Is this real?

{Hailey Pov}

The next day, I paid a price for sleeping in the truck. My whole body ached, and I had to shower after gym. I blink at the rising sun and think about lighting a cigarette. Then I remember I’m broke, pissed, and tired of using smoke to pretend I’m fine.

The truck door creaks open.

Kiara stands there in her messy bun, oversized shirt, and eyes that say she didn’t sleep either.

“I made coffee,” she says.

I did not answer.

“You don’t gotta talk, just drink it.” She hands me the chipped mug, her fingers brushing mine.

I sip. Too bitter, too hot, but it’s something.

She leans against the door, arms crossed. “I’m sorry about Craig. I swear I didn’t know he’d show up last night.”

“You let him back in.”

She flinches, and I instantly hate how my voice sounds, sharp, accusing. But I don’t take it back.

“I know he’s a dick,” she mutters. “But I love him. Stupid, huh?”

“No. Just sad.”

She nods. The silence stretches between us, tight and uncomfortable.

“I didn’t mean for you to sleep out here.”

“I didn’t want to punch him in the throat, so… self-preservation.”

Kiara chuckles softly. “Classic Hailey.”

I sip again. The heat loosens something in my chest.

She slides into the passenger seat, curling her legs up. “I miss us. Before the drama. Before the stripping became survival instead of fun.”

“It was never fun for me.”

Kiara tilts her head. “Really?”

“I smiled on stage because that’s what sells. But every time I heard a man call me ‘baby girl’ or offer cash for more, I felt like disappearing.”

She doesn’t speak right away. Then: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you were the only good thing I had. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

She swipes under her eyes. “You never mess it up. You hold me up, even when I’m the one crumbling.”

That tugs something sharp in my chest.

“I guess… we’re all a little broken,” I say, voice softer. “Just trying not to bleed on each other.”

Kiara smiles faintly. “Deep. You should write that down.”

I roll my eyes. “Poetry doesn’t pay rent.”

And then a knock came on the side door of the glass. The man in a suit in the club, who stares at me without tipping, what the hell does he want from me?

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“All I want is a few minutes of your time. I want to talk to you.” He said, I gazed at Kiara.

“Okay, you can say whatever you wanna say here.”

Then he proceeded “ My name is Harrison Leach

I’m here on behalf of McConnell Smith, and Jones, a New York-based law firm representing the George Lachaln estate.” Harrison's pale eyes met mine. “George Lachlan passed away earlier this month.” A weighty pause. Harrison studied my reaction or, more accurately, the lack thereof. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

The sensation of standing on train tracks was back.

“No,” I said. “Should it?”

“George Lachlan was a very wealthy man, Ms. Vale.

And it appears that, along with the family and people who worked for him for years, you have been named in his will.”

I heard the words but couldn’t process them. “His what?”

“His will,” Harrison repeated, a slight smile crossing his lips. “I don’t know what he left you, exactly, but your presence is required at the will’s reading. We’ve been postponing it for weeks.”

I was an intelligent person, but Harrison Leech might as well have been speaking Swedish.

“Why would your George leave anything to me?” I asked.

Harrison hummed. “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of making travel arrangements on your behalf.”

This wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons.

“What makes you think” I started to say, but Kiara cut me off.“Great!” she said, giving me a healthy side-eye.

Harrison smirked. “I’ll give you two a moment.” His eyes lingered on mine too long for comfort, and then, without another word, he strode out.

Kiara and I were silent for a full five seconds after he was gone. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she whispered finally, “but I think he might be God.”

I snorted. “He certainly thinks so.” It was easier to ignore the effect he’d had on me now that he was gone.

What kind of person had a self-assurance that absolute? It was there in every aspect of his posture and word choice, in every interaction. Power was as much a fact of life for this guy as gravity. The world bent to the will of George Lachlan. What money couldn’t buy him, those eyes probably did.

“Why would this George Lachaln a man I’ve never met, never even heard of, put me in his will?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Kiara said, “but that” she gestured in the direction Harrison had gone, “is not a scam.

I pulled out my phone and searched for George Lachlan later, and the two of us were reading a news headline: Noted Philanthropist Dies at 88.

“Do you know what philanthropist means?” Kiara asked me seriously. “It means rich.”

“It means someone who gives to charity,” I corrected her.“So… rich.” Kiara gave me a look. “What if you are a charity? They wouldn’t send this guy to get you if he’d just left you a few hundred dollars. We must be talking thousands. You could travel, Hailey, or put it toward getting an apartment or buy a car.

I could feel my heart starting to beat faster. “Why would a total stranger leave me anything?” I restated, resisting the urge to daydream, even for a second, because if I started, I wasn’t sure I could stop.

“Maybe he knew your mom?” Kiara suggested. “I don’t know, but I do know that you need to go to the reading of that will.”

“I can’t just take off,” I told her. “Neither can you.”

We both would miss work. And yet… if nothing else a trip would get Kiara away from Craig, at least temporarily. And if this is real… It was already getting harder not to think about the possibilities.

“We are going to call the club for a two-day shift,” Kiara said. Reached for my hand. “Come on, Hailey. Wouldn’t it be nice to take a trip, just you and me?”

She squeezed my hand. After a moment, I squeezed back. “Where exactly is the reading of the will?”

“New York!” Kiara smiled. “And they didn’t just book our tickets. They booked them first class.