Chapter 2

He was also the nightmare that had followed her through every night behind bars.

Three years had left no mark on Oliver’s face. Even the hatred in his eyes when he looked at her had not faded by a fraction.

“Sophia. Out already?” Oliver leaned back against the front of the car and lit a cigarette, looking down at her as smoke curled from his fingers. “Three years clearly wasn’t enough.”

Sophia had changed too much.

Her long, glossy black hair had been shaved down close to her scalp. The soft roundness that had once made her cheeks look almost childish was gone, replaced by sallow skin, sharp cheekbones, and hollowed shadows beneath them. The exposed skin on her arms and neck carried scars of every size and shape.

She looked malnourished. Bullied. Beaten down.

So prison had not treated Sophia kindly.

Pity she had not stayed longer.

“I’m sorry,” Sophia said, lowering her eyes by instinct. “I didn’t mean to block your car. I’ll leave now.”

Maybe it was the heat. Breathing suddenly became difficult.

It felt as though a hand had closed around her throat. No matter how hard she tried, she could not pull enough air into her lungs.

All she wanted was to get as far from this man as possible.

“Stop.”

Oliver spoke before she could turn away. Every word that passed his thin lips carried a cutting frost.

“The moment you get out of prison, you go out of your way to throw yourself in front of my car. Still that desperate, Sophia?”

Pain flashed through her chest.

It was July, but Sophia felt as if she had been stripped to a thin dress and abandoned in the dead of winter, the cold sinking so deep it froze her blood.

That night three years ago had become the nightmare she could never escape. She had once believed that after her legs were broken, after she went to prison, Oliver might finally forgive her.

But now, by sheer accident, they had met again, and he still chose the cruelest possible explanation for everything she did.

Sophia realized she had been naive enough to be laughable.

Had she known this was what seeing him again would bring, she would have hidden from him until the end of her life.

But now...

Her hands trembled at her sides. She drew a breath and forced herself to speak.

“What happened back then was my fault, and I’ve already received the punishment I deserved. Mr. Williams, what else do you want from me? I didn’t know your car would pass here. Running into you was an accident. If you don’t want to see me again, I promise I will never appear in front of you from this day on.”

Oliver’s brows tightened. A cruel curve touched his mouth.

“You think three measly years behind bars can cancel the debt you owe? Isabella’s legs are ruined. She’ll spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. Sophia Watson, you destroyed her future. You think this punishment is enough?”

Sophia’s fingers twitched, then curled into fists.

Maybe she had walked too much today. Her legs had begun to ache again, the old pain blooming through the damaged bones.

Those scars were Oliver’s gift to her. For Isabella.

Isabella was paralyzed. Sophia’s legs had been ruined too. Barring a miracle, disability and pain would shadow the rest of her life as well.

By that count, shouldn’t the debt have been paid long ago?

“Mr. Williams,” she said quietly, “what do you want? Three years ago, you broke my legs and left me permanently disabled. What else can you take from me now?”

Aside from her life, she had nothing left.

Oliver studied her. Dark currents moved behind his black eyes. Her words had struck the one place he could not tolerate.

Paid?

How could she ever pay it off?

Even if she gave him her life, it would not be enough for what she owed.

A faint smile touched Oliver’s mouth, but the words that slipped between his teeth were cold enough to belong to something that had crawled out of hell.

“Sophia, you can’t repay it. Your real punishment has only just begun.”

He turned his head toward the secretary standing behind him.

“Leo. Take her to Scarlet. Clean her up a little. She starts taking clients tonight.”

Sophia’s face went rigid.

Scarlet.

Everyone in Sterling knew what Scarlet was: the city’s velvet-lit sinkhole for the rich, a place where money, liquor, and bodies disappeared behind closed doors.

Oliver was sending her there to grind the last scraps of her dignity into dust.

After tonight, every wealthy circle in Sterling would know that Sophia, once one of the cherished daughters of the Watson family, had fallen low enough to work at Scarlet.

Her fingers dug into her palms, leaving a neat row of crescent moons in the skin.

“Oliver,” she asked, “do you really have to go this far?”

He seemed to enjoy the humiliation on her face. A glint of pleasure passed through his eyes.

“If you’re unhappy, feel free to fight back. But think carefully about the consequences. Your sister has been talking lately about wanting to see you...” He paused. “You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

Sophia sucked in a breath.

She understood. Of course she understood.

Oliver was threatening her.

He knew the only person she still could not let go of was Isabella Watson.

In prison, Sophia had learned endurance. She had learned compromise. She had learned to swallow what she was given and survive. Every sharp edge she used to have had been sanded smooth by a place designed to grind people down.

She fell silent.

In front of Oliver, she did not have the right to say no.

Her sudden quietness seemed to unsettle him. Oliver gave a cold snort, turned, and got back into the car.

“Tell Scarlet that Ms. Watson used to be famous. Give her a respectable position.”

The black Porsche tore away from Sophia like a streak of lightning, leaving Leo behind to handle the rest.

Sophia stared after the fading taillights.

Then she asked, “My sister... how has she been these past few years?”

Leo adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. His expression was as cold as Oliver’s.

“Ms. Watson, that is a question you’ll have to ask Mr. Williams yourself.”

Of course.

That was exactly the answer she had expected.

Leo delivered Sophia Watson to Scarlet before the last of the afternoon heat had drained out of Sterling.

Scarlet looked expensive from the outside and predatory from the inside. Velvet ropes, smoked glass, polished black floors, the kind of lighting designed to make money look beautiful and desperation look deliberate.

The woman in charge was close to forty, with sharp, elegant features and the kind of beauty that did not ask permission to stay. Her name was Isla. Everyone called her Isla to her face, but the staff treated the name like a rank.

Following Oliver’s instructions, Isla assigned Sophia to the front door as a hostess.

A brief training session. A uniform. A smile she did not feel. By that night, Sophia was already on duty.

“Good evening. Welcome to Scarlet.”