"I never said I was going to kill myself."
Chase Ford looked straight at Wren Mercer, his jaw tight, his voice edged with restrained anger.
He had only stopped on the bridge to clear his head, to breathe, to calm himself down. And yet this woman had decided on her own that she knew better and dragged him back here without asking.
He hated this feeling. Hated being controlled. Hated having his choices taken away.
"At most, this is a transaction," Chase said coldly. "Outside of that, we're strangers. I expect basic contractual boundaries. Don't create unnecessary interference."
Wren laughed softly, as if she had just heard something ridiculous.
"Contractual boundaries?" she echoed. "The person who wanted to end the deal unilaterally was you. And you're talking to me about professionalism?"
Chase's fists clenched behind his back, veins standing out along his knuckles.
"The deal continues," he said. "When you need me, I'll come. Other than that, I don't want further contact."
With that, he turned, walked to the entryway, slipped on his shoes, and left without another glance.
His back was rigid. Final. Unyielding.
Yes, he had sold himself. That didn't mean he needed to be reminded of it over and over again.
The door slammed shut.
The moment it closed, his eyes burned.
He didn't understand. He didn't understand why his mother had chosen death. Was he really not worth staying alive for?
Downstairs, Chase rubbed his eyes hard and took a deep breath.
From the window above, Wren watched him leave. Something sharp and predatory flickered through her gaze.
Solve the problem and then kick her aside? Not a chance.
One day, she would make him walk back to her on his own.
This game wasn't his to end.
Chase returned to his basement room in a haze, burying himself under the blanket as grief and guilt surged back all at once.
He was useless. He had failed his family.
After the grief came acceptance.
His mother had chosen this because she didn't want to drag him down with her. That meant he had no right to give up.
He called the university and requested a week's leave.
After the cremation, he buried his mother beside his father, carrying the urn with hands that no longer trembled. Only after everything was settled did he go to the auction house.
The owner was a man in his fifties, slightly overweight, his hairline already retreating far past dignity. He sat in his office reviewing upcoming auction inventories.
Chase stopped at the doorway. The man looked unfamiliar.
His mother had mentioned him before.
His name was Antoine Keller.
"Mr. Keller," Chase said politely. "I'm Chase Ford. Victor Ford's son."
"Victor Ford?" Keller paused, then stood, walking around the desk with sudden warmth. "Chase. It's been over a decade. I attended your full-month celebration when you were a baby."
Chase forced a smile. "You have a good memory."
"Sit, sit," Keller said, pulling out a chair. "How's your mother been?"
"She's fine," Chase replied, swallowing the ache and saying nothing more.
Life and death were private matters. No one could help anyway.
Keller didn't push. "You're here about the jewelry."
"Yes," Chase said directly. "I'd like you to help convert them into cash. Deduct commission as usual."
That money was not for spending. It was meant for leaving the country. The same with the 300,000. Those funds would only move once he left France.
Keller nodded. "It's doable, but it'll take time. Upcoming auctions are already full and circulated through private channels. I can't insert new items immediately."
"If you're in urgent need, I can loan you part of it. The jewelry can wait. Final price depends on market conditions."
"I understand," Chase said calmly. "Please handle it as you see fit."
He wrote his number down and slid the paper across the desk.
"Call me when it's time. I'll come pick it up."
"No problem," Keller said. "Leave it with me."
It wasn't too late when Chase left the auction house.
He walked to the metro instead of taking a taxi.
It was slower, but cheaper.
He had time now. Just no money to waste.
"She's back."
"I know."
The basement was small, damp, and airless.
Wren Mercer sat at the desk, flipping through a finance textbook. The handwriting in the margins was sharp and elegant, disciplined.
She paused.
Interesting.
Handwriting like the man himself.
She liked beautiful things.
Setting the book down, she scanned the room. Mold along the walls. No sunlight. A single bed, neatly made. Clean, but miserable.
Hard to believe someone who once had everything had been living like this for months.
She exhaled softly, then sent a message.
The sky outside had already darkened, though the basement felt no different.
Chase's steps slowed when his phone buzzed.
Résidence Montmartre. Come now.
Wren Mercer.
His grip tightened.
He didn't have a choice.
Turning away from his building, Chase headed back out.
Dragging things out only made them worse. End it sooner, and he'd be free sooner.
Thirty minutes later, he arrived.
The door opened.
Wren stood there in silk sleepwear, long dark curls still damp, clearly fresh from the shower.
"Good," she said lazily. "Obedient enough."
Chase stepped inside, glanced at the brand-new men's slippers, hesitated, then ignored them.
After tonight, there would be nothing between them. He wasn't about to wear something that didn't belong to him.
Wren noticed his clean socks and her expression cooled slightly.
She tilted her chin toward the bathroom.
"Go shower."
After his shower, Chase noticed a brand-new set of deep navy silk men's pajamas laid neatly on the shelf.
This time, he didn't refuse.
A deal was a deal. He wasn't some kind of freak. He had no intention of walking around naked in front of a woman.
When Chase stepped out wearing the pajamas, Wren Mercer's cold gaze finally softened, just a little.
