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“Because it's cheating.”

“I made billions exploiting competitive advantages. I'm comfortable with cheating.”

Her laugh escapes before she can stop it.

That sound.

I want more of it. But the question hasn't disappeared. Neither has the realization behind it.

There are differences between us.

Big ones.

Money is only the most obvious. Layla believes in exposing secrets. I've built half my life around keeping them.

She asks questions for a living. I avoid answering them.

She distrusts control. I fucking thrive on it.

She watches people. So do I.

Maybe that's why neither of us has managed to look away since we met.

“You really don't care?” she asks.

I look directly into those hazel eyes.

“Not even a little.”

Something shifts in her expression. I tighten my arms around her.

“If you're asking whether I care that you don't have billions, no. If you're asking whether I expect you to live differently because I do, no. And if you're asking whether I think any number attached to either of our bank accounts determines what happens between us…”

I shake my head.

“I don't give a single fuck.”

Her breath catches.

Good.

Because I need her to understand this. Money solves problems. I've always believed that. It buys freedom.

Privacy.

Time.

Security.

It lets me build things other men only dream about. But it can't manufacture this.

It can't buy the way Layla looks at me.

Can't buy that laugh. Can't buy the spark in her eyes when she's about to challenge me. And it sure as hell can't buy the fact that when I asked, she said yes.

That's what matters.

She chose me.