Chapter 4
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Sophie's gleeful expression morphed into horror, as if she'd seen a ghost.
Melissa's confident posture collapsed like a house of cards.
“No… impossible!” William was the first to recover his voice. He lunged forward and snatched my phone. As he read the message, all color drained from his face.
“Fake! It's fake! A doctored screenshot! That's it—it's photoshopped!” he sputtered incoherently.
Luke regarded him with the mild interest one might show a street performer.
He stepped toward me and, with surprising gentleness, brushed away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen.
Then he took my phone and, in full view of everyone, opened the banking app.
When that string of zeros appeared on the screen, you could have heard a pin drop in Cloud Peak Pavilion.
“Now,” Luke's voice carried effortlessly through the silence, “may we leave? My wife is tired.”
I have no memory of walking out of Cloud Peak Pavilion.
My brain only started functioning again when the cool night air hit my face outside.
Luke still held my hand, his palm dry and warm, guiding me with quiet strength away from that suffocating world that had tried to break me.
Behind us, I felt the weight of countless stares—curious, jealous, and in Sophie and William's case, murderous. But I no longer cared.
Only one thought kept circling in my mind—
Ten million dollars.
With one phone call on an ancient flip phone, ten million dollars had materialized in my account.
The impossibility of it pressed on my chest until I could barely breathe.
We reached the parking lot before he finally released my hand. The venue's lights cast our elongated shadows before us, strangely intertwined like lovers'.
“I…” My voice cracked. “Thank you. For tonight.”
Whatever his motives, he'd given me back my dignity when I needed it most.
“No need,” he replied simply, his eyes impossibly dark in the night. “I fulfilled our agreement.”
With those few words, he yanked me from whatever sentiment I was feeling back to cold reality.
Right. We had a contract. He helped me out of a jam, and I paid him. That's all this was.
But…
“That money,” I began hesitantly, “who are you, exactly? Where did it—”
“You already paid a million-dollar deposit,” he interrupted smoothly. “Consider the other nine million a loan. You can repay it gradually from your dividend income.”
He'd even crafted a perfect explanation.
One that sounded completely plausible.
I searched his handsome face for any sign of deception but found none. He discussed ten million dollars as casually as someone might mention the weather.
As if lending nine million dollars was as trivial as lending someone a ten-spot for lunch.
His casual explanation deflated all the wild theories forming in my mind.
Maybe he just knew some wealthy benefactor? Or perhaps he was some under-the-radar trust fund kid?
My head was spinning.
“Miss Sullivan.” He'd switched from the possessive “my wife” back to formal address in an instant.
“It's late. I should go.”
With that, he turned and started walking toward the bus stop.
I watched his tall figure in that cheap uniform heading off to catch the last bus of the night. The image created a jarring disconnect with the man who'd just casually moved ten million dollars with a phone call.
I was completely baffled.
“Wait!” I called out impulsively.
He stopped and turned, his expression questioning.
“Where do you live? Let me drive you,” I offered. My car was right there.
It wasn't anything fancy, but better than the late-night bus.
He hesitated before giving me an address.
It was in the oldest slum on the west side—a notorious area known for crime, squalor, and rock-bottom rents.
My last lingering suspicion that he might be secretly wealthy evaporated.
Fine, then.
Maybe he really was just some down-on-his-luck guy who happened to know someone powerful. Someone who owed him a favor big enough to transfer ten million dollars on command.
Strangely, this thought made me feel better.
If he was just an ordinary person, this whole situation would be easier to navigate.
“Get in.” I clicked my key fob, and my car lights flashed.
Without protest, he slid into the passenger seat.
My compact car suddenly felt tiny with him in it. His clean, masculine scent filled the space, and his long legs folded awkwardly in the confined area.
I started the engine. Silence filled the car, broken only by the robotic voice of the GPS.
I stole glances at him from the corner of my eye. He leaned back with his eyes closed, looking exhausted. His long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his profile sharp as a knife's edge.
I had to admit, the man was gorgeous. Not in a pretty-boy way, but with a striking, masculine beauty that burned itself into your memory.
But why had he helped me?
Just for the money?
One million dollars was life-changing money for most people, but he'd just treated ten times that amount like pocket change.
Could he have… other motives?
My hands tightened on the steering wheel at the thought.
“Why so tense?” he asked suddenly, eyes still closed.
I nearly slammed the brakes in surprise. “N-nothing!”
He opened his eyes and turned to me. In the dim car, his eyes seemed to glow.
“Miss Sullivan,” he said quietly, “I've reviewed our agreement. Marriage, pretense, nothing more. I assure you, I have no ulterior motives.”
It was as if he could read my mind.
My face burned with embarrassment, like a child caught stealing cookies.
“I—I didn't think that!” I protested, obviously lying.
He said nothing more, but I swore I saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
It was brief, but unmistakable—a ghost of an amused smile.
So he could smile after all.
For the remainder of the drive, I kept my thoughts firmly in check.
I focused on driving, feeling like a nervous teenager taking a road test with an instructor who could see right through me.
