Five hundred thousand dollars Lie

For half a million dollars, I sold myself to the most notorious pervert on Wall Street.

When I was forced to go up to the penthouse suite to deliver on that deal, the elevator malfunctioned mid-ride and locked up completely.

Trapped in that suffocating little box, wearing nothing but a thin, sheer red dress, I stabbed at the emergency call button in despair.

The elevator doors were wrenched open by hydraulic cutters. Blinding light flooded in.

The man leading the rescue the owner of the club was Roman Cross. My ex-boyfriend. The one I'd ruthlessly walked away from three years ago for half a million dollars.

He stood there in a bespoke suit, looking down at me from above disheveled, barely covered, shaking like a leaf.

The manager beside him wiped sweat from his forehead in a panic. "Mr. Cross, the woman inside... she's here as a paid escort"

Roman snatched the tool out of the man's hands. His eyes dropped to the hem of my dress, dark and unreadable. His jaw was tight.

"Chloe Bennett." His voice came out through clenched teeth. "Where's the old man who paid for you? What did he send you up here to play games alone in an elevator?"

"I didn't!"

The words burst out of me before I could stop them. It felt like being thrown into an icebox.

The air inside the elevator cabin was thin enough to choke on.

The malfunction had hit without warning. The cabin lurched violently, the heel of my pump snapped, and I'd gone down hard onto the cold metal floor.

The red spaghetti-strap dress my stepmother had forced me into didn't leave much to the imagination to begin with.

When I fell, one strap slipped off my shoulder. A wide stretch of pale skin was now fully exposed under the glare of the emergency floodlights.

I yanked at the hem, trying desperately to cover myself.

But the more I panicked, the worse it got. The broken strap was caught around my arm and wouldn't budge no matter how hard I pulled.

Cold.

But nowhere near as jarring as the sight of Roman's face on the other side of those doors.

He wore a black bespoke suit, perfectly cut. His tie was half-loosened, collar open, the sharp line of his collarbone visible beneath.

He held a heavy hydraulic pry bar in one hand. Every inch of him radiated a keep-away kind of danger.

Three years.

He was more striking than I remembered. And colder.

"Didn't?"

Roman let out a short, humorless laugh.

He leaned one hand against the edge of the forced-open elevator door. His gaze moved over me like something with edges scraping slowly across my tangled hair, my half-fallen dress, the redness creeping into the corners of my eyes from fear.

"So you came up here alone, to an enclosed space, just to admire yourself?"

"Having fun playing dirty, don't you?"

Every word landed like a dull blade. Slow. Deliberate. Meant to hurt.

Beside him, the security manager Bruno had gone bright red in the face.

He held up a flashlight, pointedly keeping his eyes away from the inside of the elevator, and stammered through his words.

"M... Mr. Cross... the cabin is stuck between two floors. We need to get her out now. If the cable snaps"

Roman didn't turn around.

He kept his eyes on me. His voice dropped to something that felt like ice.

"All of you. Get out."

Bruno blinked. "Mr. Cross? protocol says we can't leave if something goes wrong, if someone gets hurt"

"I said. Go wait in the lobby."

Roman still didn't raise his voice.

The chill in those words was enough. Bruno flinched, then quickly ushered the rest of the security team out of the stairwell.

The elevator shaft fell silent.

Just the two of us.

I could hear my own heartbeat pounding like it wanted to break out of my chest.

Roman turned the pry bar over in his hand once.

Then he dropped it. It hit the ground with a heavy, echoing clang that made my whole body seize up.

He didn't reach for me. He just stood there, looking down.

"I asked you a question."

His voice was low. Measured. The way a predator sounds when it's already close enough.

"Where's the old man who paid half a million for you?"

"What he sent you up alone and didn't even bother to make sure you got there alive?"

My eyes burned.

My stomach turned over. My whole body felt hollow with shame.

Because three years ago, I was the one who threw a check for half a million dollars in his face and told him I was done that I wanted money, not him.

"Roman." My voice came out wrecked, thick with tears I was barely holding back. "Can you just pull me up first"

"My ankle. It really hurts."

The hand Roman had braced against the door frame went rigid.

The tendons in the back of his hand stood out, one by one.

His jaw was locked so tight the line of it could have cut glass.

"Hurts?"

A short, sharp scoff. His eyes were full of something that looked a lot like contempt.

