A top-tier conglomerate’s PR firestorm sweeps New York. Ethan Rivers is squeezed by smear accounts—“the Manhattan heir hunting coeds on campus.” He answers with a single photo: fingers laced with Autumn Quinn, captioned, “Girlfriend reporting in.” The contract runs three months; the price is her scholarship and a hospital bed for her mother. He fights the capital war; she takes on the campus hype machine. He spares no expense to clear her name; she steps to the mic and dismantles every rumor, one by one. And somewhere along the way, the act stops being an act.
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1
Ethan Rivers was the college boy I sponsored.
Every week he spent two nights at my place, and I wired him fifty thousand dollars.
That day I had him come over to “work out,” and a stream of comments suddenly scrolled across my field of vision.
[LOL, the male lead only loves the heroine. The villainess is just his practice dummy!]
[Does the villainess really think he’s poor? He’s the firstborn grandson of the city’s richest family. Once they take him back, she’s going bankrupt.]
[Can’t wait for the villainess to grovel on her knees and beg him for mercy.]
After I finished reading, I wrapped chains around his wrists and ankles and pushed him until his eyes watered.
The next morning I changed the code to the villa. “Mr. Rivers, don’t come over again. I’m bored,” I texted.
He swayed, pressed his lips together, and walked away.
When he learned I planned to sponsor another student, he turned up downstairs in the rain.
“Miss Quinn, I’ve learned a lot of new tricks.”
“I don’t want your money anymore. I’ll pay to be with you.”
The comments appeared while I was telling Ethan Rivers to massage my legs.
He knelt on one knee, set my foot on his thigh, and kneaded my calf with just the right pressure.
I let out a satisfied hum, slipped open his shirt buttons, and pressed my toes to his chest.
Just as I was about to take the next step, the overlay kept rolling.
[Stop! The male lead’s hands are for playing piano, not rubbing the villainess’s legs!]
[Does she think he likes her? He’s enduring this humiliation to pay for the heroine’s mom’s treatment. He only loves the heroine!]
[The villainess is just a practice dummy. When he’s perfected his skills, only the heroine gets the benefits. Step aside, ma’am.]
I figured I’d been overworked and was hallucinating. I closed my eyes lazily and tapped his eight-pack with my fingertips.
“Mr. Rivers, carry me to the bedroom and take good care of me.”
When I opened my eyes, the barrage was still there.
[So what if she’s rich? Money doesn’t give her the right to humiliate him.]
[Serve you? You really think he’s a poor student? He’s the firstborn grandson of the richest family. Once they find him, the villainess is finished.]
[Counting down to the moment she kneels and begs him to spare her.]
I looked back at Ethan.
He kept his face blank and cold, eyes full of grim resolve, as if I’d wronged him beyond forgiveness.
Please. Two nights a week for fifty grand. If he didn’t want the gig, there were plenty lining up for it.
2
What happened between Ethan and me had started by accident.
The day I agreed to sponsor him, I had stopped by the hospital.
My cycle had been erratic, and I’d been anxious and irritable.
After scanning my chart, the doctor hesitated. “Ms. Quinn, how long has it been since you were… active?”
I’d been single since my last breakup—three, maybe four years.
She wrote a prescription, then added carefully, “Long-term abstinence isn’t great for your body. If you can find a healthy outlet, it’ll help more than pills.”
Her words kept looping in my head as I arrived on campus.
The department brought Ethan to meet me and explained his situation.
He was top of his class, but broke—faded T-shirt, sneakers from years ago.
He was also painfully good-looking, exactly my taste, and I found myself staring longer than I should.
I agreed to sponsor him on the spot, handed him my card, and told him to come by my office if he needed anything.
I sent him three thousand dollars a month for living expenses, the standard package.
Two months later, I was working late when he burst into my office.
His adoptive mother was seriously ill. He needed money.
“How much?” I asked.
He named a seven-figure sum.
I leaned back in my chair and laughed softly. “Mr. Rivers, what makes you think you’re worth that much?”
He said nothing, tugged off his hoodie, and was left in a black tank. His gray sweats hung loose on his hips, the drawstring barely tied.
