Chapter 7: The Valentine's Day Trap

**Leylie’s POV**

The morning of Valentine’s Day broke soft and golden through the curtains, the kind of light that should have felt romantic and hopeful, like the start of something beautiful. Instead, it felt cruel, as if the world were mocking me with its promise of love.

I hadn’t slept.

My body had lain still beside Finnian for hours, but my mind had paced the dark corners of the room, replaying every word he’d said the night before, every threat wrapped in affection, every promise that this 'one last thing' would finally make us whole and happy together.

I kept seeing Hayes Doyle’s face in the photograph, those gray-green eyes that looked as if they had already seen too much, and I wondered what kind of man he was.

I also wondered what kind of woman I would become if I let him touch me.

Finnian stirred beside me, stretched like a satisfied cat, and rolled toward me with a sleepy smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my bare shoulder. His hand slid possessively down my side, lingering on my hip. “Today is for the woman who’s about to make us the most powerful couple in Los Angeles.”

I forced a small nod, throat too tight to speak.

But he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did and simply didn’t care.

He kissed me again, this time deeper, tasting of last night’s whiskey. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were bright with anticipation.

"I’ve arranged everything," he said, standing up to pace the room with restless energy. "James will drive you to the hotel. The gala is at St. Regis; it's a fundraiser for marine life—saving the whales, protecting the reefs, all that noble nonsense." He stopped pacing to grin at me, his eyes bright with a dangerous sort of excitement. "Hayes Doyle is the guest of honor. He’s a recluse, but he can’t resist playing the saint at events like this."

He walked over to the closet and pulled out a large, rectangular box wrapped in gold foil. "So, baby, you are going to wear this." He lifted a deep red dress from the tissue paper and hung it on the wardrobe door, admiring it. "You have got to make me proud, Leylie. Be sweet. Be irresistible." He looked at me, his voice dropping. "And don’t forget the camera."

I felt a wave of nausea at his words. I wanted to reach out and slap his perfect face, to scream until he understood what he was asking of me, what he was taking from me. But the memory of Maya’s name on his lips and the dean’s cheerful voice on the speakerphone kept me frozen.

I had already sold pieces of myself to keep her safe. What was one more piece?

“Listen carefully,” he said finally, voice flat and businesslike. “I’ve arranged for a friend in catering to make sure his drink is… enhanced. A little extra alcohol and a heavy sedative. When he feels it kick in, he’ll head to his suite before the auction even starts.”

He nodded at the key card he placed in my hand. “Room 56. Imperial Suite. Go straight there and wait. When he stumbles in, disoriented and vulnerable, that’s when you do what you came to do.”

The plastic edge bit into my skin as I folded my hand.

“Finn… if he’s drugged, that isn’t seduction. That’s—” My voice faltered. “That’s something else. What if he gets sick? What if something goes—”

“Leylie.” He cut me off, grabbing my chin hard enough to force my eyes to his. “Don’t let your so-called morals ruin this for us. Think of Maya. Think of your mother. All you have to do is get him into bed, take the photos, and record the video. Make it look real. I need his reputation in pieces by morning.”

He left for the office shortly after, humming softly under his breath as if it were just another ordinary day.

I stayed in bed long after he left, staring at the ceiling just thinking about my life. Eventually, I dragged myself up, showered until my skin felt raw, and slipped into the red dress he’d chosen.

It clung to me like a second skin, beautiful, expensive, and completely humiliating. I looked in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back: lips painted crimson, hair swept into soft waves, eyes shadowed to hide the exhaustion.

I looked like someone ready to be given away.

Well... I realized with a shudder that I actually was.

*****

The drive to the hotel felt endless. James kept his eyes on the road, silent, but I caught him glancing at me in the rearview mirror more than once, pity flickering in his eyes before he quickly looked away.

Did he know what I was sent there to do? Did everyone know?

When we pulled up to the entrance, he hesitated before opening my door. “Mrs. Thorne,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only I could hear, “if you need anything… anything at all… just say the word.”

I met his eyes for the first time in months; they were kind and deeply sad. For one fragile second, I almost broke down. I almost told him to drive away, to take me anywhere but here.

But then I remembered Maya’s laugh. I remembered the way her face lit up when she got into college and the way she still hugged me like I was her whole world.

I couldn’t risk her. Not for my pride. Not for anything else.

“Thank you, James,” I whispered. “But I’m fine.”

I stepped out of the car on legs that felt borrowed, clutching my bag that held the hidden camera Finnian had shown me how to operate.

The hotel lobby was filled with soft music and roses everywhere, red, white, and pink, because, of course, it was Valentine’s Day, and the world insisted on celebrating love.

I rode the elevator to the fifth floor, my heart pounding so hard my hands trembled as I held the key card for Room 56. I swiped it slowly, the green light flickering like a bad omen, and the door swung open with a soft creak.

The room was empty, which meant Hayes was definitely still downstairs.

Great. I had a little time to catch my breath.

I was about to open my bag to take out the camera and set it down somewhere in the room when I heard it: a faint, irregular splashing from the bathroom, muffled yet urgent.

My blood turned to ice. Was he already here, soaking in the tub, maybe fighting the drugs?

My hand shook as I gripped the handle. My heart hammered against my ribs, nearly deafening me, as I pushed the door open. I braced for the worst—Hayes Doyle, half-conscious, perhaps completely naked, ready for the trap Finnian had set.

The bathroom was freezing, leaving my skin in goosebumps as I stepped inside, but it wasn’t Hayes in the oversized tub.

There, submerged in the water, was a little girl, no older than six or seven, her brown hair fanning around her face. Her skin had gone white, and her small body jerked in violent, uncontrolled spasms. Her hands clutched weakly at the edge of the tub as foam gathered at her lips.

She was seizing, silent and desperate, her head slipping under the surface again and again, bubbles breaking as she fought to stay above the water that threatened to claim her.