Chapter One: The Spill
I shouldn't have been there.
But when you're broke enough to count every penny like it's a lifeline, you don't ask questions — you just take the job that falls into your lap, no matter how fancy or risky it is.
Tonight, that meant sneaking into the Wolfe Foundation's charity gala with a mop and bucket instead of a cocktail glass. My fingers trembled, barely holding onto the cloth as I wiped a table in the grand ballroom.
The room glittered with chandeliers and silk dresses, and somewhere in the center stood Damon Wolfe — CEO, billionaire, nightmare wrapped in designer suits.
I didn't plan to get close to him. I wasn't even supposed to be visible. But fate's cruel joke came in the shape of a slippery heel and a tray overloaded with red wine.
The crash echoed like a gunshot. The wine exploded over Damon's pristine white suit, soaking into the fabric, ruining everything.
His eyes locked onto mine — sharp, cold, and unforgiving.
"You," he said, voice low and deadly. "Come with me."
My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird. This was the moment my misfortune became personal.