I hit the remote, and the blinds slid shut. I lifted my chin. “Go on.”
He peeled off the tank, revealing clean lines of muscle and a narrow waist.
I didn’t stop him, even when the sweats hit the floor.
His face flushed. He clenched his fists and forced his voice to stay steady. “You looked at me more than once that day, Ms. Quinn. I figured you didn’t mind my… packaging. I’m in good shape. You’ve seen it now.”
“So, Ms. Quinn, can I use this to pay you back?”
I narrowed my eyes and let my gaze travel over him.
Maybe it had just been too long. Every nerve in me felt hot. He was young, immaculate, and built like sin. If I needed an outlet, he was a very good one.
“Let’s try it,” I said. “If I’m satisfied, I’ll pay you weekly. It’ll cover your emergency.”
That was how our arrangement began. I hadn’t expected that for someone who volunteered himself, he’d still act so aggrieved.
Men. Spoiled, every last one.
I pulled a big case from under the bed.
A girlfriend had sent it when she heard I’d picked up a college boy—told me to only open it upstairs.
I didn’t have to unwrap it to know what was inside.
At first I’d worried he was too young for toys like these. Now I decided he should learn what humiliation actually felt like.
I snapped the lid open. A whole array of toys gleamed up at me.
I lifted a length of chain and smiled at Ethan. “Mr. Rivers, tonight will be different.”
“Do me a favor and kneel nicely.”
3
Ethan Rivers knelt at the head of the bed, his hands bound behind him, his ankles chained, a white scarf between his teeth.
I pulled out a whip and a candle.
[The villainess is seriously twisted. What gives her the right to treat him like that?]
[Look, he’s furious—his face is red enough to bleed.]
[He’s arching in pain. If only the heroine were here; she’d never let him suffer like this.]
[Too intense! He can’t take it—he’s tearing up. He’ll hate the villainess forever.]
When the wick caught, Ethan flinched and clamped his mouth shut to choke back a sound.
I stopped reading the comments and tried everything in the box on him, one by one. He panicked and couldn’t refuse.
By morning, his legs were still trembling. “Ms. Quinn, I’m heading back to campus,” he said. “I’ll come by next weekend.”
The comments from the night before left a sour taste. “Mr. Rivers,” I said, “don’t come next week.”
He blinked. “Are you traveling? Then I’ll come the week after—”
“Don’t come then either,” I cut in. “I changed the code to the house. Don’t come again.”
“Did I do something wrong?” He searched his memory. “Was the calf massage off, or did I hurt you last night? I don’t have much experience. I lost control a little. Next time I’ll—”
“Mr. Rivers, you’re too stiff in bed. One move, over and over. It’s boring, and I’m done.” I kept my voice even. “What I’ve given you these past months covers your mom’s medical bills. Our arrangement is over.”
He swayed, his lips shaking. “What if I don’t want it to end?”
I held his gaze and, after a beat, smiled. “You’re confused. We weren’t dating.”
“Technically, I’m your patron. I set the terms from beginning to end. You don’t get a vote.”
I flicked my hand. Security stepped forward to escort him out.
“No. I’ll go.” He shook them off and disappeared from sight.
[She dares dump the male lead? He’s about to be the richest family’s heir apparent. She won’t be worthy to breathe his air.]
I poured a glass of red and drained it.
So what if he was the heir? I earned my money clean. I had nothing to fear.
After that day, Ethan never came back. We became two straight lines—crossing once, then running parallel forever.
[He finally saved enough for the heroine’s mom’s treatment. Bye-bye, villainess arc!]
[The leads are out to dinner as we speak. Cue the sweet-and-angsty love story.]
I glanced at the comments, opened Ethan’s profile, and blocked his number.
After catching my ex cheating, I’d made myself a promise: I didn’t cling to men who weren’t mine.
Half a month later, I still ran into Ethan at a banquet.
4
The banquet had been scheduled six months earlier.
I didn’t know if Ethan was short on cash again, but he was working the floor as a server.
[Here we go—key plot incoming!]
[Their relationship is about to turn. The male lead is going to drink something spiked and burn up from the inside.]
