Chapter 1

That night, Tristan Sterling shoved me out of his car, my clothes in disarray, my skin covered with fresh love bites.

People on the sidewalk raised their phones and whispered,

"Isn't that the Vance heiress? Did Tristan Sterling get tired of her and dump her on the side of the road?"

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, hailed a cab, and told the driver to follow his car.

I needed to see the woman who could make him abandon me without a second thought.

Half an hour later, through the hotel window, I watched him take off his coat and gently wrap it around a woman wearing nothing but pajamas before carefully lifting her into his arms and carrying her inside.

At that exact moment, a news alert flashed across my phone:

"Sterling Group CEO Tristan Sterling Spotted Picking Up a Mysterious Woman Late at Night—Rumors Swirl That His Former Love Has Returned."

The next second, I dialed my father's number.

"I'm accepting the arranged marriage."

Scarlett's POV

I was known as the most stunning, wild IT-girl in New York's high society.

Tristan Sterling, on the other hand, was the youngest billionaire kingpin in the city. Cold, ruthless, and absolutely lethal.

Nobody knew that we, two people who seemingly had nothing to do with each other, would kiss passionately in the dark of night.

Nobody knew we made love by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. Or that he would grip my waist in the back of his black Maybach until my legs went completely numb.

Tristan leaned down, his breath hot against my ear, whispering with a dark chuckle. "The partition is up. The driver can't hear a thing. What are you so shy about?"

"Scarlett, relax. Say my name."

"Tristan..."

I called his name, my voice thick with embarrassment. The usually cold, untouchable man smiled with dark satisfaction.

His movements grew wilder, and I wrapped my arms around him, my eyes filled with hopeless love.

Just as we finished, a sharp notification chimed on his phone.

Tristan pulled out his screen. I caught a glimpse of the contact name: "Chloe."

Tristan, I have a fever. I feel so sick...

The moment he read that message, the passion in Tristan's eyes vanished. Instantly.

He ordered the driver to pull over, pushed the door open, and practically threw me out before I could even fix my clothes.

"An emergency came up at the office. I have to go. Take a cab home."

I knew exactly who Chloe was. She was the woman he actually loved. She had been recovering in a European clinic for years and had just returned.

As he went to shut the door, I suddenly grabbed his hand. My eyes, normally so bright, pleaded with him.

"Can't you stay? Just this once?"

His eyes darkened. "Scarlett, be good. Don't throw a tantrum."

He brushed my hand off and slammed the door.

The black Maybach sped away into the night.

I was left standing on the curb, my clothes disheveled, my pale skin covered in fresh red marks. Several passing men stared at me, their eyes filthy.

"Isn't that Scarlett Vance?"

"Wow, the Vance heiress is really wild. Dumped on the side of the road looking like that!"

"I wonder how much she charges for a night. With a body like that, it must be insane..."

Their sleazy whispers felt like invisible hands, stripping away the last of my dignity.

I bit my lip, quickly adjusted my coat, and immediately hailed a cab to follow Tristan.

I wanted to see what this Chloe looked like. I wanted to see the woman who could pull him away with a single text right after we made love, leaving me to be laughed at by the whole city.

Half an hour later, my cab stopped outside a luxury hotel.

Through the window, I watched Chloe run out of the lobby wearing nothing but a thin silk slip.

Tristan rushed forward. He took off his heavy wool coat, wrapped her in it, and swept her up into his arms.

Sitting in the back of the cab, watching him carry Chloe into the hotel, my mind drifted back to how we first met.

It was right after I returned from studying abroad. I had crashed my car, a limited-edition Pagani, directly into Tristan's. My father was so furious he dragged me to Tristan's office to beg for forgiveness.

Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, Tristan's eyes were ice-cold.

He said, "Paying for the damages is pointless. Neither of our families lacks money. But if you truly want to apologize, Mr. Vance, let Scarlett work as my personal assistant. It's time she learned some work ethic."

Tristan was famous for being a tyrant.

Everyone knew that anyone who survived his training came out disciplined and submissive.

My father, desperate to tame my wild streak, agreed instantly. Just like that, he threw me to the wolf.

Of course, I didn't go quietly. I tried every trick in the book to annoy him.

On my first day, I spilled hot espresso all over his bespoke Savile Row suit.

Tristan barely blinked. "Bespoke Swiss tailoring. Put it on the Vance family tab."

On the second day, I ran his most important merger contract through the paper shredder.

With a straight face, Tristan simply drafted a new one right in front of me. The new terms were even harsher than the original.

On the third day, I spiked his coffee. I wanted to record him losing control so I could blackmail him into letting me go.

I didn't expect that I would end up being his only cure.

I wanted to kill him afterward, but Tristan just pinned me against the glass window of his office, making love to me until I couldn't breathe.

"Scarlett," he whispered, kissing my earlobe, his voice dark and gravelly. "Stop fighting me. Be a good girl."

That single "Scarlett" made my heart skip a beat. It sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

Except for my mother, who had died years ago, no one had spoken to me with such exasperated, protective tenderness in a very long time.

After that night, everything changed.

Every time I caused trouble, Tristan would carry me into his private lounge. Outside, his staff thought I was getting a lecture. In reality, he locked the door and made love to me until I begged for mercy.

Slowly, I realized I was getting addicted.

Was it because he was too good in bed? Or was I just desperate for someone to care about me?

I didn't know.

All I knew was that I was done for.

I had fallen for him. Hard.

We kept up this toxic, beautiful arrangement for eight months. I actually thought he liked me.

So, three days ago, I decided to take a leap. I wanted to ask him to be my actual boyfriend.

I spent the whole day decorating my penthouse.

Roses, candles, even a pair of custom-designed rings.

But I waited all night. I watched the candles burn down to nothing. He never showed up.

At 2:00 AM, my phone buzzed with a breaking news alert on Instagram.

Billionaire Tristan Sterling Spotted Welcoming Mystery Woman at JFK Airport Late at Night.

In the photo, Tristan was carefully shielding a girl in a white dress, his eyes softer than I had ever seen them.

The comments section was blowing up.

"Is that Tristan and Chloe? The golden couple from Princeton!"

"I went to college with them! Tristan was cold to everyone except Chloe. If she hadn't gone abroad for medical treatment, they'd probably be married by now!"

"Exactly! Chloe is his one true love. He hasn't touched another woman since she left."