Chapter 1

On the day of our engagement, I stood in front of a room packed with guests and told Leon Hart he needed to double the bride price. I had to pay for my little brother's blood transfusion.

He signed the check without hesitating.

Then, as we slid the rings on each other's fingers, he leaned close, and his laugh was cold against my ear. "Desperate for cash? Are you made of gold, or do you charge by the hour?"

For the next three years, he spent every night out at bars and clubs, while everyone laughed at me, the overpriced toy he bought, and regretted it.

While I lay passed out on the curb, burning up with fever, waiting for a stranger to call 911, he was on a yacht in international waters.

He was throwing a birthday party for his newest fling, complete with a private Northern Lights show that cost more than most people see in a lifetime.

When I woke up in that hospital bed, staring at the stained ceiling panels, I grabbed my phone and called him. "Leon, the contract's up. I'm letting you go. Now you let me go."

His voice was thick with disgust. "What's wrong, the allowance got a little tight? Trying to hike up your rates again?"

*****

The chandeliers at the engagement dinner were blinding. I dug my nails into my palms, held the hem of my dress tight, and asked for six million dollars for allowance right there in front of everyone.

The room went dead quiet. Everyone stared at me.

Leon stood across from me, pulled out his checkbook, scribbled his name, and flicked the check against my chest.

The paper fluttered down against my dress. I bent over, picked it up, and tucked it into my purse.

Leon grabbed my hand, forced the ring onto my finger, and leaned in until his lips nearly touched my ear. "So hungry for money. Are you made of gold or working by the hour?"

His breath was hot against my skin, but I stood my ground.

My phone vibrated. Six million dollars hit my account. A second later, a text from the hospital confirmed my brother's surgery was paid in full.

Leon took my hand and showed off the diamond to the guests.

That night, Leon never came home. He was at an exclusive lounge downtown, surrounded by a row of women, and the photos spread through every social circle in town.

I sat in the bedroom until sunrise, my phone buzzing nonstop with messages mocking me for "raising my price" at the engagement.

For the next three years, Leon brought women home right in front of me. He told them I was nothing but an expensive purchase.

I knelt down to pick up shattered glass from a vase he'd knocked over. A shard sliced my finger open. Blood dripped onto the cream carpet, but Leon didn't glance my way.

"Whitney, spare me the sad act. You sure didn't look pitiful when you cashed that check," he said.

He walked over, drink in hand, and stepped on my fingers with the toe of his leather shoe.

I bit the inside of my cheek, pulled my hand free slowly, and kept cleaning up the mess.

Leon was always out at the clubs, and people said I was the lowest woman in the Hart household, less valuable than the cleaning lady.

I couldn't care less about the gossip. All I wanted was for my brother to survive. If he was okay, I could handle whatever came my way.

I survived three years in that house.

When Leon was in a bad mood, he would lock me in the basement for three days with nothing but water, waiting for me to beg.

I lay curled up on the freezing concrete, and the only thing that kept me going was the memory of my brother's face after the surgery. That was my anchor.

Leon shoved the door open. He had a bowl of cold, stale mac and cheese in one hand and threw it at my feet. "Eat up. A woman who'll do anything for a buck deserves exactly this."

I reached down, scooped the food off the floor, and ate it.

Leon watched me for a second, his expression twisting. He crouched down, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look at him.

"Why aren't you begging me? Where did all that fire from before go? Did you get enough cash, so now you've lost your nerve?" he asked.

I swallowed the cold pasta. My voice came out rough and scratchy. "Yeah. Money really is great stuff."

He made a noise of disgust, let go of my face, and stood up. He ground the heel of his shoe into the hem of my dress, leaving a dark scuff mark.

I lived that way for three years, until the afternoon I collapsed on the sidewalk with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, face down in a pile of snow.

A passerby took me to the ER. I didn't have a dime for the hospital bill. The nurse kept coming by the bed, asking for a credit card.

I lay there, watching the fluorescent lights hum overhead, and dialed his number.

Loud music and a woman's laughter, Monica Shaw's, spilled through the phone. "Leon, who's calling so late? Tell them to hang up."

Monica's voice was sharp through the speaker. My knuckles went white around the phone.

Leon's voice came on the line, annoyed and rushed. "What do you want? I'm busy."

I shut my eyes. Tears soaked into the thin pillowcase. "Leon, the deal is over. I'm letting you go. So let me go, too."