It was past nine when I parked at the end of Ronan's long, winding driveway. I could have driven right up to the main entrance, but I wanted him to wait a little. Let him feel the extra two minutes.

Small rebellions were all I had left.

I hated this place. I hated how I knew exactly how many steps it took to the oversized front door. I hated that the security system recognized my face and let me in with a soft beep that felt more like a prison door opening.

Inside smelled the same as always, cigars and polish and something else I could not name. Power, maybe.

I walked the familiar path through the foyer, past the art pieces I knew Ronan had bought to impress people. My heart beat fast but I forced my breathing to stay steady. Never let him see weakness. That was rule one of surviving him.

I sighed the moment I saw him.

Ronan Hayes, sprawled in a leather chair like some king on his throne. His long, rough hair fell over his sharp cheekbones, framing those obsidian eyes I hated looking at. He didn't look up from his phone when I entered.

Miss Grey, his assistant, stood by the window, giving me that strange look she always had on.

Even in a blazer, she was still a stunner, her flawless beauty and sleek ponytail radiating a chilling poise.

"You're late," his voice sounded smooth, but there was a hard edge to it.

"Traffic," I lied.

He finally looked up to me. "Sit."

I paused, a small act of stubbornness, then sat in the chair across from him. I kept my back straight and my hands folded like I was calm.

Ronan studied me, then shifted his glance to Miss Grey. She stepped forward, and I was confused, until her palm came up and hit my cheek. It stung, sharp and bright. Before I could gather myself she slapped the other side. Tears sprang to my eyes from the shock, but I blinked them back. I would not cry for them.

"Feel better now?" I said, my voice shaking.

"That depends." Ronan's voice was softer. Soft was worse. "Do you understand what you did today?"

"I got his attention, didn't I?"

"You got yourself fired! You acted without permission, for your own anger, ruining the plan I laid out.

I spent months making a path for you in Hates Corps. I put you where you needed to be. You ruined that."

I dug my nails into my palms. "It worked. He's noticed."

"And now he knows your face and your name. He will look deeper. You made him suspicious. You are a tool, Camila. My tool. Tools do not choose how they are used."

"I'm not your—"

"You are whatever I say you are." He cut me off, voice rising for the first time. "Or have you forgotten our arrangement? Do I need to remind you of your debt?"

The words felt like another slap. How could I ever forget the night that made me indebted to him?

"No."

"Good." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to that dangerous softness again. "Because I see so much hate in your eyes, Camila. You hate that Lucien made you bound to a man like me.

You hate that your freedom, your future, your very life depends on my goodwill." His finger brushed my stinging cheek, almost tender. "But without me, you'd have nothing. You'd be rotting in prison. And if you ever forget that, if you ever act without my permission again, you wouldn't be the only one to pay for your sins."

My blood ran cold. "Leave Maya and Edmund out of this."

"Then do as you're told." He sat back, clearly satisfied. "I'll contact you when I've cleaned up your mess."

Miss Grey hadn't moved. Something in her eyes seemed almost sympathetic, but I knew better. That woman was just as terrible as her goddamned boss.

I stood on shaky legs but forced myself to walk out with my chin high. I didn't give them my tears, didn't let my shoulders slump until I was safely in my car.

As I drove away, hatred burned fresh in my chest. Anger at Ronan, at Miss Grey, at my own weakness, and mostly at Lucien Hayes. The man whose undercover ring started everything.

The man I would destroy, no matter what it cost.

---

I should have been sleeping, but I was just staring at the peeling paint on our ceiling, wishing the anger in my veins would cool enough to let me rest.

Maya found me like that in the morning, curled up on the couch where I had collapsed after returning from Ronan's.

"You look like hell," she said, tossing me a clean towel. "Coffee's brewing."

I managed a weak smile. "Thanks."

While Maya vacuumed our tiny living room, I wiped last night's makeup from my face, willing it to wash away Ronan's threats too.

"You can't keep letting him control you like this," Maya said over the vacuum's roar. "There has to be another way."

"If you have brilliant ideas, I'm all ears."

She stopped, leaning on the vacuum handle. "Maybe we should—"

A sharp knock interrupted her. We exchanged confused glances. We never got visitors, especially Saturday morning.

I opened the door to find nothing but a sleek black box tied with a silver ribbon. "What is it?" Maya asked, peering over my shoulder.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was the most gorgeous black dress I'd ever seen.

"Holy shit," Maya whispered. "Secret admirer?"

I searched for a card or a note, but found nothing.

"This has to be a mistake," I muttered, checking the hallway.

My phone buzzed in the living room and I bolted to it. Elvis, my supervisor. I hadn't heard from him since I was fired. He hadn't even called to check if I was okay.

If he was texting on a Saturday morning, it was more likely he had a job for me, and less likely to check up on me.

Elvis occasionally hooked me up with ushering gigs on weekends. Some were decent money, others barely worth the bus fare.

"Big job tonight!!! It's high profile, Mila. Wear the dress, and a car will come for you at 6. You'd scream your lungs out when you heard the pay!"

I stared at the black dress. Since when did ushering jobs involve designer dresses and cars?

"It's Elvis," I said to curious Maya who was already circling the box.

"The supervisor's hitting on you? Eww, I thought he was a married man."

"Ugh, Maya…" I huffed, lifting the fabric gently. I couldn't help but revel in the softness of the silk. Suspicious, I called Elvis back.

"Yeah?" His voice sounded rushed and distracted.

"What is this dress?"

"The text said high profile, didn't it? They provided outfits for all staff. Very fancy place."

"And the car?"

"Picking up all the workers. It saves from parking issues." I heard a little crash in the background. "Gotta run. Wear heels and not flats, okay? Bye!"

The call ended abruptly.

"So?" Maya perched on our coffee table.

