The rest of my classes move slowly, and by the third one, I'm wishing I'd allowed Adrian's men follow me into Finance. It might've gotten a few stares-maybe more than a few, but at least I'd have something to distract me.

I don't see them lurking around, either.

The car was gone when I stepped out of the hall, and no burly-looking man appeared behind me as I moved around the campus building. I didn't think Adrian suddenly decided I was right, though.

A man like him would rather chew nails. I knew they were around-probably blending in with the trees and the sculptures littered across the campus environment. They'd fit right in with the sculptures.

I drag my bag higher on my shoulder as I walk into my final class, sighing audibly. I make my way to the back, as usual, plopping in an empty row.

The lecturer hasn't shown up.

"Hi."

I turn, my brows furrowing when I see a boy standing by my desk. Shaggy blond hair, the kind that women always fall for because they look messy and cute at the same time, with a graphic hoodie on and a pair of slacks. An odd combination, but it looks good on him. He points to the seat next to me.

"Is that taken?"

I blink slowly. "What?"

He flashes a smile. Two rows of pearly white teeth. "The seat next to you. I was wondering if it was empty."

Yeah, I heard that. But-

I glance around the hall, a seating space for about a hundred people. The front rows are empty-nobody typically sat there-but there were other empty spaces too. Why here? I turn back to him with a polite smile. "What about sitting somewhere else? I chose the back for a reason."

He purses his lips and rubs the back of his neck in an endearing way. "I...know. We had finance together. You were a few rows behind. I wanted to say hi, but you left in a hurry." Because I thought I could blend into the crowd and slip past the bodyguards. Turns out I didn't have to get stepped on and pushed into the corner.

Shaggy blond hair stretches out his hand. "Hi... I'm Shane. Shane Williams."

I stare at it, my mind blank for a moment. I've talked to a couple people before-I wasn't a loner per se-but I didn't go out of my way to make friends. I had enough on my plate: my jobs, my deadbeat father, who I needed to find before he spent all his money or drag him out of a bar, passed out and drooling.

"What's your name?" He asks warmly. "I asked a few people, but none of them seemed to know. I didn't want to come out like a stalker, so I thought I'd ask you."

Oh.

I feel the tiniest of flutters in my chest. Just a little, but it makes me warm enough inside to reach for the handshake. "I'm Al-"

"She's my girlfriend." A deeper, slightly sultry voice interrupts our introduction. Shane turns around at the same time my jaw drops. His brows scrunch low. "Your girlfriend?"

The man behind him nods, shoving both hands into his pocket. "Yes. Do you have any problems with that?"

Shane turns to me, but I'm too stunned to speak. His face turns red in seconds. He mutters something under his breath and hurries away.

"Glad to see you too, Miss Wilson. While I'm aware that I do have that effect on women, I think I hear a buzzing in the air." He swipes his hand over his head. "You might want to bring your lips a little closer."

I shut my mouth as the shock wears off. Julian Hawthorne. The youngest Hawthorne brother. I met him at the auction. We didn't speak much, but I remember he was nice to me. "What are you doing here?" I ask.

He shrugs loosely with a half-smile. "I thought I'd keep you company."

"Company?" I echo. I haven't seen him since that day. Adrian mentioned that his brothers would come around often, but he said nothing about one of them showing up to my class. Julian points at the seat Shane just asked for, his upper lip twitching. "Is it taken?"

Yes.

I don't want the Hawthornes in my personal space-nice or not. "No," I find myself saying.

He moves in, planting himself down with a soft sigh. He rolls his shoulders and leans back, flashing me a grin. "Sorry about that night...leaving you alone with my brother. I should've given you a heads-up about how-" he taps his chin, searching for the word, "-micromanaging he can be."

"Micromanaging?" I'm navigating a maze at this point.

His smile falls off. His brows wrinkle. "You really don't know why I'm here, do you? I assumed you would've figured him out by now. I thought you were putting on a show for little mr. hurt and yearning over there."

Julian points to my left. I glance over, just in time to see Shane look away quickly. I thought he'd moved to somewhere further, but he ended up in the next section, two rows in front of me.

I turn to Julian, shaking my head. "I don't."

He clicks his tongue. "Then you might not like this."

"I enrolled for my second master's at Princeton. But a week ago, my brother had me transfer her. He did agree to sell me the bar I'd been asking for," he adds, more to himself, then turns to me. "But he wanted me to keep an eye on you. Report back to him now and then."

