Ila turned and walked slowly toward the master bathroom.

She stepped inside and pushed the heavy oak door shut. The lock clicked into place with a sharp snap.

She leaned her forehead against the cool, polished wood. A shaky, terrified breath escaped her lips.

Her hands trembled as she stripped off the ruined, wine-stained uniform. She balled up the wet fabric and tossed it violently into the stainless steel trash bin.

She stepped into the massive glass shower enclosure. She turned the brass handle, cranking the water as hot as she could physically stand.

Scalding water rained down on her.

Ila aggressively scrubbed her skin. She dug her nails into her scalp, washing away the sticky red wine, the chlorine, and the humiliation.

Under the deafening roar of the rushing water, her chest heaved. She finally allowed herself to cry. The tears mixed with the shower water. Her father's face flashed in her mind. The mounting hospital debts. The final notices.

Ten minutes later, she turned off the water. Her skin was flushed bright red from the intense heat.

She grabbed a thick, white hotel bathrobe from the heated rack. She wrapped it tightly around her body, tying the belt in a brutal double knot at her waist.

Ila stood in front of the fogged vanity mirror. She wiped a circle clear with her hand.

She stared at her pale, makeup-free reflection. She forced her spine to straighten. She locked her jaw. She built a mask of absolute strength.

She unlocked the bathroom door and stepped cautiously back into the suite's living room.

The main lights were off. The room was submerged in darkness, illuminated only by the neon city lights pouring through the massive glass windows.

Conner sat in a deep leather armchair in the darkest corner of the room.

A glowing red ember illuminated his sharp jawline. He was smoking a cigarette.

Ila jumped slightly at the sudden sight of the cherry-red light in the shadows.

Conner exhaled. A slow, thick cloud of smoke drifted into the ambient light. His predatory eyes locked onto her bare legs beneath the hem of the robe.

"It's fascinating," Conner said. His voice dripped with dark sarcasm. "How easily Beverly Hills royalty falls straight into the gutter."

The words felt like a physical slap. Ila's innate pride flared up, burning away the lingering fear.

"Thank you for the rescue," Ila said coldly. "But I don't need your pity. And I certainly don't need your insults."

She turned on her bare heel. She walked straight toward the entryway, intending to leave the suite and take her chances on the dark streets.

She reached out. Her hand grasped the cold brass doorknob.

Conner stood up. The sudden movement was violently fast for a man his size. His tall frame blocked the ambient city lights, casting a massive shadow over her.

"Walk out that door," Conner said casually, "and by 8:00 AM tomorrow, the private equity firm that just quietly acquired your father's medical debt will have him transferred to an underfunded public ward in Compton. Let's see how long his delicate life support lasts in those conditions."

Ila froze.

Her hand gripped the doorknob so hard her knuckles turned stark white. Her breath caught in her throat.

She slowly turned around. She stared at him in absolute, paralyzing horror.

Conner walked slowly toward her. His footsteps were completely silent on the thick carpet. He stopped just inches away from her face.

He reached out. His calloused thumb traced the delicate, trembling line of her jaw.

Ila shuddered at the contact. She refused to look away from his dark, intense gaze.

"You need a massive amount of money," Conner stated matter-of-factly. "And you need protection from the wolves circling your dying family."

Ila swallowed hard. "What exactly do you want from me in return for your charity?"

Conner dropped his hand. He took a half-step back, his posture rigid.

"Marriage," Conner said. "A legally binding, transactional marriage."

Ila's mind went entirely blank. The sheer absurdity of the word echoed in the silent room.