MasukAriana is drowning....three jobs, a dying sister, medical debt crushing her from all sides. When a discreet opportunity arrives at her door, she doesn't hesitate. Velour Innovations is hiring testers for their luxury pleasure products. The pay is too good to refuse, and she needs the money desperately. What she doesn't expect is the CEO conducting the tests himself. Dominic is dark, powerful, and feared across continents. At twenty-nine, he controls a multimillion-dollar empire and has learned that emotions are weaknesses. The pleasure division is his only escape—his creative outlet in a world of ruthless business. But Ariana is different. She's real in a way nothing else in his life is. When testing becomes something more, and he asks her to do the unthinkable—carry his heir—Ariana must navigate forbidden desire, family conspiracies, inheritance wars, and a love that could destroy her. Because in Dominic's world, there's a price for everything. And she's about to pay it.
Lihat lebih banyak"Get on the testing desk and spread your legs, Miss Ariana."
The command hangs in the air between them, cold and clinical and absolutely not clinical at all. Ariana's heart is hammering so hard she thinks he can hear it. She should be ashamed. She should be embarrassed. She should say no.
But those dark eyes are on her, and she's never felt so seen in her entire life.
And it all started when she decided to sign up to be Dominic's sex toy testing subject.
***
The fluorescent lights of St. Catherine's Hospital hummed overhead, casting everything in a sickly white glow. Ariana sat in the plastic chair outside her sister's room, the hospital billing statement crumpled in her trembling hands.
$47,800.
The number blurred as her eyes burned. She'd already paid $23,000 over the past eight months. The insurance had covered most of the initial surgery, but the complications....the extended stay, the specialized treatment, the medications, those had become her burden. Her sister's burden, technically. But Ariana had taken it on the moment their mother passed five years ago, and she hadn't put it down since.
She didn't even remember what it felt like to put things down.
A nurse passed by, offering a sympathetic smile. Ariana forced one back, the kind she'd perfected over years of waitressing at clubs, shelving books at the library, wiping noses at the nursery. The smile of someone who was fine. Everything was fine.
It wasn't fine.
Her sister, Mira, had been in this hospital for three weeks now. A car accident....not her fault, some drunk driver had T-boned her at an intersection, and now she was stuck here, recovering slowly, and Ariana was stuck here with her, watching the debt grow with every passing day.
She folded the statement and shoved it into her bag. She couldn't think about this right now. If she thought about it too hard, she'd break down, and breaking down wouldn't pay the bills.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: "Ariana? It's Claire from the library. Where are you? You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. I need to leave."
Ariana's stomach dropped. She checked the time. 4:47 PM.
Her shift started at 4:30.
***
She made it to the Riverside Public Library in seventeen minutes, her ancient Honda pushing speeds it probably shouldn't. The guilt was already eating her alive before she even walked through the doors.
Claire was standing at the front desk, arms crossed, her expression hovering somewhere between irritation and pity. That pity made Ariana's skin crawl.
"I'm so sorry," Ariana said immediately, already pulling her cardigan off. "The hospital....my sister needed...."
"I know," Claire said, not unkindly. "Go on, take the desk. I'll head out."
Ariana moved behind the counter, her body already aching. She'd woken up at 6 AM to work the breakfast shift at the nursery, left at 11 AM to grab a few hours at the library, rushed to the hospital at 2 PM, and now she was back here until closing at 9 PM.
Eleven hours. Minimum. And tomorrow she'd do it all over again.
She caught her reflection in the dark monitor of the computer. Dark circles under her electric blue eyes. Her hair....usually a rich brown....looked dull, pulled back in the same messy bun she'd thrown it into yesterday. Her skin was pale. When had she last eaten something that wasn't quick and cheap and forgettable?
She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her.
Is this it? The thought crept in unbidden. Is this all you're ever going to be?
A customer approached with a stack of books, and Ariana pushed the thought away. She scanned them through, smiled that practiced smile, and kept moving.
The shift stretched on. Slow, steady, mindless. The kind of work that let her brain wander to places it shouldn't go, like how she could possibly earn more money, or whether her sister would ever fully recover, or whether she was going to spend the rest of her twenties like this: exhausted, invisible, drowning.
By 8:45 PM, her feet were screaming. Her back ached. Her eyes felt like sandpaper.
She was shelving the last returns when her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: "Hey Ari, it's Simone. You free to talk? I have something for you. Something that could actually help."
Ariana stared at the message. Simone was a girl from her college days, someone she hadn't heard from in almost a year. She knew about Ariana's situation....everyone knew, really. It wasn't exactly a secret that she was working three jobs and barely keeping her head above water.
She typed back: "Not till 9:15. Just getting off work."
