Chapter six

CHAPTER SIX

He just studies me with that sharp, unreadable gaze, as though he already knows what kind of disaster I’m carrying inside my chest.

With one flick of his fingers, he gestures for his men to clear out.

All of them leave except one, a giant who plants himself by the doorway, arms crossed, eyes cold. A guard dog in human form.

He finally stands.

The movement is slow, deliberate, intimidating in a way that doesn’t require effort.

He opens a crystal decanter, pours dark liquor into a glass, and steps close enough for me to smell the mixture of expensive smoke and danger that clings to him.

He offers the drink without a single word.

I shouldn’t take it, he feels like the type of man whose every gift comes with a cost but I’m too hollow, too exhausted, too terrified to care.

I accept the glass, my fingers brushing his. He notices. Of course he does. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth like he already knows I’ll follow wherever he decides this goes.

He leans back against his gleaming desk, expression shadowed under the low amber light.

He lights a cigarette, inhales, and blows the smoke deliberately across my face, not insulting, not playful, more like a quiet test.

I swallow half of the liquor too fast. It burns. Hard.

His voice cuts through the air—low, rough, impossibly steady.

“What is a lady like you, Amelia Jones… doing in a place like this? Looking like you’re about to collapse.”

The sound of my name on his tongue jolts me.

My brows pull together. “How do you even know who I am?”

He scoffs as though the answer is obvious.

“You’re on the covers of three aviation magazines this month. You represent almost every brand my companies sponsor.”

A slow drag. Smoke lifts around him like a halo made of sin.

“People like you don’t end up in underground bars by accident.”

His stare slices through me.

“So. What happened to you?”

I empty the rest of the liquor just to avoid the question. The bite of it barely distracts from the pressure building in my throat. My hands tremble.

Then it cracks out of me raw, broken, louder than intended.

“I ruined everything. My life is over.”

He doesn’t react, not a flinch, not even a sympathetic tilt of the head. He simply watches. Calculating. Waiting for the truth beneath my panic.

But before I can continue, my phone vibrates violently in my pocket.

I freeze.

The name glowing on the screen turns my veins into ice.

Steve.

Or rather—Steve Carter, the psycho holding a knife to my life.

Hardin sees my terror instantly. His eyes narrow with sharp, predator-like understanding.

“Answer it,” he says.

“I—I don’t want—”

His gaze hardens.

“I wasn’t asking.”

His tone alone is enough to remind me that men like him don’t repeat themselves. I obey.

I hit speaker.

Steve’s voice explodes into the room—laughing, ruthless, dripping poison.

“Took you long enough to pick up, bitch.”

Humiliation burns my face. He doesn’t move, but the air around him shifts—darkens.

I force words out. “What do you want now?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate.

“Two days, Amelia. Two. If you don’t agree to my terms, your face, your body, that sweet cunt, every part of you—goes online. You’ll be the world’s favorite free p**n star.”

A humiliating sob crawls up my throat. I drag my fingers through my hair, pulling hard enough to hurt.

“And don’t bother running to the cops,” Steve adds. “I’ll ruin you long before they ruin me.”

He hangs up.

The silence left behind is suffocating.

My breath breaks.

“Fuck!”

It tears out of me before I can stop it.

The strange man straightens slowly from the desk. He crushes out his cigarette, eyes never leaving mine.

Then, he says calmly,

“I’m Hardin Scott Massino.”

He steps closer, his presence drowning out the room.

“And I can make that little problem of yours… disappear.”

He doesn’t smile.

He doesn’t blink.

He just looks at me like he already owns the next chapter of my life.

And maybe, God help me—I might let him.

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

“I’ll do anything. Whatever it takes.”

He watches me with a slow, calculative pleasure, as though my desperation is a currency he understands better than most.

A slow, wicked smile stretched across Hardin’s lips. He pushed off the desk, walked back to his leather chair, and sank into it like a king claiming his throne.

His cigarette flame briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face.

He exhales.

“Anything?” he repeats, voice low and edged with something lethal.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Good.” He taps ash into a crystal tray, eyes never leaving me. “Now tell me… what’s his name?”

My stomach knots.

My lips part.

And I whisper, “Steve Carter.”

The moment the name falls out of my mouth, Hardin laughs.

A terrifying laugh that vibrates through the room and makes the guard at the door straighten.

I freeze.

Is this man… insane?

He flicks his cigarette aside and wipes his thumb across his lower lip, still smiling that twisted little smile.

“Done.”

My breath catches.

Done? Just like that?

How can something so dangerous be solved so easily?

Before I can question him, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, cigarette between his fingers.

“You’ll meet me tomorrow night,” he says. “Eleven p.m. sharp.”

He slides a small card across the table. An address. A part of the city I’ve never stepped foot in—strange and unfamiliar.

My mind spirals.

Tomorrow night.

But tomorrow I’m supposed to fly with a governor back to the U.S.

A full twelve-hour round-trip.

“I—I have work,” I stammer. “An official flight. A big one. If I don’t show up—”

“You’ll lose everything anyway if you don’t handle this,” he interrupts, voice calm, razor-sharp. “Your career. Your reputation. Your little internet fame. Gone.”

The words slide over my skin like a touch.

He leans back, picks up another cigarette, and lights it without breaking eye contact. Smoke swirls between us, thick and intoxicating.

He’s right.

Steve might destroy me long before I land in New York.

I look at the card in my hand.

The coordinates feel like a doorway into something I can’t come back from.

My pulse is shaking.

But I lift my chin and meet his dark eyes steady, hungry with unspoken plans.

“I’m in,” I say. My voice doesn’t crack this time.

Hardin’s smile widens—not warm, but victorious.

“Good girl.”