The anger that fills me is slow. It starts with doubt-Adrian Hawthorne is a controlling asshole, but he would never get this extreme, to realizing that he in fact would, because I'm his business and he knows how to handle it.

To fuming.

"F-"

The lecturer walks into the class. Julian clears his throat. He offers a placating smile, air-patting my shoulder. "There, there. I'm pretty sure attendance is mandatory here, so why don't we save our rage until later? I own a rage room." 

"I don-" I start to refuse. 

But he's already on his feet, heading to the front of the class. He nods at the lecturer, shoving his hands into his pocket and sauntering out. I don't miss the lingering, admiring looks he gets from a group of girls a few rows ahead. 

One of them takes out her phone, but he's already gone. 

I facepalm, hard, muffling my frustrated groan. God, in heaven. I want to strangle Adrian Hawthorne.

"Hey." 

I jump out of my skin, staggering backwards and losing my balance at the same time. Julian reaches out, his fingers coolly slipping around my wrist and breaking my fall. "Woah," he says, "what happened in there to make you so jumpy?" 

I roll my eyes at him before I can stop myself, but I don't feel any remorse seeing the twitchy smile on his lips. "You did that on purpose." 

"Me?" He points at his chest, feigning ignorance with widened eyes. "Why would I do that? My brother would have my head if I stopped your heart." 

"Yeah, right," I mutter under my breath, pushing my bag higher. I stare ahead, glancing around for the car. I didn't think I would miss the bodyguards, but at least they didn't talk my ear off or tease me for personal entertainment. 

"Hey!" I hear Julian calling after me. "Wait up! I didn't mean it, I promise." 

I know he's lying. 

Julian Hawthorne might not be as cold, demanding, or thick-headed as his oldest brother, but he's definitely a walking red flag I plan on staying clear of. I didn't figure out the night at the auction, but now I know that he sees people as playthings. He enjoyed the look on Shane's face when he made him leave and the attention he got before he left the classroom. 

A walking attention magnet. 

"Alina?" 

I can see the car now, parked in one of the restricted parking lots used by tenured professors. I walk faster, gripping my bag so it doesn't slip. The two men are standing close by, and I raise my hand, giving a small wave. 

Open the door. Open the–

I see the moment they realize Julian is still following me. They bow instantly, heads facing the ground. I hear Julian's chuckle. "Please," he says. "Let's do without the formality, shall we?" 

He throws an arm over my shoulders, and I cringe on the inside, shutting my eyes for a moment. "I'll be taking Miss Wilson here for a little shopping trip. You can head back to my brother. He's been informed," he adds when one of them frowns, his lips puckered tight. "You can call him if you don't believe me."

Neither of them attempts to. Either out of fear or respect for Julian...or because they trust him, I don't know. I have a sneaky feeling it's the former, though. Julian might be the youngest brother, but he's still a Hawthorne.

And I doubt Adrian would choose them over his brother. 

I tilt my head his way, arching a brow. "Why would I go shopping? I have clothes." More than enough, actually. And it's not like I'll be attending parties or dining with the one percent of New York City. I might live with Adrian, but I haven't forgotten what I am to him.

Julian leans in with a cheeky smile. "You see, there's a party happening tonight. My brother doesn't think you should attend, but I think you're part of the family now. Somebody is bound to find out that you live with him and..." he waves a hand around. "You know how rumors go around." 

He rubs his hands together. "So, before they come to their conclusion, I think it's best to set our story straight." 

"What? That I didn't get auctioned off? That your family didn't buy me for a dollar?" I bite, scoffing under my breath. I sigh, feeling a little guilty. It wasn't Julian who held the paddle. "They'll ask questions. I'm not rich, like you. And I don't want to go against your brother." 

Justin shakes his head. "The thing about Adrian is that sometimes he doesn't know what's good for him. And about looking the part?" He taps his nose. "Well, that's why you have me. I'm something of a fashion connoisseur. You'd fit right in; nobody would think to ask you any questions." 

"Except for where you got your dress," he adds smugly. "So? What do you say?" 

I've been to parties before. Birthday parties, with a few slices of cake to go around. I once crashed a wedding because they held it in the gazebo of a conservatory. I didn't know the punch was spiked, and I ended up doing a dance number for the bridesmaids. 

A fancy party with New York's richest. 

I glance down at my clothes-at my plain shirt and jeans. "I guess I could–" 

Julian grabs my arm, not waiting for me to finish. "Let's go. You'll love it, I promise." He drags me over to where a Bentley convertible is parked, with a bunch of younger college students taking pictures with it. They scatter when it beeps, staring with dropped jaws as Julian opens the door for me. 

