The ink on the last page was still damp when Reid Sterling snatched the document from the table. He didn't look at it with relief; he looked at it like he'd just picked up a piece of roadkill.
"My lawyer will have the filed copy sent to your... whatever hovel you live in," Reid said, sliding the gold pen back into his pocket. He didn't offer me a hand to shake. He didn't even offer a 'thank you.'
"It's an apartment, Mr. Sterling. With a roof and everything," I snapped, my heart still trying to kick its way out of my ribs. Five million. The number felt fake, like Monopoly money, until I looked at Arthur.
Arthur reached out and squeezed my wrist. His grip was weak, but his eyes were shining with something that looked suspiciously like a victory. "You did the right thing, Maya. For both of you."
"I did the profitable thing, Arthur," I whispered. "There's a difference."
Reid checked his watch—a piece of silver and sapphire that probably cost more than my entire education. "You have exactly three hours to pack a bag. My driver will be at your address at six. Don't bring the uniform. In fact, don't bring anything that smells like this place."
"I have a shift until four," I challenged, crossing my arms.
Reid's jaw tightened. A small muscle ticked near his ear. "Consider yourself retired. I've already bought out the remaining lease on this diner's morning shift for the next month. You're done scrubbing, Maya. Now, you're performing."
He turned on his heel and vanished through the chime of the door, leaving a vacuum of silence in his wake.
Six o'clock arrived with the sound of a heavy engine idling outside my cramped studio apartment.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the single suitcase I'd packed. It contained my mother's locket, my sketchbooks from the architecture classes I'd dropped out of two years ago, and three pairs of jeans that had seen better days.
I felt like a fraud. A five-million-dollar fraud.
When I stepped out onto the curb, a man in a black suit held open the door to a car so sleek it looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. He didn't say a word, just gestured for me to get in.
The interior smelled like new leather and "shut up."
We drove in silence until we reached a limestone townhouse in the Upper East Side. This wasn't just a house; it was a fortress of old money.
Reid was waiting in the foyer. He wasn't wearing the suit anymore. He was in a black turtleneck that made him look even more like a predator. He looked at my suitcase—the one with the scuffed corners and the broken zipper—and sighed.
"Mrs. Gable!" he called out.
A stern-looking woman appeared from a side door. "Yes, Mr. Sterling?"
"Burn the suitcase. Everything in it. Then take her upstairs. The stylists are waiting."
"Wait, what?" I stepped back, clutching the handle. "You aren't burning my mother's locket."
Reid stepped into my personal space, his shadow swallowing me whole. "Keep the jewelry. Trash the rest. We're attending the Sterling Foundation Gala in four hours. You are being introduced as my fiancée. If you walk in there wearing... that," he gestured to my thrift-store sweater, "the board will have me declared incompetent before the appetizers are served."
"It's a contract, Reid. Not a soul-sale," I hissed.
"In this house, they are the same thing." He leaned down, his breath cool against my ear. "Five million dollars buys me the right to make sure you don't look like a charity case. Go. Upstairs."
The next three hours were a blur of cold eye masks, hot curling irons, and women with sharp nails who poked and prodded at me like I was a mannequin. They scrubbed the smell of the diner off my skin until I felt raw. They painted my face until I didn't recognize the girl in the mirror.
Then came the dress.
It was emerald silk, backless, and clung to my curves in a way that made me feel dangerously exposed. It was the kind of dress that demanded a certain kind of confidence—the kind I didn't have.
When I finally walked down the grand staircase, Reid was standing at the bottom, buttoning his cufflinks.
He looked up.
For a split second, the "Ice King" melted. His hands stopped moving. His eyes traveled from the hem of the dress up to my throat, lingering on the pulse point that was fluttering like a trapped bird.
Then, the mask slammed back down.
"Better," he said, his voice suspiciously hoarse. "At least now you look like you belong at my side."
"I look like a trophy you bought," I corrected, my heels clicking loudly on the marble.
"I didn't buy a trophy, Maya," he said, stepping forward to drape a heavy diamond necklace around my neck. His cold fingers brushed my skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight down my spine that I absolutely hated. "I bought a shield. Tonight, everyone will try to find a crack in our story. Your job is to make sure they find nothing but silk and steel."
He offered his arm. It felt like a trap.
"Ready, partner?" he asked, his voice dripping with irony.
I took his arm, my fingers digging into his expensive sleeve. "Let's go get your money, Reid."