Chapter 1

Seven years of marriage, and Sophia Wentworth had learned exactly what she was worth to Lucian Drake—down to the last dollar.

Dinner together: fifty thousand.

Coming home: a hundred thousand.

Sharing his bed: a million.

Sophia had never once crossed a line and played her role with flawless precision.

Until the night of their seventh anniversary.

Lucian sat in the leather armchair by the window, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers.

"My girlfriend wants me to propose," he said, his tone as indifferent as a stock report. "Name your price, Sophia. How much to make you disappear?"

He paused, and something that almost resembled hesitation flickered across his face.

"If you're not ready, you can wait. I'll smooth things over with her and come back for you after."

Sophia's fingers tightened around the ring box hidden behind her back—the engagement ring given to her by Lucian's greatest rival.

Then, she smiled and stepped forward and placed a divorce agreement on the coffee table.

"Two dollars to buy me out," Sophia said.

Taking the bus from here to the church to married with the man who was her true lover.

Two dollars is exactly the fare.

---

Lucian crushed the cigarette against the leather sofa.

"Sophia." His voice dropped. "This is your last chance to negotiate."

In seven years, the sentence she'd heard from him most often was "name your price". It had started small—attending galas, picking up his girlfriend Stella from class, cooking Stella's meals, managing Stella's wardrobe, tracking Stella's medication schedule. Each task was just one more line on the invoice.

"Two dollars," she said again. "Final offer."

She turned toward the door.

Stella was already at the top of the staircase—eyes red, lower lip trembling with practiced perfection. She descended slowly, one hand trailing the railing, gaze fixed on Sophia.

"Please don't make her leave," Stella whispered to Lucian, though her eyes stayed on Sophia. "I'm not trying to take your place. I swear I'm not."

Tears slid down her cheeks. In the corner of her mouth, barely visible, a smile curved upward.

Sophia didn't acknowledge the performance. She reached into her bag and pressed two Coachella tickets into Stella's hands—she'd lined up at midnight to get them.

"For you. I hope you enjoy it."

Then she opened her notebook.

"Six a.m.—Stella takes her coffee with oat milk from the new café on Riverside Drive. Go early, the line gets long. Seven a.m., wake her up, lay out her clothes—no repeating outfits within the week. Eight a.m., drive her to class. Nine a.m., collect her dry cleaning—only the green blazer this week, she has a lunch on Thursday. Ten a.m., call her nutritionist to confirm Friday's appointment. Noon, her preferred lunch order from—"

She kept going. Through afternoon, through evening, all the way to three in the morning. Seven years of invisible labor, recited in a single, unbroken monologue, transferred from her keeping to his.

When she finally stopped, the cigarette smoke had long since cleared. The room was very quiet.

Something had shifted in Lucian's eyes. He would have denied it if anyone had named it.

"If you behave," he said quietly, "you can stay."

She opened her mouth to answer.

Then Stella screamed.