The response came immediately: "Call me when you're in your car. Trust me on this one."
***
The parking lot was empty when Ariana made it to her car at 9:17 PM. She sat in the driver's seat for a moment, engine running, heater blasting because October in the city was cold and she couldn't afford to waste gas, before she called Simone back.
Her friend picked up on the second ring.
"Ari! Thank God. How are you holding up?" Simone's voice was warm, but there was an edge of urgency to it.
"I'm... fine," Ariana lied automatically. "What's going on? You said you had something?"
"I do. But first, I need you to promise me you'll hear me out before you say no."
Ariana's stomach tightened. "That's never a good sign."
"I'm serious, Ari. Your life is falling apart. I can see it. Everyone can see it. And I might have found a way to help."
If only it were that simple. Ariana leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. "Simone, if this is about your pyramid scheme...."
"It's not. God, no. Listen, there's a company. It's... well, it's a pleasure products company. High-end. Discreet. They're looking for testing subjects for a new line of products."
Silence stretched between them.
"Testing subjects," Ariana repeated slowly. "You mean...."
"I mean people who will use the products, give feedback, help the company perfect them before they go to market," Simone said quickly. "It's part-time. Temporary. You could probably fit it around your other jobs. And Ari..." Simone took a breath. "The pay is good. Really good. Like, one session could cover a week of your sister's hospital bills."
So Ariana had handed over the phone instead.Simone read the text. Her eyebrows rose, and then, slowly, they came down again."Seventy-five," she said."Thousand.""I can count, babe." Simone set the phone down on the table with great care, as though it might go off. For nearly a full minute she said nothing at all, which in all the years Ariana had known her had happened perhaps four times."Okay," Simone said at last. "Here is what I am going to do. If you take it, I will drive you to the bank myself. I'll wait in the car. I won't say one single word, and I will tell anyone who asks that you were a genius.""Simone.""If you don't take it, I will say that you are a better person than I am, and I will still say nothing, because it is not my life and it's not my sister." She lifted her coffee and pointed it at Ariana like a pen. "But I need you to tell me which one it is. Because the not-knowing is the part that is going to kill me.""I don't know yet.""That's fair." Simone drank. "T
Unknown number.Her stomach tightened before she had read a single word. She angled the screen beneath the edge of the table.You are clever, so here is an offer. $75,000, wired within 48 hours. In exchange, you resign from Velour Innovations and never speak to Dominic Ashford again.She read it once, and then she read it a second time more slowly, because the first time her eyes had slid straight over the number as though it had been written in another language.Seventy-five thousand.It covered the old balance. It covered the new one. It left something over, a little cushion, a year of rent perhaps, a winter coat that had not come from a thrift store. It was exactly enough, and no more than enough, to make every problem she had go away in a single transaction.There was no threat in the message. That was what made her skin prickle. The earlier texts had been sharp little knives, I know what you do at Velour, Be careful who you tell. This one was courteous. This one had been written
He was halfway down the steps when the door of a black car at the curb opened, and a man got out.Dominic knew the walk before he knew the face. It was a loose-limbed, pleased-with-itself swagger, the walk of a man who'd spent twenty-nine years trying to look as if he belonged in rooms he'd been invited into by accident.Adrian.Not heading into the clinic. Leaving it. He'd come out of a side door Dominic hadn't noticed, a staff entrance, and he was tucking a cream-colored folder under his arm. Even from here Dominic could see the letterhead. A small, engraved B.Adrian saw him. He stopped.For a second neither of them moved, and the street seemed to hold its breath. Then Adrian's face opened into a slow, delighted smile."Cousin," he said. "What a surprise."Dominic came down the last two steps."Looking well," Adrian said. He tapped the folder against his palm, lightly, almost fondly. "You should try it, you know. Showing up. People love it when you show up. It makes them feel like
He had tried to sleep. He'd lain on his back in a bed the size of a small country and counted the ceiling. At 2:15 he'd got up and asked the driver to bring the car around, and the driver, who was fifty-something and kind and discreet, had not said a word about the hour.The elevator dinged.Dominic didn't look up. There were only two people alive who had a key to this floor, and one of them was asleep in a Milan hotel.Luke came in the way he did everything, without hurry, like a man walking into his own kitchen. He wore a coat over a T-shirt that said something faded about a boat. He looked at the bench, then at Dominic, then at the dust on Dominic's forearms.He said nothing.He took the other stool, dragged it a foot closer to the lamp, picked up a file, and started on the edge of a piece of scrap.Ten minutes passed. The only sound was wood and metal.Dominic had known Luke since they were twelve years old, two boys at a boarding school with the wrong kind of money and the wrong






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