Chapter 1 Bound for One Night

I never imagined I'd sell myself.

But life has a cruel way of forcing you into corners you swore you'd never touch.

My name is Liana Cruz. Twenty-four. Former med student. Now... just another desperate girl in a borrowed black dress.

Tonight, I'm not a daughter or a dreamer.

Tonight, I'm a transaction.

"One hundred thousand dollars," the man in the charcoal suit said, placing the contract on the mahogany desk like it was any other legal document. "For one night. No names. No attachments. No consequences."

No consequences. That part made me want to laugh.

He didn't know that I was already paying a consequence I couldn't afford-my mother's hospital bill had just doubled, and my scholarship vanished the second I missed tuition. I had no savings. No safety net.

Just this.

My signature looked foreign on the paper. Like a girl I used to be was signing her future away.

I swallowed hard and slid the document back to him.

He didn't smile. "You'll be escorted up now."

The elevator ride was silent except for the soft hum of instrumental jazz. I kept my eyes on the polished steel doors, trying not to look at my reflection. The girl staring back at me looked brave-but I knew better.

I wasn't brave.

I was terrified.

What kind of man pays a hundred thousand dollars for one night? What kind of darkness lives behind that kind of wealth? And what kind of woman agrees?

Me.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, a wave of warm, spiced air met my face. The penthouse was like something torn from a magazine-glass walls, a fire burning in the marble hearth, and shadows dancing over sharp, modern furniture.

And then I saw him.

He stood by the window, staring down at the city like he owned it.

He might've.

His silhouette was sharp. Tailored. Controlled. A man not used to sharing power. As he turned, the firelight caught his face-and I froze.

He wasn't old.

He wasn't frail.

He wasn't anything like the faceless man I'd pictured.

He was devastating.

Thirty-something. Over six feet. A jaw that could cut diamonds. His hair was dark, swept back with precise perfection, and his eyes were the color of storm clouds-gray, unreadable, and cold.

My heart skipped.

He didn't smile. Didn't speak.

Just studied me.

"This wasn't what I expected," he said finally, voice low and dangerous.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my purse. "If I'm not what you wanted, I can leave."

He blinked slowly. "No. You'll do."

You'll do. Like he was picking out wine.

He moved past me, unbuttoning his cuffs as he walked to the bar. Poured something dark into a crystal glass. Didn't offer me any. I stood still, awkward, aware of every beat of my heart.

"You know the rules," he said, back still turned. "One night. No contact. No questions. You disappear by morning."

"Understood."

He turned, lifted the glass to his lips, and paused. "Take off the dress."

My breath caught.

There was no hesitation in his voice. No warmth. Just command.

My body didn't obey right away-but I nodded.

And unzipped the dress with trembling fingers.

I don't know how long we were tangled together. Hours, maybe. Years, it felt like.

He didn't ask my name. I never asked his.

He kissed me like he wanted to erase me. Touched me like he hated needing to. Every movement was control and punishment, desire and silence. He didn't hold me after. Didn't ask if I was okay.

And I didn't speak.

I knew the rules.

When I woke, the bed was empty. The fire had burned low. A fresh envelope lay on the nightstand. No note. No name. Just the promised money.

I slipped back into my dress, still trembling, and grabbed the envelope.

I didn't look back.

Not until I stepped into the elevator and caught my reflection in the mirror.

Same girl.

Different eyes.

I didn't learn his name until weeks later-when his face flashed across the evening news.

Damon Blackwood.

CEO of Blackwood International.

Billionaire. Media tycoon. Kingmaker.

And now... the man who would unknowingly father my child.

The test was positive.

My hands shook as I clutched the tiny plastic stick in the bathroom of my crumbling studio apartment.

My life ended and began in the same moment.

I wasn't supposed to get pregnant.

We were careful.

But fate doesn't negotiate.

I didn't tell him.

I couldn't.

Not when he was the kind of man who made people disappear with a phone call.

So I disappeared instead.

Three years later, I came back.

Not for him.

For my son.

Micah had his eyes. The same piercing silver-gray stare. The same frown when he didn't get his way. He was brilliant. Stubborn. Beautiful.

But sick.

A rare heart condition. A surgery only one pediatric specialist in Manhattan could handle. I had no choice but to return to the city I'd sworn to leave behind.

I thought I'd be careful.

I thought Damon Blackwood would never see us.

I was wrong.

Because fate doesn't forget secrets.

And neither do billionaires.

The gala was supposed to be a favor. Just one night of catering for a former college friend. I wore the black-and-white server uniform, hair pulled tight, eyes down.

Invisible. That was the goal.

Until I dropped a glass.

Until the crowd parted.

And he was standing there.

Him.

Damon.

Looking older, sharper, more dangerous than ever in a perfectly cut tuxedo and that same icy stare that once stripped me bare without laying a hand on me.

His eyes locked on mine.

Then on Micah, who stood by the dessert table-tugging at the sleeve of a waiter with wide eyes and a face that mirrored his own.

Damon's jaw clenched.

The crowd faded.

He moved.

I panicked.

I grabbed Micah's hand, whispered something to the friend who had invited me, and tried to make it to the lobby without turning around.

But I wasn't fast enough.

A hand wrapped around my wrist just as I reached the elevator.

Not cruel.

Not gentle.

Just final.

His voice was quiet, but it burned into my spine.

"Who is that boy?"

I should've lied. I should've run. But it was already too late.