Five hundred million dollars. That'd establish me, Liam, and his family for years to come. A big fucking deal. What came to my mind first was how I'd never need to scramble to get little things for myself. That was a lifetime of wealth. Was that part of the reason I said yes? Or the major reason? Perhaps part of it was because there were thirty minutes left on the clock, and there was no place on God's green earth I could get anyone to lend me two hundred thousand dollars in thirty minutes.
I sat in the back of the limousine, staring at the notification on my phone screen. The numbers were dizzying. Too many zeros. It looked fake. It looked like a trap.
No once in my existence did I ever think I'd see a one million dollars credit alert now, I was staring at five hundred million credit alert.
Like: Balance: $500,000,068
"We are here, Mr Kael," the driver said, the partition sliding down.
I didn't say thank you. I scrambled out of the car before the driver could even open the door for me. My feet hit the pavement of the hospital drop-off zone, and I ran.
Tara was standing at the entrance, pacing up and down like a caged animal. She was biting down on her fingernails, ruining her manicure. She looked pale, her eyes wide with panic.
The minute she saw me approaching, she rushed to meet me. "Rain! Where have you been? Did you get it? How did it go?"
Her gaze darted past me to the sleek black limousine that was just pulling away from the curb. Her jaw dropped. "Is that… who dropped you off?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. If I opened my mouth to explain, I would vomit. I just burst into the hospital lobby, my heels clicking frantically against the tile. I went straight to the reception desk.
"I need to make a transfer for surgery," I said, my voice breathless. "Liam O'Connor. Trauma unit. Now."
The receptionist looked up, startled by my intensity. "Ma'am, please calm down. The accounts department is—"
"I don't have time for calm!" I slammed my hand on the counter. "Give me the account number. Now!"
She flinched, typed quickly, and handed me a slip of paper. "Here."
I pulled out my phone. My fingers were trembling so hard I mistyped the password twice. finally, I got in. I punched in the hospital's account number and typed in the amount. Two hundred thousand dollars.
Send.
It was done. A chunk of Damien Kael's blood money was gone, instantly absorbed by the medical system.
"Check it," I snapped at the nurse. "Confirm it."
She looked at her screen, blinked, and then nodded. "Payment received. Full deposit."
She slid a clipboard across the counter. "Surgery consent. Sign here, here, and here."
I signed my name in a hurry, the pen almost tearing through the paper. As soon as I dropped the pen, the nurse picked up the landline.
"Dr. Evans? Yes, the transfer of Liam O'Connor's guardian is confirmed. Cleared in full. Proceed with the surgery. Yes. Right now."
She hung up and nodded to me. "He's scrubbing in. They're taking him back now."
I sagged against the counter, all the adrenaline leaving my body in a rush. I felt hollow.
Tara appeared at my elbow, letting out a massive sigh of relief. She turned and hugged me tight. "Oh my god, Rain. You did it. I don't know how, but you did it."
She pulled back, looking at my face. Tears were streaming down my cheeks.
"Hey," she cooed, wiping a tear away with her thumb. "Don't cry. These are tears of joy, right? He's going to be okay."
I nodded, choking on a sob. "Yeah. Joy."
It wasn't joy. It was bitterness. It was acid in my throat. I had sold my soul to the devil to save an angel, but the devil was the one who broke the angel's wings in the first place.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, dread pooling in my stomach.
Unknown Number: Private condo, 6789 LN, Mescow. Tomorrow. 10 AM. Don't be late.
My heart sunk. He hadn't wasted a second. The money was the bait, and I had swallowed the hook. This was the only way I could save Liam, but it was a deadly way. Giving my body to the very man that had almost cost Liam's life.
The debit alert of the hospital bill was right beneath the message.
Balance: $499,800,068
Yeah, right...
The surgery went on for six hours.
It was an eternity. I sat in the plastic chair in the waiting room, staring at the wall. Tara fell asleep on my shoulder around hour four, but I couldn't close my eyes. Every time I did, I saw Damien's eyes. I felt the ghost of his presence in the limo.
Finally, Dr. Evans came out. He was still in his OR scrubs, dark bloodstains splattered across the front. I stood up, my knees weak.
"It was successful," he said, pulling his mask down. "We managed to stop the bleeding and reduce the swelling before it was too late."
I let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for a lifetime. "Is he… is he going to wake up?"
"He's being moved to the ICU," Dr. Evans said. "We expect him to recover consciousness in three to four days. But he's out of the woods, Rain."
"Thank you," I whispered, fresh tears burning my eyes. "Thank you so much."
It was already morning by the time I returned to my apartment. Tara had offered to drive me, but I sent her home. I needed to be alone.
I walked into our tiny, cramped apartment and locked the door. I didn't turn on the lights. I just sat on the edge of my bed and opened my banking app again.
Balance: $499,795,000.00
After I had taken the cab...
I stared at it until the numbers blurred. Then, I cried again. I cried until my chest hurt, mourning the girl I used to be yesterday. She was gone.
When I woke up a few hours later, the sun was glaring through my thin curtains. I checked the time. 8:30 AM.
I got up and moved like a soldier preparing for war. I showered, scrubbing my skin until it was pink, as if I could scrub away the dread.
I dressed carefully. I needed armor. I put on a cream-colored cardigan that softened my look, paired with a brown short flair skirt and black chunky heels. I styled my hair in soft waves that framed my face. I applied blush, mascara, eyeshadow, and a nude lipstick. I clasped a simple necklace around my neck.
