My Father Sold My Sister To A Monster — So I Made A Deal With Our Worst Enemy

Part 1

The rain over the city was a filthy, freezing thing.

It soaked right through my thin navy coat as I stared up at the towering glass facade of his building.

Ten years ago, my father, Craig, had quietly bled his estate dry through a series of fraudulent ventures.

Tyler’s father hadn’t survived the ruin.

Now, Tyler had spent his twenties rebuilding his fortune with bare, calloused hands.

And he owned the banks that owned my father.

A soft ding echoed as the elevator doors slid open.

I stepped onto the penthouse floor, my boots squelching slightly on the pristine marble.

Tyler leaned back in his leather chair, waiting.

He expected me to throw myself at his feet, pleading for my family’s honor.

I did not weep.

My posture was violently straight.

I reached into the deep pocket of my wet coat.

I withdrew a thick fold of papers, dropping them onto the center of his mahogany desk.

I am not here to beg for my father.

I am here to offer a deal.

Tyler finally stood.

He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, the movement designed to intimidate.

He rounded the desk, stopping mere inches from me.

You have nothing left to sell, Megan.

Now get out of my office before you ruin the rugs.

Four days later, the heat inside the charity gala was oppressive.

I stood near the potted palms where the social outcasts were gently but firmly pushed.

The impending ruin of our family was an open secret in these halls.

I held a glass of watered-down champagne, looking out at the swirling dancers with an expression of profound exhaustion.

Tyler moved through the crowd, parting the sea of silk and broadcloth with the sheer heavy presence of his height and reputation.

The noise died as he passed.

When he reached me, I didn’t jump.

I simply turned my head, my dark eyes locking onto his.

You are bold to show your face here, or simply desperate.

My grip on my glass tightened, but my face remained entirely smooth.

I’m here because my younger sister, Heather, still believes she might salvage a normal life.

She is dancing with her former suitor.

I am simply standing here to give her moral support.

And what of you, Tyler?

Are you here to count the silverware?

He let out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter.

A few heads turned in our direction.

You have a vicious tongue, Megan.

The light from the crystal chandeliers caught the slight sheen on my lower lip.

Tyler stepped entirely into my space.

Dance with me.

It wasn’t a request.

I stepped back, bumping into the large ceramic pot of a fern.

I will do no such thing.

Should you walk away now, they will assume I am here to ruin your family tonight.

But if we take to the floor, they’ll be utterly baffled as to why I am holding you.

Which outcome is safer for your younger sister’s reputation?

I hated him.

I set my glass on the marble sill and placed my bare hand on his arm.

He led me to the floor just as the orchestra began a slow, sweeping waltz.

He stepped entirely into my space, his hand sliding firmly around my waist, his fingers pressing into the green silk at the small of my back.

You are crushing my ribs.

I’m holding you exactly as a man holds a woman he intends to ruin.

I looked up at him, my chin tilted in defiance.

Have you reviewed the patents?

I have.

And they are adequate.

I let out a short, bitter breath.

They will make you millions.

Please spare me the pretense of not caring.

Have you signed the transfer for the house?

Not yet.

I missed a step.

His grip tightened instantly, lifting me slightly to catch my balance before anyone could notice.

My chest heaved, brushing against his jacket.

The sudden proximity sent a spike of raw adrenaline through my veins.

Why?

We had a bargain.

I gave you the patents.

My family needs that house.

You cannot take everything, Tyler.

The sound of his name on my lips stopped the breath in his throat.

He looked down at my mouth.

I was biting my lower lip again, a nervous, desperate habit.

Stop doing that.

Doing what?

Maiming yourself.

Before I could stop him, his gloved thumb moved from where he held my hand.

He brushed it lightly against my lower lip to free it from my teeth.

I froze.

The waltz continued around us, a blur of color and motion.

But in the center of the room, time seemed to fracture.

My breath hitched, washing warm over his knuckles.

My eyes widened, a sudden shocking vulnerability breaking through my cynicism.

Tyler slowly lowered his hand, stepping back, putting cold air between us.

His jaw was locked tight.

I will send my lawyers on Monday, Megan, so enjoy your final weekend.