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His fingers are on my chin now, tilting my head to stare up at him. The chiseled line of his jawline, his cheekbones, and every rugged feature make him unforgettable. The intensity of his gaze is so fierce that for those few moments, the world fades, and only the two of us exist.
My heart’s pounding, and I can’t find my response.
“Or would you prefer if I touched you now, beautiful girl? I can smell your arousal.” Suddenly, his other hand skims at the hem of my dress across my thigh.
I shudder, my body weakening.
He never breaks his stare, and in that second of clarity, I know if I don’t leave his side, I’ll end up in his room, under his command. I hate that the idea excites me.
As his fingers crawl up my inner thigh and a hoarse groan rolls over his throat, every inch of me begins to panic.
I’m suddenly wrenching myself out of his hold, my pulse thundering in my ears. There’s a pinch along the side of my neck, but I don’t stop, as I desperately need to get away from him as fast as possible.
His laughter fills my ears.
Suddenly, I really hate him.
I should have known better than to spy onhim,of all people… the city’s richest and most influential figure.
It has to be him.
All those whispered stories about unforgettable first meets with Hawk Kline being an experience you’ll never forget… they aren’t lies. The heaviness of that truth threatens to crush my lungs.
I burst into the vibrant party, then spin back around to search the dark corridors, but he’s gone. Instinctively, my hand flies to my neck, feeling for the familiar touch of my mom’s pendant.
Nothing.
My heart drops.
I gasp, ice flooding me.
Frantically, I pat my dress, hoping it simply fell off, but deep down inside, that sick realization begins to roll through me…
I’ve lost the last piece of my mom I have left.
CHAPTERONE
SAPPHIRE
“Sapphire!” my stepmother’s sharp voice pierces the silent morning all the way down to the tiny basement I sleep in. “Upstairs, now!”
With heavy eyes, I groggily drag myself up from the old mattress, the springs groaning in protest. Just as I sit up, a mouse scurries across the room, disappearing into a crack in the wall. He’s a regular, and as long as he stays on his side of the room, we’re at peace. The dampness of the room clings to me as I yawn to wake up.
“Sapphire. Don’t make me call you again.”
My chest tightens, and with a long exhale, I push myself to my feet and quickly get changed into my leggings and loose t-shirt folded on the bedside table. The clothes are a bit wrinkled, but it doesn’t matter, seeing as I have no time to shower first.
I drag myself upstairs, wondering what crisis has happened now.
As I step into the hallway, there are stacks of unopened boxes that line the corridor, and the front door is wide open. Light and the spring breeze swish into the house.
Before I can process what’s going on, two burly men step out from the living room, each carrying an end of our expensive mahogany couch. My stepmother trails behind them, her cheeks flushed, eyes swollen with tears.
“Please,” she pleads. “The couch has been in the family for years. This has to be some mistake. We were promised another week to settle our payment.”
She chases after them outside into the front yard. A hollow feeling squeezes my insides as if someone’s stealing my past—the only thing I hold on to most days to stop me from losing my mind.
A stab of panic pierces through me at the debt collectors in our home. They’re taking our furniture, and the thought of it all being ripped away is too much to bear. The memories I’ve shared on the couch with my mom, the laughs with my father when our lives weren’t sinking.