[Good thing the heroine shows up in time. She takes him to a stairwell and, ahem, “helps.” The body heat and zero distance finally make the “siblings” realize how they feel.]
[Do it. Do it, do it, do it!]
I hadn’t planned to get involved, but the comments wrecked my focus.
I decided to warn Ethan not to drink anything at random.
I searched the hall and couldn’t find him.
[Why is the villainess wandering around? Sit still.]
[She still has feelings and wants to find him, right?]
[Don’t come! He just bumped into the heroine, and he’s burning up.]
[Oh my god, she’s already taking off her top. He’s not going to hold it together!]
Fate loved its scripts. I shut my eyes, told myself to drop it, and headed back toward the ballroom.
As I passed a stairwell, a soft moan cut through the echo.
“Ethan, I don’t want you to suffer. It’s okay. I’m willing.”
“Do whatever you need. I can handle it.”
My stilettos clicked too loudly. The motion sensor flicked the lights on.
A girl stood there in only a bra, crying as she tugged at Ethan’s shirt.
His cheeks were flushed, his breath ragged. His eyes lifted and found me.
[What a buzzkill. Why show up now?]
[Get out. Let the leads be, please.]
I agreed I’d arrived at the worst time. I forced a small laugh, covered my eyes, and said, “Carry on. I didn’t see a thing.”
I started to leave.
When I drew level with him, a hand caught my arm.
“I know you like a clean man,” he panted. “I didn’t touch her.”
“But I drank the wrong thing. I feel like I’m going to explode.”
He pressed my hand to a very specific proof of his problem and, awkward and earnest, begged, “Could you—help me out?”
The contact froze me.
What I felt told me he was in real trouble. Even his voice trembled.
Of course the dosage would be heavy at a party like this. No way he could fight it.
He stared straight at me, eyes bright with heat and wet at the corners.
My resolve wobbled, and the comments only got nastier.
[Wrong girl, man. The heroine is right there. Why the villainess?]
[Try the heroine once. Trust me—you’ll be hooked.]
[You’re just in withdrawal because the villainess dumped you. Snap out of it.]
[Remember? Every time you were done with the villainess, you scrubbed yourself in the bathroom forever. Don’t let her make you “dirty” again.]
The half-dressed girl looked at me. “Autumn, don’t worry. I’ll help him.”
Right. His future official girlfriend was present. Why should I care?
I turned on my heel, though my steps stayed slow, and my sideways glance betrayed me.
She rose onto her toes and looped her arms around his neck. “Ethan, look at me. I’m right here.”
“Don’t hold back. You can make me cry.”
Public stairwell. No shame left in the world.
I had seen enough and was pushing the fire door when glass shattered behind me.
I looked back.
Ethan gritted his teeth and shoved the girl away.
He grabbed a bottle, smashed it, and scooped up the jagged bottom. Blood beaded in his palm.
“Camila Lane, stay away from me. Don’t touch me.”
“Seriously. Disgusting.”
He drew the sharp edge across his arm, carving red lines until he could brace his back to the wall and breathe.
He cut and then turned his head toward me, his eyes lit with a raw plea.
[Is he insane? He’d rather hurt himself than touch the heroine?]
[Did the villainess hex him?]
[Relax, relax—it’s a grovel-for-love story. He’ll be begging later.]
[It’s the villainess’s fault. If she hadn’t shown up, the plot would’ve flowed.]
Camila panicked and lunged to stop him.
Before she could reach him, I hooked a finger in the back of her collar and held her in place. From a yard away, I asked, “Why hurt yourself?”
“Ms. Quinn said she only wants a clean man,” he rasped. “If I get dirty, I lose the right to go back to her.”
He shook, his lashes wet, the corners of his eyes flushed.
He looked wrecked—and devastating.
I let Camila go, stepped in, and took the glass from his hand.
The moment I got close, he folded against me, heat searing my ear.
“Miss Quinn, I can’t hold it together around you. Please. Help me.”
“Not here,” I said, pulling him off me. His face fell, and I threaded my fingers through his.
“Come upstairs with me.”
[Wait—he’s going with the villainess and leaving the heroine behind?]
[My poor girl. She’s going to cry.]
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