"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?"

The wedding incident? 

I stare at Adrian as my thoughts race, partially distracted by how close he's standing and how good he smells. 

So good-there's a hint of-

Wait.  My brain comes to a grinding halt. My jaw slacks. 

"You're not talking about..."

He nods. "Yes."

I shake my head and the laughter that leaves my lips is doubting. "Nah. It's impossible for you to know about that. It was years ago. I was a freshman. There's no way..." I trail off, when it dawns on me that he's serious. 

"How?" I question, still baffled. My head is spinning with theories. Has he been stalking me? That's impossible. Adrian Hawthorne couldn't care less about my less-than-average life. 

Even when my father happened to lose the company to Hawthorne Industries, we never crossed paths. 

I only showed on his radar at the auction.  

Funny enough...I bite my bottom lip hard, tilting my head as my train of thought derails. I never thought to ask him what he was doing there. Was he expecting to buy someone else?  

Hell, I wasn't paying attention to what was being auctioned while I stood in the dark, hidden from the main stage. 

I was thinking about how gullible I'd been to believe my stepfather that things were about to change-that he was finally putting in effort to get sober and pick up his duties as a father. And the only family I had left. 

My brows squint as I search Adrian's face for answers. "How would you know about something that happened years ago?"

His brow arches, ever so lightly. He takes a step closer and I instinctively suck in a breath, holding it somewhere between my throat and my lungs. 

He brings his lips close to my ear. "What did you think...I was going to bring you into my home without doing due diligence?" His voice rumbles through my ear, carrying a hint of mockery I don't miss. "I don't trust anyone, Miss Wilson."

Adrian pulls away, his gaze pinned on my face. "Much like someone who comes from a greedy, dishonest family."

Greedy? 

Greedy??? 

"I-"

I start to argue, but he's already stepping to the side, speaking to the bartender. "She'll have a mocktail. Keep the alcohol away for the rest of the evening." 

"Yes, sir."

I whirl around, a scoff slipping out at the bartender's response. "You're going to listen to me over him? You think a man should control what a woman drinks?" I thrust my hands on my hips and his gaze slides down to my cleavage for a split second.  

Typical. 

"I'm going to get something strong," I insist. "That's what I want. Unless you're willing to admit that you're sexist."

The bartender's face turns red as he glances away, scratching his head awkwardly.  "I-I'm sorry, miss," he mutters, "but Mr. Hawthorne is the host of the party. He hired me. I'm afraid I have to do as he asks."

Wait. 

What?  

I glance at Adrian-at his expressionless face and those impossibly arrogant eyes. And then it clicks. Julian had mentioned that he had bars and clubs, so it was easy for the host to ask for his services."

I'd assumed it was someone in his social circles. Another wealthy New York socialite who wanted to impress. 

But I should've known. 

After all, Adrian didn't want me here. He had every right to refuse, since it was his party.

I roll my eyes, planting my hands higher. "Right," I drawl dryly. "I see. You know what?" I shake my head. "I'm suddenly no longer in the mood for a drink. I think-" I raise a finger, "-I'm going to find a handsome stranger to talk to and maybe dance with him, if possible."

"Then if he offers me a drink, I'm going to say yes." My chin jutted out defiantly as my eyes narrow, my gaze moving from Adrian to the bartender and back. "And if he asks me to leave the party with him, I won't turn him down, because the host doesn't want me here in the first place."

He says nothing. 

I expected it. 

I blow out an exasperated breath as I turn, ready to go mingle by all means. Julian said to have fun and not let his brother ruin my night. I plan to do exactly that. 

I've gone three steps, maybe four, when I feel strong fingers clamp around my wrist. Adrian pulls me back and I find myself pressed to his chest. 

His hard, muscled, warm chest. 

My stomach dips without warning. A shiver runs down my spine, gathering just between my thighs. I breathe a little unsteadily. 

"What do you want from me?" I hiss. "You revoked my invite to a party that I didn't know about until your brother informed me. Now you've banned me from the bar. What else?" I lift my head, staring into his eyes. "You're going to send me home? Ground me? Since you own me and I'm expected to live by your rules, walking on eggshells and saying "yes, sir," to every command?"

The last words scrape out of me, breathless and  burning.

Then silence.

Just the sound of my breathing-too loud, too uneven-and the way my chest rises against his with every inhale.

Adrian doesn't let go. He doesn't tell me to go home, like I expect. He leans in, closer. His voice drops into a rasp, brushing far too close to my ear.

"If you're going to flirt with a man in this room," he says, "then I suggest you choose wisely, Miss Wilson. Don't forget...you belong to me."