"Three years ago, when you threw money in my face did you ever stop to think that it hurt?"

He stood above me, backlit.

I couldn't make out the emotions churning in his eyes. All I could feel was the crushing weight of his presence.

Then

He bent down suddenly. His long arm reached into the elevator cabin.

And grabbed my wrist.

His grip was so tight I thought my bones would snap.

"Ah!"

I cried out.

Before I could process what was happening, he yanked hard and pulled me straight out of the suspended cabin and into the air.

The world spun.

I slammed into a broad, solid chest.

A familiar scent wrapped around me all at once.

Cool cedar. A faint trace of tobacco underneath.

Roman's scent. Unmistakably his.

Three years ago, I had buried my face in this same chest more times than I could count, falling asleep to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

But now, those arms held nothing but a bone-deep chill.

"On your feet."

He said it flatly, then released me like he was dropping a piece of trash.

A sharp pain shot through my ankle. I lost my balance and went straight down.

My knees hit the concrete. Hard.

The skin broke. A thin line of blood seeped through.

Roman looked down at me, his expression completely flat.

"What's the matter that old man of yours never teach you how to stand up straight in front of a real man?"

The humiliation hit me like a wave.

I bit down on my lip, fighting back tears, and pressed my palms to the ground, trying to push myself up.

But my ankle had swollen to the size of a tennis ball. I couldn't get any leverage.

While I was still struggling

A black suit jacket still warm came down over my head.

It covered my bare shoulders and exposed thighs completely.

"Put it on."

Roman turned away, his back to me.

His voice was tight with barely controlled irritation.

"Then get up."

"I still need the incident report from the club's security team, Chloe. You'd better start thinking about how you're going to explain yourself."

"What are you doing up on the rooftop in the middle of the night, dressed like that, waiting for someone."

Chapter 3 I wrapped Roman's jacket around myself and limped after him.

It was long it fell past my thighs.

It was saturated with his scent.

Overwhelming. Invasive. Crawling into my nose whether I wanted it to or not.

We walked through the club's top-floor corridor. All marble and low lighting and the kind of quiet that costs money.

Along the way, every server and security guard we passed dropped their eyes and stepped aside.

"Mr. Cross."

"Good evening, Mr. Cross."

Not one of them dared to breathe too loudly. Not one of them dared to glance at me.

I watched Roman's broad, straight-backed figure move ahead of me.

Something complicated twisted in my chest.

Three years ago, he was a broke kid getting beaten bloody in underground fight clubs couldn't even scrape together a few hundred dollars for medical bills.

Now he owned this place. One of the most exclusive, most expensive clubs in the city. On Wall Street, they called him "Mr. Cross" and said it like a prayer.

He'd made it.

Just like he'd promised. Right at the top.

The only difference was the person standing beside him wasn't me anymore.

Bang.

Roman kicked open the double mahogany doors at the end of the corridor.

His private office.

He walked in without turning on the main lights. Just clicked on the desk lamp.

"Come in."

He turned and looked at me still frozen in the doorway with cold, flat eyes.

I pressed my jaw together and walked in, dragging my injured foot.

The doors swung shut behind me with a heavy, automatic click.

The room sealed itself.

The office was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Vespera's glittering skyline.

Roman stopped in front of the leather sofa, pulled off his tie, and tossed it onto the coffee table without looking.

Then he pointed at the seat across from him.

"Sit."

I didn't dare argue. I lowered myself carefully onto the edge of the sofa.

The moment I settled, a first aid kit landed at my feet.

"Handle it yourself."

He crossed to the bar cart, poured a glass of whiskey, and drank it in one go.

I looked down, opened the kit, and took out the antiseptic and some cotton swabs.

My ankle was a mess. My knee had dried blood crusted over the scrape.

I soaked a swab and touched it to the wound. The sting hit me like a blade.

"Ssss"

Roman's hand paused on his glass.

He turned his head. His gaze dropped to my knee.

His expression was unreadable.

"Funny," he said. "Three years ago, you had such a high pain tolerance."

He walked toward me, wine glass in hand, looking down at me like I was nothing.

"You walked away with half a million dollars and didn't even glance back. And now you can't handle a little scratch?"

I gripped the cotton swab tighter. My fingertips went white.

"Roman, can we just... not talk about the past?"

"Not talk about it?"

Roman laughed like he'd just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world.