"Apparently it is for a high-profile gig."

She clapped her hands together.

"Oh my god, please go! The pay must be really good. You need the money, and I need you to take me to that new club I told you about. The one with the hanging gardens and that DJ from Berlin."

"Slow down." I rolled my eyes. "I don't even know how much this pays yet."

"But you're going, right?" She held the dress against me, her eyes sparkling. "Girl, you'll look like a straight-up goddess in this."

"Fine. But if I end up serving caviar to some pervy billionaire all night, you're buying me breakfast tomorrow."

Maya grinned. "Deal. Now let's get your makeup right. If you're working a fancy event, you gotta look the part."

Six hours later, I was staring at myself in our bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the beauty looking back at me.

This dress was made for me. Open back, synched waist catching my curve with tiny sequin details falling just a few inches below my bum.

I opted for three-inch heels since ushering jobs involved hours of walking around. My hair was pinned up in a sleek ponytail, while a few curls framed my face.

"You look incredible," Maya said from the doorway. "Like, belongs-on-a-magazine incredible."

I felt a little ridiculous as I fidgeted with my simple silver stud earrings, the only jewelry I owned that didn't look cheap. "What kind of gig required this level of dressing?"

My phone buzzed with a text. The car had arrived.

"Text me if anything weird happened."

"Define weird."

"You know what I mean." She squeezed my arm. "Be safe. And try to have fun!"

The car waiting outside was black and sleek with tinted windows. The driver opened the door with a slight bow. I slid into the backseat, expecting to see other staff members already inside, but it was empty.

"Are we picking up other workers?" I asked as we pulled away.

"No, Miss Sterling. Just you."

That was the first red flag. The second came when I realized we were heading toward downtown Manhattan, not Brooklyn where most of my gigs usually happened.

The third was when the driver didn't take the service road but pulled right up to the glittering front entrance of a grand hotel I recognized as the Onyx Mirage.

Cameras flashed outside as a few socialites I recognized stepped out of their cars. This was clearly some major event.

"There must be a mistake," I said, panicking as the car stopped. "I'm staff. I should be going through the service entrance."

The driver was unmoved. "These were my instructions, Miss Sterling."

Before I could protest further, my door opened from the outside. A hand appeared, offering to help me out.

Seconds later, I was on the red carpet with camera flashes exploding around me.

"Camila! Over here!"

"Camila, why didn't you arrive with Lucien?"

"How do you feel about making such scandalous accusations against Hayes?"

Accusations? I wanted to confront that reporter, but the hand at my elbow guided me forward, through the doors and into an enormous ballroom glittering with chandeliers and wealth. People in tuxedos and expensive gowns mingled, laughing, drinking champagne.

I scanned for other ushers, for any sign of Elvis, but there was nothing. No staff in matching black dress. The servers passing trays wore crisp white uniforms with an embroidered hotel logo. Everything was already perfectly set up—tables, drinks, the stage where an auction seemed to be preparing.

This was no job. I'd been... set up?

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, pulling it from my small handbag that screamed "didn't belong here." A text from Maya popped up: "You wouldn't believe what I saw online!!!"

I dismissed it. Whatever celebrity gossip she was obsessing over could wait. I had to call Elvis first.

It picked up at the second ring, but the voice that answered wasn't Elvis's.

"Elvis won't be here tonight."

The voice carried a deep rumble, the vibration sending chills down my spine. I knew that voice. I'd heard it from videos online, in my nightmares, and most recently, in the cafeteria.

I felt a presence behind me, and my blood ran cold.

I already knew who I would find behind me, but before I could turn, he was right beside me. His large hand landed close to where the open back of my dress ended.

The light pressure of his fingers against my bare skin sent another chill up my spine. My heart pounded like it needed to escape from its cage.

What was he doing next to me?

His cologne wrapped around me, a smell that reminded me of fresh lavender this time. My hands went numb, fingers tingling with the urge to either slap him or grab something for support.

I wasn't sure which.

I looked up at him, so close to his chest I could see the flawless stitching on his tuxedo lapel, but he was staring straight ahead at the ballroom.

From that angle, I took in the sharp line of his jaw, the perfect side profile, the neatly trimmed beard, the curve of his ear. He was beautiful in that cold, dangerous way that expensive things often were.

That's when he looked at me, golden eyes catching mine with an intensity that made me forget to breathe.

There was a tiny lift at the corner of his mouth.

This couldn't be real. Surely I am not standing here, in this dress, with Lucien Hayes's hand on my back.

Lucien raised his hand to my cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing my skin with a gentleness you wouldn't expect from someone like him. The contrast between that softness and the hardness in his eyes snapped me back to my senses... partially.

"What are you doing?" I managed.

"You didn't think I'd let our little show end in a cafeteria, did you?" His voice was low, hand sliding down from my back to my waist. "We'd only just begun."

Before I could process a reply, he pulled me to his chest, the rich fabric of his suit cool against my skin. He was so tall, I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. He leaned in, slowly nuzzling closer until his breath warmed my nose tip.

The next thing I felt was his lips on mine.

His lips on mine!

Lucien Hayes was kissing me!

The cameras flashed more intensely around us, and I stood there, trying to remember how to function. I should have pushed him away, kneed his balls, done anything but stand there like a statue while he played out whatever game this was.

But my body wasn't listening to my brain. My hands remained at my sides, my lips neither responding nor retreating.

I was caught in some bizarre limbo where all I could think was: the man I am supposed to destroy, the man who ruined my life, was kissing me in front of half of New York's elite.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes had darkened to a caramel shade. His thumb wiped my lower lip, and I flinched at the gesture.

"Smile for the cameras, Miss Sterling," his voice was surprisingly steady despite what had just happened. "You will finish what you started..."