Chloe's post triggered an alarm on Axel Sharp's tablet. He walked straight into Julian Sterling's office without knocking. Julian stood by the window, the crumpled hotel note still on the desk, his anger brewing, gradually turning cold and dangerous.
“Sir, we’ve found her.” Axel handed over the tablet. “Chloe Prescott. She posted this an hour ago. Looking for a contract husband. One year. One million dollars.”
Julian's cold gaze swept over the text on the screen. A muscle in his jaw twitched. The humiliation of that night was still vivid in his mind—two hundred dollars, a three-star rating. That woman mistook him for a male prostitute , paid, and disappeared. Now she wanted to buy another man.
A slow, predatory smile curled at the corner of his lips. "She wants to buy a husband. Let's see how she feels after she's been bought."
“Sir?” Axel frowned. “We can blacklist her from all legitimate companies before noon. That’s a more effective approach.”
“Efficient, but unimaginative.” Julian returned the tablet, a cold smile flashing in his eyes. “No. I want to see her expression when she realizes this nobody she hired is the one she's humiliating. I want her to understand that she's trapped herself. Prepare a new identity. Julian Sterling isn't suited for this. Portray me as a mid-level wealth manager bankrupt from a divorce. From a prestigious background, ruined by circumstances. I need to be presentable enough to pass her screening, yet poor enough to need her money. I need a decent coat, but nothing else. That way, she can fire me without worry after the contract ends.”
Axel hesitated. “Sir, if things don’t go well—”
“No.” Julian’s voice turned cold and firm. “She played a game with me. I’m going to end this game.”
Two days later, Chloe sat in a dimly lit café in the West Village, her third cup of black coffee already cold. The first applicant had stared at her chest for ten minutes. The second applicant had asked for a $50,000 advance for dental surgery. Her phone buzzed. Judith: Chet's here. Three hours later .
Despair tore at her throat like sharp claws. She covered her eyes with her hands, suppressing the urge to scream. Considering the travel time and the time needed to get the certificate, if she couldn't find someone else after the interview , she would have to return to the lion's den alone.
The door to the coffee shop rang.
A man walked in. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore a charcoal gray overcoat, well-tailored but noticeably worn at the cuffs—the kind of garment a man might wear when his fortunes have faded. There were no designer labels, and no trace of wealth. Yet, his unhurried, composed demeanor made the room feel even more cramped. His gaze immediately locked onto the corner booth where Chloe was, as if he had known she would sit there all along.
He approached. His shadow fell on Chloe's table.
Chloe looked up and held her breath. He was handsome—angular cheekbones, jet-black hair, and eyes as blue as a winter sky. A memory surfaced in her mind, a ghost she couldn't grasp. But the drugs had almost completely erased her memory of that night, and the man before her only possessed a calm, professional demeanor.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, uninvited. His gaze was fixed on her, a meaningful smile playing on his lips. It was neither warm nor safe.
"I heard you're looking for a husband."