He suddenly bent down and grabbed my chin, forcing my head up, making me look him straight in the eyes.

"Chloe, you think saying 'let's not talk about it' can just erase everything you did to me?"

His fingers were ice cold. His grip hurt.

"Do you even know how hard it was raining the day you left?"

"I stood under your building the entire night, begging you not to go."

"And what did you say?"

Roman's eyes slowly turned red. His voice came out rough, like gravel.

"You said you were sick of struggling alongside me. You said that old man could buy you limited-edition bags. Could give you a mansion to live in."

"You threw that half-million-dollar check in my face and told me that's exactly what my life was worth."

I closed my eyes. The tears finally broke free.

They landed on the back of his hand.

Hot.

He flinched like he'd been burned and suddenly let go.

"Why are you crying?"

He straightened up, a cold smirk spreading across his face.

"Having regrets now? Figured out that old man can't satisfy you, so you came crawling back to use me as your fallback?"

"Chloe, what exactly do you think I am to you?"

Chapter 4

I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to let myself sob out loud.

"I didn't come back for you..."

My voice was shaking.

"Today... this was an accident."

"An accident?" Roman scoffed. "You accidentally ended up at my club? Accidentally dressed like that? Accidentally got stuck in the elevator?"

"And that old bastard Richard he's up in the penthouse suite waiting for you, isn't he?"

My head snapped up. I stared at him, stunned.

"You... how do you know that?"

Roman's eyes went dangerous in an instant.

He leaned in, both hands braced on the back of the sofa, trapping me completely in his shadow.

"This is my place. Is there anything that happens here I don't know about?"

"Chloe, you just keep sinking lower and lower."

"Three years ago, at least that old man you found was a legitimate businessman. But this Richard? He's nothing but a loan shark who clawed his way up from the gutter. A fat, disgusting creep."

"For money, you'll really stoop that low? Even with someone like him?"

Every word hit like a slap across the face.

My dignity crushed under his heel.

"Yes!"

I finally broke. I screamed at him.

"I'm exactly that pathetic! I'll do anything for money!"

"Happy now? You're the great Mr. Cross. Seeing me like this doesn't it just make your day?!"

I grabbed the first aid kit beside me and hurled it at the floor.

Gauze and antiseptic bottles scattered everywhere.

"You've had your laugh. Now let me go! I still have to get upstairs!"

I struggled to my feet and pushed toward the door.

But I forgot about my ankle.

The moment I took a step, pain exploded through me and I pitched forward.

The impact I was bracing for never came.

Roman caught me around the waist and yanked me hard into his chest.

"Get upstairs?"

He repeated those words through gritted teeth.

His arms locked around me like iron bands, squeezing so tight it felt like he might crush me.

"Chloe, don't you dare go to him!"

His eyes blazed with a rage that looked like it could devour me whole.

"I swear if you walk out that door today, I will have someone break your legs!"

"You have no right to tell me what to do!"

I fought back with everything I had, pounding my fists against his chest.

"We broke up! Let me go!"

In the struggle

Thud.

The worn little pouch I'd been clutching in my hand fell to the floor.

Its contents spilled out.

A cheap lipstick. A travel pack of tissues.

And a small clear plastic bag that slid all the way to Roman's feet.

Inside it lay a tiny plastic star, folded crookedly.

Its edges had gone yellow with age, worn down from years of handling.

The entire room went dead silent.

Roman froze.

He stared at the small sealed plastic bag on the floor, his breathing suddenly ragged.

Three years ago, on his birthday, I had folded that for him out of candy wrappers.

Back then, we were so broke we couldn't even afford a cake.

I pressed the little star into his palm and smiled. "Roman, this is my lucky star. I'm giving it to you. You're going to make it big someday, I just know it."

His eyes had gone red. He pulled me into a tight hug and said, "Chloe, when I make enough money, I'll buy you a real star right out of the sky."

Three years.

I'd kept it with me every single day.

Even todayon the most humiliating day of my lifeI'd hidden it in my bag, the one thing keeping me going.

Roman slowly let go of me.

He bent down and picked up the sealed bag.

His long fingers trembled slightly.

His thumb pressed hard against the clear plastic, as if he could reach through it and touch something from the past.

"What is this?"

He looked up at me.

His voice was shaking so badly it barely held togetherfragile in a way that broke something inside me.