Well, shit. Nothing like getting straight to the point.

Caleb’s question hangs between us—all judge, jury, and executioner wrapped in a criminally attractive package.

I count backward from five, trying to remember how functional humans form sentences.

“Because I refuse to be currency,” I finally say, my voice cracking like I’m thirteen again. “My father’s selling me to Anthony Harris like I’m a merger opportunity. At least this way, I get to set my own terms.”

Something shifted in Caleb’s expression. Not judgment, but a dawning understanding that made my chest ache.

“The engagement announcement,” I continue, verbal diarrhea taking over now that the dam’s broken. “It was the first I’d heard of it. My birthday gift—getting auctioned off to a stranger. And when I had the audacity to object? Daddy Dearest threatened total excommunication. No trust fund, no credit cards, no safety net. Just little virgin Mikaela versus the big bad world.”

With each revelation, Caleb’s jaw tightens like he’s getting dental work without anesthesia. His knuckles go white against the armchair.

Good. Let him feel something.

“Four hundred and fifty-five thousand dollars,” I say, watching for a reaction. “That’s what my virginity is worth on the open market. Almost half a million to never have to beg for Daddy’s money again.”

I laugh, and it sounds like glass breaking.

“Ironic, right? The thing he values most about me becomes my escape route.”

Caleb leans forward, elbows on knees, looking at me like I’m a bomb he’s trying to defuse. “Is freedom worth that price?”

The question slices deeper than if he’d just called me a whore outright. My eyes burn.

“Ask me again when I’m not drowning.”

The silence stretches between us like old gum.

I can practically hear the moral debate happening behind his eyes—a civil war between what he wants and what he thinks is right.

God, men are exhausting.

“Your father would never forgive this,” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

Something in his tone made my spine straighten. Not concern for me, but genuine fear of Gunther’s wrath.

“You’ve seen how he destroys people who betray him,” Caleb continues. “Business partners, friends… imagine what he’d do if he knew his daughter—”

“Sold what he was saving for the highest bidder?” I finish, watching realization dawn on his face.

The truth crystallizes with a vicious clarity that’s almost beautiful. My father wouldn’t just be angry—he’d be devastated.

Humiliated. Destroyed.

And then it hits me like a freight train of petty revenge: If losing my virginity to a stranger would hurt my father, losing it to Caleb—his friend, his houseguest, the man he trusts—would absolutely fucking annihilate him.

The betrayal would cut twice as deep.

I study Caleb—the tension in his shoulders, hands flexing against his thighs like he’s physically restraining himself. He’s trying so hard to be noble, to save me from myself.

But what if I don’t want to be saved?

What if I want to watch it all burn?

My body answers before my brain can catch up, heat pooling between my legs, skin suddenly electric. Twenty-two years of good-girl conditioning, and it takes exactly one forbidden thought to turn me into a walking hormone.

“You bought me,” I say, standing slowly.

Caleb’s eyes track my movement like I’m a tiger that just escaped its cage.

“Technically, I belong to you for the next—” I glance at my phone “—two hours and thirty-seven minutes.”

I take a step closer, surprisingly steady for someone whose internal organs are doing the macarena. “That’s a lot of money to waste on nobility.”

His breathing changes—shallower, more controlled. Amateur move. Dead giveaway.

“Mikaela, don’t.”

But I hear what he doesn’t say—not I don’t want you but we shouldn’t. The distinction ignites something feral in my chest, something that’s been starved for twenty-two years.

“You know what the worst part is?”

I move closer, close enough to smell him—expensive cologne layered over something darker, something that makes my mouth water.

“I’ve never even been kissed. Twenty-two years old, about to be married off to Finance Bro Barbie, and I don’t even know what it feels like to be wanted.”

I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. The knowledge that he’s struggling sends a power surge through me that’s better than any drug.

“You’ve been kind to me,” I say, softening my voice to just above a whisper. “The only person who sees me as more than a walking trust fund. Maybe that’s why—”

I reach out, fingers barely grazing his knee. He goes completely still, like a predator fighting its nature.

“Maybe that’s why I wish my first time could be with someone who actually gives a damn about me. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

His control cracks—just a hairline fracture, but I catch it. His hand moves toward mine before he catches himself, fingers curling into a fist like he’s physically restraining himself.

“I can’t be that person for you,” he says, but his voice has dropped an octave, rough around the edges. “Your father trusts me.”

“My father owns me,” I counter. “Or thinks he does. Isn’t that why we’re here? Because I’m trying to take myself back?”

Caleb stands abruptly, putting distance between us like I’m contagious. But instead of feeling rejected, I feel strangely calm.

I’ve pushed him to the edge of his control, and the knowledge is intoxicating.

“This isn’t taking yourself back,” he says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is—”

“What? Revenge? Maybe it is.” I take another step toward him, closing the distance. “But it’s also a choice. My choice. For once in my life, I get to decide who touches me. Who sees me. Who knows me.”

His eyes darken to midnight, pupils expanding like black holes. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his face.

My fingers tremble against his jaw, the slight stubble scraping my fingertips.

“I’m asking for one night where I’m not Gunther Wallace’s possession. Where I’m just Mikaela.”

The tension between us could power Manhattan—a live wire stretched to breaking. His hand catches my wrist, but he doesn’t push me away.

Instead, his thumb presses against my pulse, feeling the rapid beat that betrays my nerves beneath my bravado.

“One kiss,” I breathe, barely audible. “Just one. If you can look me in the eye afterward and tell me you feel nothing, I’ll walk away. No harm done.”

Caleb doesn’t move. He’s breathing like someone who’s running complicated calculations in his head, a man walking himself back from the edge of a cliff.

Then his eyes met mine, and I saw everything there. Hunger, conflict, need—it made my heart slam against my ribs.

“One kiss won’t be enough,” he warns, his voice a low rumble that I feel between my legs. “That’s the problem.”

Caleb’s grip on my wrist was gentle but firm. The heat of his fingers against my pulse point sends electricity arcing through my nervous system.

Twenty-two years of carefully controlled existence, and it takes exactly one man’s touch to short-circuit my entire brain.

“Look at me,” he commands softly. I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with enough consequences to sink a battleship.

My answer will change everything. For me, for him, for my father, for the future I’ve been so desperate to escape.

I swallow hard, my entire body humming like a live wire.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want you.”