He sweeps a hand out, doing a little bow. "In you go, my lady." 

"You don't have to do that," I mutter through clenched teeth. "They're going to think we're dating. It's enough that you made a scene in my class. I don't want some girl ambushing me because she thinks I'm not good enough for you." 

Julian raises his head. The corner of his lips lifts, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Then maybe I should warn them that my brother doesn't tread light with what belongs to him." 

I swallow my retort of, "I'm not property," as I slip into the car.  I ignore the slight shiver in my chest and the way my breath catches softly as I replay Julian's words in my head.

What belongs to him. 

In other words, property. It should make me angry, but the tingling in my chest says otherwise. 

"Ready to go?" 

I nod curtly as Julian sits behind the wheel. He points to my seatbelt. "You might want to use that, because it gets a little fast." I buckle up quickly, clinging to the belt as a lifeline. If I know Julian Hawthorne, "little fast" means he's about to beat every traffic sign and drive us over a cliff, if possible. 

He laughs when he sees my death grip. "Don't worry, I won't get us into an accident. I wasn't joking when I said Adrian would have my head if something happened to you." The tingling comes again. I ignore it, focusing on the cars as Julian speeds past them.

He's only trying to make me feel better, I tell myself. I can't be worth that much to him, not even if my stepfather promised to sell his soul. Or my soul. 

I go through every dress in the designer fashion house. At least that's how it feels after three hours of stepping into the dressing room, tugging all kinds of fabric over my body, then having to watch Julian shake his head. 

"No." 

"Too plain." 

"Too flashy." 

"Why is that sold here?" This one was to the manager, after she heard we were in the store and came to offer assistance. At least I got a glass of champagne from it.

"Would you wear this?" He said it to one of the salespersons. "Maybe you would, but it's not good enough for her." 

"Maybe I shouldn't go." I'd said at some point. He simply shook his head, a strange gleam in his eye. "You have to be there." 

Finally, we were ushered to a showroom with dresses and designs that hadn't been released to the public. I fall in love with the first one I see. A soft yellow dress with a dramatic V-neckline at the front and a decolletage sweeping downward into a mermaid-style skirt, with short cap sleeves and a plunging back. 

I finger the soft material, and it feels like a murmured, smoky whisper against my skin. 

"You'd look perfect in it," the manager gushes. "With your body figure..." she gestures, "it might have well been made for you." 

My body. 

I've never thought too much about my body. I didn't think it was the best, but I knew I couldn't change it either. I didn't have the luxury of weight loss dieting or the money for tucks here and there. Julian walks over, holding an open box. "These would pair nicely." 

My breath catches audibly in my chest as I stare at the most gorgeous pair of silver earrings. "I–" 

"Yup," he nods. "I told you. You just had to trust me. I can't wait to see the look on Adrian's face when he sees you." 

Adrian? 

I frown a little, but the thought of him slides in, uninvited, his face vivid in my head. A delicate shiver runs down my spine as my fingers sink into my dress, settling as a flutter in my stomach. 

He wouldn't care. He doesn't want me there in the first place. 

I tell myself that, but when the gown slips down my body, framing the curves I always thought were average, I can't help but wonder what Adrian Hawthorne would think.

Julian stretches out a hand, standing outside the car. We're parked with the line of cars just outside the red carpet, with bright flashes from paparazzi cameras going off. 

My palm is sweaty, and I'm starting to lose the tiny courage that brought me all the way. I hesitate, glancing over his shoulder at the people walking the carpet. 

Rich. Filthy wealthy. They look it. Not playing a part-like me in a dress I could never afford, even if I worked nonstop for a year and saved every last cent. 

"You're not chickening out, are you?" Julian murmurs. 

I turn to him, my lashes fluttering quickly as I try to hide the truth.

He looks back and sighs dramatically, shaking his head. Then he leans closer, his voice dropping. "If you think you don't belong, then you're wrong, Alina. I promise you, all these people care about is bragging about how much they have and how much they can get away with." He dips his head, so much closer that I can smell his cologne. 

It's something expensive, a smoky oud scent guaranteed to turn heads. But I know he'd get attention even if he smelled like raw beef. 

He shakes his palm. "Come on, Alina. Don't you want to live a little? Drink expensive champagne and eat overpriced caviar? I'm sure you've thought about it before-watching rich people make a fool of themselves while you enjoy the food they refuse to eat because they're pretending to be healthy?" 

