CHAPTER 2

Jayde POV

I stare at Declan, my mind blank with shock. The corridor suddenly feels too small, too warm.

Everyone knows about Declan's arrogance. If you're not in his social class, you're nothing to him. He can destroy your life with a word, or a complaint to management, and right now, he holds my job in his hands. This job that barely pays enough to keep food on our table, that I fought so hard to get.

My thoughts race. What's another humiliation in a life full of them? What's one more story I'll never tell my mom? I think about our empty fridge, about my beauty school dreams, about all the bills piling up at home.

I slowly sink to my knees, eyes fixed on his expensive leather shoes that probably cost more than three months of my salary. Just before my lips can touch the leather, he jerks his foot away.

My stomach drops. This is it - he's going to get me fired. "Please, Sir Declan," I hear myself begging, hating every word. "I need this job. I'll do whatever you ask."

He crouches down, studying me like I'm some interesting specimen. "Sir Declan?" His laugh is cold. "What's your name?"

"Jayde," I whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

"Nice name. Nice accent too." He stands, looking down at me. "Nice shape. Must be hard, being born on the wrong side of the tracks." He tosses his hand sanitizer at my feet. "I could clean you up, you know. If you're willing to follow orders."

Something in my chest tightens as I slowly stand up. His smile widens.

"Warm my bed," he says casually like he's ordering a drink, "and I'll give you a million dollars."

The words hit me like a slap. A million dollars - enough to change everything. Enough for school, for Mom, for real life. But the cost...

I try to leave, but his hand catches me and pulls me close. His cologne surrounds me, making my head spin. Before I can process what's happening, his lips are on mine.

The kiss is expert, practiced - he knows exactly what he's doing. My traitor heart pounds against my ribs. I've never been kissed before, and some distant part of my brain understands why women talk about him, why they chase after him. His touch promises everything I've never had.

But then reality crashes back.

Declan. Just. Kissed. Me.

Declan, who moments ago wanted me to kiss his feet. Who thinks he can buy anything - or anyone - he wants? Who sees me as something to be "cleaned up."

And in that moment, I realized something important: there are some things money can't buy. My dignity is one of them.

I shove him away with all my strength, but his taste lingers on my lips - strawberries, expensive and sweet. The thought makes me want to scrub my mouth clean. What kind of sick game is he playing? One minute he's sanitizing his hands like I'm contaminated, the next he's kissing me.

His smirk makes my skin crawl as he stands there, arms crossed, watching me like I'm some kind of entertainment. "Tell me you didn't enjoy every bit of it."

I can't find words. My mind keeps spinning back to all the stories about him - the trail of broken hearts, the women he uses and discards. How could I have forgotten, even for a second, what kind of man Declan is?

I try to escape again, but his hand clamps around my arm. Something inside me snaps.

Before I can think, my palm connects with his cheek. The crack echoes in the empty hallway. A red mark blooms across his perfect face.

"Did you just slap me?" His voice is deadly quiet.

I meet his eyes, rage burning away my fear. "I'll do it again if you try to stop me!" My voice rises with each word. I don't care anymore about being quiet, being invisible. Maybe I'm tired of surviving. Maybe I want to live.

His face twists into something ugly, something that shows the real Declan behind the handsome mask. "You'll pay for this, Jayde. I'll make sure you're fired. I'll turn your life into a living hell." He spits the words like venom before stalking away.

I stand there, trembling - from anger or fear, I'm not sure anymore. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not where he might see.

But in the restroom, locked in a stall, the tears come anyway. They're not sad tears - they're angry ones. Angry at Declan, at life, at whatever god decided this would be my story.

Who's really to blame for where I am? Is my dad dying? The company that cheated us? Or this whole system that lets people like Declan think they can buy and sell people like me?

I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. I'm so tired. Tired of worrying about every penny, every meal, every bill. Tired of being strong. Tired of being afraid.

My name is Jayde Clinton. Next month, I'll turn twenty-five. A quarter of a century was spent fighting just to exist. My life reads like a tragedy - poor girl, dead father, struggling mother, dreams just out of reach. But tonight, something changed.

Tonight, I slapped one of the most powerful men in Aylesbury. Tonight, I chose dignity over survival.

Maybe that makes me stupid. Maybe that makes me brave. Maybe it just makes me desperate.

But for the first time in years, I feel something other than tired. I feel alive.

Even if it costs me everything, at least I'll know I stood up for myself. At least I'll know I'm not for sale.

I wipe my eyes, straighten my borrowed clothes, and stare at my reflection. The girl looking back at me isn't beautiful or rich or powerful. But she's still standing. Still fighting.

And maybe that's worth something after all.