Chapter 1
My mom was dying. I agreed to my ex-fiancé Joe Parker's demand: pose nude in his studio.
I gritted my teeth and endured, clinging to one thought: tomorrow, the surgery money would be mine.
Halfway through, I heard a few chuckles from behind the room divider. "Her figure is even hotter than the top girl at the club."
My skin crawled, but Joe just chuckled and added another stroke. "The more scared you are, the more your muscles tense up. That's what makes the lines so beautiful."
I grabbed my clothes off the floor, but he spoke up again, totally unfazed. "I'll transfer the surgery money next month."
I jerked my head up, panic choking my voice. "You said tomorrow."
My mom wouldn't make it that long.
Joe wiped the paint off his hands, totally unfazed.
He said, "I just bought Wiona a pink diamond.
"She's coming back for her art show. She needs something to steal the spotlight."
He thought I'd break down and beg, but this time, I was tired.
*****
"Jennifer Scott, move your hands." Joe's voice was cold as ice.
I stood on the model stand, gripping the cloth tightly.
From behind the room divider came the flick of a lighter, then a few whistles.
"Whoa, hold up. Is that really Jennifer Scott? The girl who used to be the talk of the town? Damn, that skin is something else."
"Joe is really blessed. How'd he manage to tame such a top-tier beauty?"
I was shaking all over.
The moment I realized we weren't alone, I instinctively grabbed for my clothes.
Joe snapped his paintbrush in half with a sharp crack and tossed it at my feet.
He wiped his hands clean of paint.
"Did I say you could move?" he asked.
The room divider slid open. Three guys walked out, their eyes raking over me like I was on the menu.
One of them had chased me for three years. Back then, he wouldn't even dare touch my hand.
Now, he was pointing his phone at me, ready to record.
He grinned and said, "Jennifer, never thought you'd fall this far.
"Call me something sweet, and maybe I'll let you have some spending money."
I bit my lip until it split, my mouth filled with the taste of blood.
My gaze went to Joe.
He sat in the shadows, holding a glass of red wine.
I said, "Joe, make them leave. Please."
He swirled his glass and smirked.
He said, "If you're begging, show me what real begging looks like."
With a flick of his wrist, he spilled the whole glass of wine onto the floor, splashing my foot.
He pointed at the floor. "Clean it up.
"Use your body. Clean every inch, slowly.
"Once you're done, we'll talk about the surgery money."
The other guys roared with laughter.
The snaps wouldn't stop, the flashes burning my eyes.
Tomorrow was the last day to pay for the surgery.
If I didn't have the money, my mom's treatment would stop.
I shut my eyes, tears falling, and lowered myself to the floor.
My knees slammed against the tiles, pain shooting through me.
I crawled to Joe's feet, pressing my body into the spilled wine, wiping it clean with my skin.
Someone blew a wolf whistle.
"Joe's the real player here!"
"If we drop this in the group chat, everyone's gonna lose their minds!"
Finally, I finished cleaning.
I looked up, my face covered in wine and grime, filthy beyond words.
"The money..." I reached out, my palms stinging and torn.
Joe looked at me, disgust written all over his face.
He pulled out his checkbook and signed a check for 200 thousand dollars.
That was my mom's life-saving money.
I reached out to take it, but he released it from his hand.
The check floated straight into the shredder beside him.
The sound of the machine was harsh, grating in my ears.
In just a few seconds, all my hope became nothing but a pile of shredded paper.
I stared, dumbfounded. "Why..."
I slumped to the floor, too weak to move, my throat so sore I could barely speak.
Joe stood up and brushed off his pants.
He said, "Jennifer, you make me sick.
"You're no better than a dog.
"Do you really think you can negotiate with me?"
He seemed to lose interest, massaging his temples.
He said, "Get out. Wiona will be here any minute. Don't let her smell the stench in this place."
I was shattered.
Five years ago, someone tried to break Joe's hand, and I jumped in to protect him. I ended up breaking three ribs.
He held me, crying, swearing he'd always keep me safe.
So much for forever. It barely lasted at all.
I didn't even remember how I got out of the studio.
Their laughter followed me, loud and vicious.
Outside, the rain was pouring down in sheets.
The rain washed the wine off my skin, but the shame stuck to me, no matter how hard I tried.
My phone buzzed.
It was a text from the hospital: [Ms. Scott, if you don't pay tonight, we'll have to stop everything.]