My fists were clenched so hard my knuckles ached. In that moment, I wanted to kill him.
But I couldn't.
I stood there in the moonlight, my face white as paper.
Victoria lifted her gaze and gave me one slow, provocative look—then, just as fast, softened into that sweet, concerned mask.
"Clyde, maybe we should just drop it. Deidre's been through enough… We can find another way."
"No."
His voice was absolute.
"I've already come this far. I'm not stopping now. Besides—"
He glanced at me.
"Deidre's a smart woman. She'll agree."
I looked at him, a tangle of emotions knotting inside me.
Three years ago, when I first came to Sterling City, I was renting a partitioned room in Brookside District.
In winter there was no heating—I'd pile on three quilts and still lie there shaking.
I told myself back then:
Deidre, remember this. In this city, nobody is going to save you. You can only save yourself.
Three years of clawing my way to where I stood now. How much I'd suffered, how many humiliations I'd swallowed—only I knew.
I thought Clyde was my reward for all of it. Proof that the worst was behind me.
It wasn't.
He was just another lesson.
A crueler one.
I took a deep breath, lifted my head, and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Fine."
"I'll do it," I said, cold and level. "But when it's done, on top of the five million, you pay me half again as much."
Clyde raised an eyebrow. "Deal."
The moment I turned to leave, every trace of warmth dropped from my face. So from the very beginning, he'd treated this as a transaction and a performance.
Fine. I was a professional actress. I could give him the show of his life.
The next day. A brand event.
I wore a dress Clyde had picked out in advance.
Black. Deep V. Thigh-high slit. Sexy to the point of gaudy.
Normally I would have refused anything this revealing, but today I didn't.
Because I knew exactly what this dress was—Clyde's handpicked foil costume. Beside me, Victoria wore a little white cocktail dress, pristine and untouched, like some fairy descended from the heavens.
Black and white. Gaudy and pure. Tramp and sweetheart.
Every camera angle built the same story without a single word:
One cheap. One refined.
The venue was packed, camera flashes firing from every direction.
Clyde had one arm around my waist and a champagne flute in the other, all doting smiles for the cameras like I was the love of his life.
I leaned against his shoulder, smiling too. Stiff.