She didn't like it when people rejected the rare bits of mercy she chose to offer.
Leaning back against the sofa, she lifted her eyes. In that single moment, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of desire surfaced.
His pale skin looked striking against the dark silk. His facial features appeared sharper, more defined. A few damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water sliding slowly down his neck and disappearing beneath the open collar at his collarbone.
Below that, under the thin fabric, the curve of his waist and the faint outline of his abs showed just enough to be dangerous.
"Not bad," she said calmly. "Very close to perfect."
Chase frowned slightly. He hated the way she looked at him, like she was inspecting merchandise.
What was coming couldn't be avoided. He just wanted it over with.
"Can we start?"
"In a hurry?" Wren stood and hooked her index finger under his chin, lifting his face. Seeing his jaw tense instantly from nerves, she smiled in a way that carried far too much meaning.
"Relax. I'll be gentle."
Chase's throat bobbed unconsciously. His lashes lowered. In his blurred peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of her figure, confident and unapologetic. Just one glance was enough to make his ears burn, and he quickly looked away.
Objectively speaking, Wren had an excellent body. Slim where she should be, full where it mattered. Beneath the silk of her sleepwear, toned lines hinted at strength rather than softness.
But Chase had no interest in appreciating it.
He followed her into the bedroom. The space was elegant and restrained, clearly her personal room. His brows knit together slightly.
Why her bedroom?
Didn't it bother her?
The thought of how many men might have been on that bed made a flash of disgust pass through his eyes.
"Don't look at me like that," Wren said, turning back. She had noticed everything.
She raised her hand and placed a black cloth gently over his eyes, then leaned in and blew softly against his cheek.
"I only like obedient people."
Chase didn't resist.
If he couldn't see, at least he didn't have to watch.
The next second, a hand pressed against his chest. He lost his balance and fell backward onto the soft mattress. The bed bounced lightly, and before he could react, something warm and faintly scented pressed down on him. His heart began to race uncontrollably.
Wren studied his reaction with interest, then lifted his wrist and tied it to the headboard with the cloth.
Chase's expression changed. "You—"
"Shh." Her finger pressed lightly to his lips. "I said I like obedience."
Slowly, Chase forced down the unease twisting in his chest.
This was the path he chose. Even if the woman in front of him was unhinged, he had no right to complain.
Watching his awkward mix of resistance, humiliation, and forced compliance, Wren smiled.
In all her years, she'd never been this intrigued by a man.
"Ever kissed anyone?" she asked, holding his chin as her tongue brushed lightly over his lips. The sudden, slick contact made his body shudder despite himself.
"Open your mouth."
He did.
Something soft slipped inside. Lips and breath tangled, heat rising fast, desire sparking whether he wanted it or not.
After a moment, Wren pulled back, eyes lingering on his flushed, slightly swollen lips. A satisfied smile curved her mouth.
Twenty-eight years.
This was her first kiss.
And it wasn't bad at all.
The sensation, his reactions, everything about it felt unexpectedly good.
Chase swallowed hard, his heart pounding. Blindfolded, he could only guess what would come next.
Cool air brushed his chest as buttons were undone. His wrists tensed instinctively, trying to pull free, but the binding was clever. Secure without hurting him.
Cool fingers traced downward, over his collarbone, his abdomen, and finally rested low on his stomach.
Wren watched closely, enjoying every flicker of emotion on his face. Tension. Disgust. Restraint. And beneath it all, a grim, almost sacrificial resolve.
It amused her.
What should have been a simple transaction looked, on him, like a march to execution.
As sensation bloomed in his lower belly, Chase swallowed again.
So this was it?
Just get it over with.
He swore to himself that this was the only time. Once. Never again.
Just as he braced himself, ready to endure whatever came next, a phone rang somewhere in the room.
The weight lifted. Footsteps moved away. A low voice answered the call.
About a minute later, the steps returned.
Chase's body went rigid—then a soft kiss landed on his lips.
"I have something to take care of," Wren said lightly. "Wait for me."
Before he could react, her fingers tugged at the fabric on his wrist. The binding loosened. She turned and left the room.
Chase snapped fully back to awareness, pulling off the blindfold and freeing his other hand. He scanned the bedroom, then sat up.
When he stepped into the living room, Wren was already gone.
The silence pressed in, and an unexpected irritation settled in his chest.
Why was it always like this?
Tease him halfway, then walk away. It was just a deal. Why couldn't she finish it cleanly and be done with it?
He hated this dragged-out control game with her.
But he didn't leave.
She told him to wait. So he waited.
Curled up on the sofa, he eventually fell asleep.
When he woke, sunlight was pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm and gentle.
Wren hadn't come back all night.
It was Monday. His leave was over. He had class.
He changed, put on his shoes, and reached for the door handle—
Just as the door opened from the outside.
"Leaving?" Wren asked casually. "Didn't you say you'd wait for me?"
Chase frowned. "I have class."
"Fair enough." She smiled, clearly in a good mood. "Next time I call you—don't forget. Be available."