," Alexander replied, turning toward the window. He looked out over the glittering city, his stance regal, commanding—like a monarch surveying his empire. "But I recognize opportunity when it presents itself."
Her laugh was broken, desperate. "Opportunity? My life is in ruins, and you call it an opportunity?"
He turned back, his expression unreadable. "You see ruin. I see transformation. You could try to fight this, of course. Spend years attempting to rebuild your reputation, grovel for scraps of forgiveness from your family, beg for shifts at some diner where no one recognizes your face. A gray, bitter little life."
Her throat tightened. He painted the picture too well.
"Or," he continued smoothly, "you could embrace what the world already believes. You could let me dress you in couture, house you in places most people never dream of, grant you access to a life that would terrify and dazzle you in equal measure."
Emily pushed herself up from the bed, legs shaky but resolve flaring. "And in exchange?"
His lips curved in a ghost of a smile—one without kindness. "In exchange for your obedience. Your presence when I require it. Your loyalty—absolute, unquestioning. You belong to me now, Emily. The only choice you have left…" His eyes glittered with that dangerous light she was learning to fear. "…is whether you step into the cage willingly, or whether I drag you inside."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "A cage?" she whispered.
"A gilded one," Alexander clarified, as if that softened the blow. "But a cage nonetheless."
Tears stung Emily's eyes, but she forced them back. She would not let him see her break. "And if I refuse?"
He shrugged—elegant, indifferent. "Then you leave here with nothing but the clothes on your back and face the wolves outside alone. How long do you think you'll last? A week? A month? Before you're sleeping in shelters and begging for scraps?"
The cruelty in his voice made her stomach turn. This was the real Alexander Drake—not the man who had made her feel like Cinderella at the gala, but the ruthless predator who crushed anyone in his path.
"You're a monster," she whispered.
"Yes." He didn't even blink. "But I'm a monster who can give you everything you secretly crave. Security. Luxury. Power." His gaze lingered on her lips. "Pleasure."
The last word betrayed her body—sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. She hated herself for it.
"There is another option," he said casually, as though discussing a merger.
Every nerve in her body screamed don't ask, but the question slipped out anyway. "What?"
Alexander closed the space between them, not touching her, but close enough that she felt his heat. "I have a rival. Vincent Blackwell. Arrogant, greedy, always circling what doesn't belong to him. Women, especially. The prettier and more untouchable, the better."
Her stomach dropped. "You want me to—"
"I want him distracted. Jealous. Making mistakes. And there's no better way than flaunting what he can't have. My woman."
"You want to use me as bait."
"I want to give you a role. Power. A way out of victimhood." His eyes glinted. "Be my mistress—for year. Attend events with me. Smile on my arm. Make Blackwell burn with envy. In return, I'll give you everything: housing, clothes, money. Enough that when it's over, you can disappear and rebuild your life."
Emily's pulse thundered in her ears. The idea was degrading, manipulative, insane. And yet…it was also her only chance.
"One year?" she whispered.
"Three hundred and sixty days." His voice was final. "After that, you're free."
"And during those days?"
His smile was sharp, predatory. "You belong to me. Completely."
Emily's instincts screamed run. But she thought of her parents' rejection, the headlines, the hungry crowd of reporters waiting outside, the certainty of losing her apartment and job. One year—or nothing.
"What exactly would I have to do?" Her voice was small, betraying her fear.
Triumph lit Alexander's eyes. He had known she would break. "Attend events. Play the part. Convince Vincent—and everyone else—that you're desperately, hopelessly in love with me."
The bitter irony cut through her: pretend to love the man who had just destroyed her life.
"I need time to think."
"No." His response was instant. "Decide now. Walk out that door and be devoured by the world—or accept, and let me protect you."
She glanced at the door, then back at him. Her family's disgust echoed in her mind. The flashing cameras outside. The emptiness waiting for her if she left. One year. Thirty days. And then freedom.
"If I agree," she said slowly, "I want it in writing. A contract. Terms, conditions, what happens when it ends."
Alexander's smile widened, wolfish. "Of course. I'd expect nothing less from the woman bold enough to crash my gala."
He moved to the desk, dialing a number. "James. Draft a contract. Personal terms. I'll send the details."
As he spoke in low tones, Emily sank onto the bed. She felt like she was bargaining with the devil.
When he ended the call, his expression was pure business. "The contract will be ready within the hour. Once you sign, there's no turning back. Are we clear?"
Emily nodded, her throat too tight for words.
"Good." He checked his platinum watch. "Your first test begins tonight. Vincent Blackwell is hosting a private dinner. Small guest list. Intimate. The perfect stage for him to meet my new companion."
Her blood ran cold. "Tonight? But I have nothing to wear, no idea how to—"
"All of it will be handled," Alexander cut in. "A stylist is on the way. You'll be briefed on Blackwell and the other guests. I'll tell you exactly how to behave."
At the door connecting to his suite, he paused, glancing back.
"Oh, and Emily?" His voice dropped to velvet steel. "In private, you call me Alexander. In public…" His smile was glacial. "…you call me whatever a woman desperately in love would call the man she'd give everything for."
The door shut softly behind him, leaving Emily staring into silence.
She was no longer Emily Chen, anonymous waitress from Brooklyn.
She was Alexander Drake's mistress—at least for the next one year.
And she had no idea if she would survive it.