Chapter 1

After being gone for four years, I ran into my ex-boyfriend, Andrew Lawson, at an underground casino.

He was a high-roller, tossing cash around like it was nothing, with a new girl in his arms who could almost pass for me.

And I was the attraction on display, locked inside a glass case.

All night, he sat in the crowd, cold and distant, watching as I struck poses and flirted to entertain the wealthy men.

During the intermission, his new girlfriend pointed at me sweetly and said, "Andrew, have her come and wipe my shoes. I'll give her 300 bucks. She's so cheap, and she even dares to have the same face as me—what a curse!"

I didn't hesitate. I climbed out of the glass case, knelt by her feet, and used my sleeve to wipe her limited-edition heels, which were already gleaming.

Whistles and laughter rose from the crowd. Someone took advantage of the chaos and poured red wine over my head.

When I finished, I held out my hand for the money. Instead, Andrew kicked me to the ground. "Emily, are you really that obsessed with money?" he snapped. "You dumped me for cash back then, and now you're willing to be a dog for 300 bucks? Have you no shame at all?"

I endured the pain ripping through my body and picked up the bills from the floor, stained with red wine. "If it's too dirty for you, don't look," I said calmly. "A deal's a deal."

That 300 dollars was just enough to buy two shots of Demerol. At least tonight, it wouldn't hurt so much.

*****

"Andrew, look at her. It's filthy on the floor, and she's still crawling around picking the money up. She really will do anything for cash." Sophia giggled sweetly, clinging to Andrew's arm.

"Disgusting," Andrew sneered. "Same old trash as four years ago."

Laughter rippled through the table.

"Andrew, good thing you got rid of that gold digger. Otherwise, how would you have ended up with Sophia?"

"Exactly. If Andrew ever tossed her a scrap, she should've been bowing and scraping in thanks."

Andrew shot me a cold glance. He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet and slammed it onto the table. "Don't you love money?" he said. "Fine. Drink it all right here, and this three grand is yours." He pointed at a full bottle of whiskey.

I stared at the bottle as a dull ache twisted in my stomach. I had thrown up blood just two days earlier. The doctor had warned me, no matter what, I could not drink again.

But drinking meant money. And money meant survival.

In a daze, my mind drifted back to that night four years ago.

We had just left a movie when we passed a bistro. I casually mentioned that the smell of roasted sweet potatoes always reminded me of my grandmother.

Without a second thought, he bought the restaurant the very next day.

I scolded him for wasting money, but he only laughed and pulled me into his arms. "Who else would I spoil if not you? As long as you're happy, that's all I care about," he said.

Back then, his eyes had burned with warmth and sincerity. Now, there was nothing left in them but contempt.

"Fine." I grabbed the bottle and tilted my head back, pouring the liquor straight down my throat.

The alcohol scorched its way from my chest to my stomach, the sharp burn making my hands shake uncontrollably.

I drank too fast. The liquor went down the wrong way, and I started coughing violently. My chest convulsed with every cough, pain exploding through my body.

Still, I forced myself to swallow, clinging to a single thought—money. If I drank it down, I could get the painkillers. I could get the urn.

The casino manager, probably afraid I'd die here, squeezed his way forward and tried to stop it. "Mr. Lawson, this could kill her."

Andrew pulled out another wad of cash and tossed it at the manager's feet. "Shut up," he said. "Just enjoy the show."

The manager bent down, picked up the money, and quietly stepped aside, saying nothing more.

Before I could even get halfway through the bottle, my stomach seized up, and that metallic sweetness shot up the back of my throat.

"Ugh—" I couldn't hold it in. I bent over, coughing and retching. A mouthful of bright red blood, mixed with alcohol and stomach acid, splattered across the table and soaked into the stack of cash.

"Cut the act," Andrew snapped. "Four years ago, when you took the two million dollars that was supposed to save my mom, you didn't look so fragile then." He kicked the chair by my feet aside, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and staggered upright, bracing myself against the table. I reached out, trying to grab the money.

But Andrew snatched it away before I could touch it. "Someone like you thinks you deserve this?"

Sophia burst out laughing, her voice dripping with mockery. "Andrew told you to finish it, but you puked. That means you don't get the money."

More jeers and laughter followed.

Nausea surged again. My vision went dark around the edges. I forced my trembling body to stay upright, said nothing, and walked out.

The moment I reached the hallway, blood spilled from my mouth. I wiped it away with my sleeve.

Right then, my phone rang. It was the underground doctor. "Ms. Payne, you still owe 600 bucks for the meds. Tomorrow's the final deadline. No more delays. Otherwise, don't even think about getting any more Demerol from me."