I looked in the mirror. I looked pretty. I looked like a doll.
I hailed a cab. When I gave the driver the address of the finest condo complex in the city, he looked at me in the rearview mirror with raised eyebrows.
When the cab dropped me off before the condo, my heart raced like never before. The building was a tower of glass and steel, piercing the sky.
I walked to the entrance, gave my name to the concierge, and was directed to the private elevator. The ride up made my ears pop.
When I knocked on the heavy mahogany door of the penthouse, a woman looking to be in her early fifties answered. She had a kind face and wore a crisp uniform.
"Miss Vance?" she asked warmly. "Please, come in."
She ushered me in. The place was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city. The furniture was sleek, modern, and looked like it cost more than my entire life's earnings. Everything was white, black, or grey. It was cold. Immaculate.
"I'm Justine," the woman said. "Mr. Kael is expecting you. Can I offer you anything while you wait?"
"Where is he?" I asked, my voice tight.
"He's just finishing his shower," Justine said with a polite smile. "He'll be with you very shortly."
I nodded nervously, a lump stuck in my throat. "Just… don't bring anything. I'm okay. Please."
"Of course." Justine nodded and left for the kitchen.
I stood alone in the living area, hugging my arms around myself. My phone buzzed. It was Tara.
Tara: Where are you? I'm at your place, you're not there. You're not at the hospital either. Everything okay?
I typed back quickly, my fingers flying.
Rain: I'm fine. I'm at the bank. I had to go withdraw the rest of the money from the loan I took out.
It was a lie. A terrible lie. But I couldn't tell her the truth.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps. Heavy, deliberate footsteps on the hardwood floor.
I raised my head up to catch who it was, and my breath caught.
Damien was walking down the floating staircase. He was dressed in grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a tight black t-shirt that clung to his chest. His hair was damp, dark strands falling over his forehead. He looked less like a businessman and more like a fighter who had just left the ring.
He was holding a paper in his hand, smelling like heaven.
"You're early," he said. His voice was rougher than it had been last night.
I didn't respond. My mind was racing, my stomach twisting into knots.
He walked past me without looking at me, heading toward the kitchen. "Come."
It wasn't a request.
I followed him, my heels clicking on the floor. I settled onto one of the high bar stools at the kitchen island, my head light from what was happening.
I was going to have sex with Damien Kael. Not just anybody. Him.
I watched him as he walked to the fridge. He had a beautiful back view—no, beautiful everything. Broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. As he reached for a pitcher of table water, his shirt lifted slightly. A tattoo peeked from the back of his neck, dark ink against tan skin.
He turned, pouring the clean water into a glass. I saw his left hand. His five fingers had tattoos on them—intricate script in an Arab language.
He was hot. So fucking hot. It made me angry.
But he ruled the city. He owned real estate, casinos, and ships. He did imports and exports of what I was certain were drugs and guns. And he had blood on his hands.
I remembered the rumors. The massacre at the boat cruise just a few months ago. They said he had locked the doors and unleashed hell. They said he plucked out eyes of the victims. Disfigured men with an axe. Cut out tongues. Chopped off fingers.
I shuddered in fear at the thought, gripping the edge of the counter.
He turned around, and slide the paper he'd been holding across the counter to me.
"Read it," he said, taking a sip of his fresh water.
I looked down at the paper, swallowing hard.
It was a contract.
clause 1: The term of this agreement shall be thirty (30) days. clause 2: The Provider (Rain Vance) shall make herself available to the Client (Damien Kael) upon request, at any time of day or night. clause 3: The Provider shall not discuss the nature of this arrangement with any third parties. clause 4: Total obedience is required in the bedroom.
The words blurred. Sex contract. One month. Total obedience.
"If you have any opposition," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, "voice it out now."
I looked at the paper for a while, the lump in my throat growing until it felt like a stone. I looked up at him. My eyes were watery, but I refused to let the tears fall.
"Why me?" I asked. My voice shook. "With all the women you could have… why did you want to have sex with me?"
He set his glass down. He looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"Do I need a reason?" he asked.
I let out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm sure you don't."
I grabbed a pen he had dropped on the table. My hand was trembling violently. I pressed the tip to the paper.
Rain Vance.
I signed it. I signed away my body.
I slammed the pen down on the counter and slid the paper back to him, looking ahead of me, my gaze darting away from his face. I couldn't look at him. I hated him. I hated myself.
Suddenly, I felt his hand.
He was standing right beside me. I hadn't even heard him move. His fingers brushed my hair away from my neck, sending a shockwave of electricity down my spine.
I froze. I stopped breathing.
His fingers tilted my chin slightly, forcing me to face him. He was close. Too close. I could smell the soap on his skin and the mint on his breath.
He swiped his thumb over my bottom lip, dragging it down gently. His touch was possessive. Heavy.
Then, he leaned in slowly.
I should have pulled away. I should have screamed. But I was frozen.
He planted a small, firm kiss on my lips.
I shuddered. The kiss did something insane to my inner thighs—a sharp, sudden clench of desire that I tried to stomp down. It was something I chose to ignore.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes locking onto mine.
"Don't worry, baby," he whispered, his voice dark and promising. "I'll fuck you good."