After His Fiancée Publicly Shamed Me, He Chose My Side

The contract was three pages long. I knew because I'd already torn through the first two.

Victor Hale slapped the third page flat on the table in front of me, smoothing the corner like he was presenting a dinner menu. The back room smelled like cigarettes and mildew and something metallic I was trying not to think about. A single bulb swung overhead. Three of his guys stood behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat off them.

'Sign it,' Hale said.

My lip was split. My left wrist had a bruise the shape of a handprint. I looked at the contract — the words body, services, term of eighteen months — and I thought about my father. About the way he used to say my name. Emmeline. Three syllables, like it meant something.

I picked up the pen.

Then I spit blood on the signature line.

'My father was Thomas Gray,' I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. 'You know that name. Everyone in this city knows that name. And when I get out of this room, I will make sure everyone in this city knows yours.'

Hale's face went flat. He raised his hand.

The door came off its hinges.

Not opened. Not kicked. It came off. The whole frame shuddered and one of the enforcers stumbled back and I was already on my feet, chair scraping, when the man walked in.

He was tall. Dark suit, the kind that costs more than most people's rent. No tie. He moved through the doorway like the room had been expecting him, like the three enforcers between him and me were a minor inconvenience he'd already accounted for. His eyes found Hale first. Then they found me.

Something shifted in his face. It was fast — a fraction of a second — and then it was gone, locked behind an expression so controlled it barely qualified as one.

He crossed the room in four steps, put his shoe on Victor Hale's chest, and pressed down until Hale was flat on the floor making a sound like a deflating tire.

Then he pulled out his phone.

He didn't look at me while he typed. He didn't look at Hale either. He looked at the screen with the focused calm of a man paying a utility bill.

'Three million,' he said. 'Cleared. Every cent she owes, every cent of interest, every fee you invented.' He glanced down at Hale. 'If I hear her name come out of your mouth again, I'll buy this building and have it demolished with you inside it.'

Hale didn't answer. Hale was busy trying to breathe.

The man finally looked at me.

Up close, he was younger than I'd expected. Late twenties, maybe. Sharp jaw, dark eyes that were doing something complicated — like he was trying very hard to look at my split lip without reacting to it, and failing slightly.

'You've kept me waiting a long time,' he said quietly.