Chapter 4

Chloe snapped her compact shut with a sharp clack and marched over to me.

She was half a head shorter than me, yet she tilted her chin high, looking down her nose at me.

"Sweetie—actually, no, I should just call you Maya. You won't be Mrs. Miller for much longer anyway."

She picked up an untouched plate of raw oysters from the table and shoved it toward my chest.

"I'll give you two choices. Option one: strip down, hand over the dress, and let the manager let you go. Option two..."

She shoved the plate directly against my collarbone. The shells cracked, and the cold brine trickled down my skin.

"Get on your knees, pick up these shells, crawl all the way to the front doors, and shout three times: 'Chloe, I'm sorry, I was wrong!'"

"Which one's it going to be?"

I didn't look at her. I looked at the crowd.

The manager stood behind the bar. The security guards blocked the exit. Ethan's business associates were sipping their drinks, watching the spectacle. Not a single soul intended to help.

My phone had died hours ago. Ethan had definitely tampered with the charger before we left home.

"Cat got your tongue?" Chloe tilted her head, watching me like a caged bird. "Can't choose? Want me to pick for you?"

"I pick option three," I said.

My voice was shockingly steady.

"I borrow someone's phone, call a friend, and have them bring the cash to settle the tab."

Chloe froze for a second before bursting into laughter.

"Bring cash? Ethan just said anyone who helps you is an enemy of the Millers. Do you really think anyone in this city will even pick up your call?"

"Yes."

"Fine! I'll give you thirty minutes." Chloe stepped back to Ethan's side, grinning. "If someone actually shows up with the money within thirty minutes, I, Chloe Evans, will pour this red wine all over myself from head to toe, crawl out of this restaurant on my hands and knees, and scream 'I am a useless trophy' the whole way."

"You willing to bet on that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" She turned to the crowd, tossing her hair. "You're all my witnesses!"

The room buzzed with excitement.

"Now this is a show!"

"Thirty minutes? Yeah right, who would dare cross Ethan Miller?"

"No one's coming. She's guaranteed to win."

Ignoring their chatter, I turned and walked straight toward Brandon Cole in the corner.

The moment he saw me approaching, he slid his chair back half a foot.

"Stay back, I can't get involved—"

"I don't want your money. Let me borrow your phone for one call, and I'll give it right back."

He hesitated for a few seconds, glancing sideways at Ethan.

Ethan leaned back against his chair, waving a hand dismissively. "Let her call. It won't change anything."

Only then did Brandon hand me his phone.

I dialed a number from memory.

"It's me. The oceanfront restaurant behind the marina. Come right now. Bring cash."

I hung up and handed the phone back to Brandon.

The seconds ticked away.

Twenty minutes passed. No one arrived.

Chloe grew restless—not from nervousness, but from sheer impatience.

"Ethan, let's stop wasting time. Just have them tear her dress off. No one's coming anyway—"

"There are ten minutes left."

"Ten minutes? You think you're in some kind of movie?" Chloe sneered, waving her hand at the bouncers.

Two hulking men stepped forward, grabbing my arms on either side.

A couple of the middle-aged businessmen leaned in close, their greasy fingers practically twitching.

"Mr. Miller said we could do whatever we want if she can't pay, right?"

"I'll go first. Mr. Miller definitely has good taste."

I fought back with everything I had, the veins in my neck bulging as I resisted their grip.

Chloe snapped her fingers. "Rip her sleeves off! Let these gentlemen inspect the goods first—"

The sharp screech of tires echoed from outside, followed immediately by the synchronized thud of heavy boots.

A squad of men in crisp black suits poured into the restaurant, instantly tearing the bouncers away from me with brutal efficiency.

Behind them walked a woman in a sharp gray trench coat, carrying a sleek aluminum briefcase.

It was Victoria Vance, the head of the city's top financial conglomerate.

She slammed the case onto the bar and popped the latches open, revealing stacks of pristine, banded cash.

Then, she turned around and bowed respectfully to me.

"Miss Sterling, Miss Montgomery sent me ahead to handle this. She'll be here any second."

"I apologize. We hit traffic for a few minutes and almost ran late."