He winks at me. "I'll give you all the inside gossip if you say yes." 

A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. He grins. "There you go. Come-I'll offer you my arm. It's time you have the spotlight." 

I place my fingers in his palm, slipping a leg out and then the other, with sparkly designer shoes on my feet. Julian offers the crook of his arm. I take it, and we walk together. 

The response is immediate. 

It starts with a hush. Someone points at Julian, drawing some attention. Then I see the brief frown as their eyes land on me. The unspoken, "Who is she?"  Another turns and soon enough, there's a swarm of paparazzi trying to take our pictures. 

"Give them your best smile. You're going to be plastered all over social media tomorrow," Julian whispers. 

I manage to hide my shock, plastering a smile on my face as I try to look through the glaring flashes. Julian waves a bit, smiling like a man who knows he's desirable, before ushering us into the building. 

My jaw drops. 

The interior is...beyond words. No expense was spared in the design, from the hanging chandeliers twinkling softly overhead to the large drapes flowing like water and the ice crystal display in the middle of the ballroom. I glimpse the bar over at the east, like something carved out of glass, floating higher than the rest of the room. Light, in different colors, pours out with transparent fog from behind the counter. 

"That-" Julian points, a smile in his voice, "-was my idea." 

I turn, my brows squeezed. "Yours?" 

He nods. "Yup. I told you Adrian gave me the bar I'd been asking for to watch over you. But I do more than that. I handle the social and entertainment aspect of Hawthorne Industries. I have a few other bars and clubs, so it was easy for the host to ask for my services." 

I nod slowly, exhaling in awe. "It's amazing." 

"Julian Hawthorne." 

A blonde woman, with a shimmering black dress and a dark shade of red on her lips, saunters over to us. She spares me a brief glance-her gaze tightening-before turning to him. Her red shines as she pouts, touching his arm. "You promised you'd call. I've been waiting for a week." 

The tips of his ears turn red as he glances at me, and he laughs sheepishly. "Sorry," he mutters. 

I shake my head, disengaging my hand. "Nope. It's fine. I didn't think you were going to chaperone me all night. I can take care of myself." 

"Are you sure?" 

No. But the blonde is giving me the stink eye, and I have a feeling if I don't leave, I'm going to be hearing a lot about Julian's sex life. "Eugh," I mutter under my breath, already dreading it. 

I slap a smile across my face as I flick my wrist. "Go. Go on. Even if you decide to play chaperone, I don't want to be an unwilling third wheel." 

Relief washes over his face. He leans in suddenly, kissing my cheek. "I want you to have fun, okay? Try the Boulevardier. And for heaven's sake, don't let the thought of my brother stop you from flirting with a stranger. You're not married to him." 

My lips part, but nothing comes out. What was I going to say to that anyway? Julian slides an arm around the blonde's waist, leading her away. I roll my eyes as he leans into her, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle. 

The bile returns to my throat. 

I need a drink. 

I walk over to the bar, taking the small crowd of people. The wealthiest of New York, in well-tailored suits, shiny dresses, statement pieces, and designer clothes. My stepfather would've given an arm to be here.

It was part of the things he rambled on about when he was drunk and couldn't understand how dirt poor we were. His grand idea-having a house featured in Architectural Digest, dining with the wealthy, and making everybody who looked down on him pay for their insolence. 

He had lofty dreams. 

I never had any delusions about who I was. I wanted to graduate college, get a job, rent a small, nice apartment, and earn a decent living. Maybe I thought about traveling once or twice, but it was never a dream I held close. 

"Boulevardier," I tell the bartender as I sit. 

"Oh," he stops pouring into a glass, his lips pursing, "that's something." 

"Why?"

He shakes his head as he resumes, handing a man beside me a glass of vodka, topped with a lime wedge. "It's nothing. The only people who have ordered it tonight are trust-fund  men who haven't worked a day in their lives. "His gaze slides over my face, as if studying it. "I figured you'd choose something more interesting." 

My "Oh" is quieter. Trust Julian to recommend something like that to me. "What would you suggest, then?" I ask. 

"A mocktail."

I spin as I hear the voice behind, my pulse picking up. I already know it is-the last person I want to see and yet the same person that has been on my mind for hours. 

Adrian is standing behind me, dressed in a midnight, tailored black suit with a white silk shirt inside. He looks handsome. He is handsome.  

He stares at me, expressionless. 

"You should make your choices carefully, Miss Wilson. You don't want a replay of the wedding incident, do you?"