Chapter 1

My roommate, Annika Hammond, was giggling uncontrollably on speakerphone, flirting with some trust-fund guy.

"Ugh, Branson—that broke loser—is waiting downstairs again. He's so annoying."

Annika glanced over at me. "Kristen, go down there and deal with him. Just tell him I'm not feeling well tonight."

I followed her gaze out the window.

The entire dorm looked down on Branson Fletcher, convinced he was just another broke transfer student with absolutely nothing to offer.

I was the only one who knew the truth.

Last month, I ran into him at the city's most exclusive private club, where I was working part-time as a cleaner.

I saw him stepping out of a VIP suite, flanked by powerful men, with even the club owner fawning over him.

Snapping out of it, I grabbed an umbrella and pulled on a very sheer white T-shirt before heading downstairs.

In the rain, the wet fabric clung tight to my body, mapping every curve.

I walked right up to Branson and held the umbrella over his head.

"Branson, Annie... she said you should leave."

Branson glanced at my chest, taking in exactly what the wet shirt revealed. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Kristen Valdez, Annika's roommate."

Annika spent the night with her rich boyfriend at a hotel, while I took Branson back to the off-campus apartment I'd rented.

***

I shifted, my whole body aching.

Branson had his back to me, pulling on a pair of over-washed, faded jeans.

"You awake?" He turned around.

His gaze lingered on my collarbone for a few seconds before his lips curled into a playful smile. "Last night was good."

My cheeks instantly flushed red, and I lowered my head in a panic.

Branson walked to the edge of the bed and pulled a necklace from his pocket. "I don't have cash, so take this instead.

"It's a family heirloom, though not a real one. It's not worth anything. Consider it a memento."

I recognized it immediately. I'd seen a business tycoon wearing something similar at the club.

Drunk that day, he'd slammed the necklace on the table, bragging about how costly the blue diamond was.

And it was worth as much as a penthouse in the city center.

Idiot. He was totally committed to this "broke guy" persona. Did he really think I was that stupid?

I pushed the necklace back. "No, I can't take this."

Then I looked up, my eyes brimming with tears. "What kind of person do you take me for?"

Branson raised an eyebrow, looking a little surprised. "I told you it's not worth anything. Just keep it."

"It's a family heirloom. Even if it's not a real one, it must be important to you."

I grabbed his hand and pressed the necklace back into his palm.

Branson stared into my eyes. After a long moment, he let out a soft laugh and took the necklace back.

"Alright. Kristen, right? I'll remember that."

When I got back to the dorm, Annika was sitting in front of the mirror applying lipstick, a brand-new Chanel bag resting near her hand.

"Oh, look, our busy bee is back." She shot me a sideways glance through the mirror.

I focused on packing my things, ignoring her.

Annika crossed her arms and scrutinized me.

"Kristen, I told you to get rid of Branson. Where exactly did you send him?"

I stopped what I was doing and looked up at her.

"Aren't you with Mr. Rayne? Why do you care about Branson?"

Annika's face instantly went red.

She sneered, "He's my hand-me-down, and you're actually taking him? That's just pathetic and honestly, kind of disgusting."

I lowered my eyes and didn't say another word. Arguing with an idiot was a waste of breath.

That afternoon, I got a text from Branson.

"Let's have dinner tonight."

In the evening, I changed into a dress and waited for him at the school gate.

Branson showed up on time, looking as aloof as ever.

I trailed a few paces behind him, trying to figure out his intentions for the night.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Kristen, about last night—"

He was cut off by an arrogant voice.

"Well, well, if it isn't Branson."

I turned around to see Annika linking arms with a slick-looking rich guy, who was staring at us with blatant provocation.

"Well, I'm impressed. I just dumped you, and you're already seeing someone else?" Annika asked.

Her gaze swept over Branson and me, filled with disdain.

"Branson, you're broke. You think you deserve to date? What could you possibly buy her?"

Branson's expression darkened.

I stepped forward, planting myself firmly between them. "Who I choose to have dinner with is none of your business."

Annika's rich boyfriend looked me over with interest.

"This is your friend? She looks pretty good. Why don't you join us for dinner tonight?"

Annika's face doesn’t look good.

She hurriedly grabbed the guy's arm. "Honey, aren't we going to the movies? Don't waste time on people like this."

She glared at me, then dragged the man away in a rush.

Branson looked at me. "You're pretty protective."

I lowered my head, exposing the long curve of my neck to his view. "She shouldn't have crossed the line."

He suddenly smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Come on. Let's eat."

Chapter 2

If I wanted to lock down a wealthy target, I had to be willing to make a few small sacrifices.

Once I had Branson's routine figured out, I slipped into a part-time employee's vest and stationed myself at the mall entrance, clutching a stack of flyers.

The people passing by were strictly high-status or wealthy, and they looked at me with open disdain.

"Hi there, would you be interested in our gym—"

The flyers slipped from my grasp, scattering across the floor. As I bent down to retrieve them, a hand reached the papers before I did.

My pulse spiked. I looked up. It was Branson, just as I'd planned.

He was dressed in worn-out clothes, balancing a delivery box.

"Small world," he said. He handed the flyer back to me, his expression hovering somewhere between a smile and total indifference.

I froze for a split second, then let a look of pleasant surprise wash over my face.

"Branson? You're working part-time here, too?"

Branson went along with it. "Just running a few orders."

I pulled him over to sit on the side steps of the mall. Feigning self-consciousness, I pulled a half-finished bottle of water from my bag.

"This is all I have, if you don't mind..."

Branson glanced at the bottle but didn't take it. Instead, he pulled a label-free bottle from his delivery box, cracked the cap, and handed it to me.

"Drink this. A customer cancelled their order, so it was free."

I took the bottle and drank in small sips. "Are you short on cash?"

Branson leaned back against the wall, looking exhausted. "Yeah. I'm drowning in debt. I don't even know how I'm going to pay next month's rent."

I set the bottle down and reached out, covering his hand with mine. "It's okay."

I looked him right in the eye, keeping my voice steady.

"I can work a few more jobs. I'll support you. As long as we work hard together, we'll pay it off eventually."

His fingers tensed under mine. He turned his head, staring me down. "Kristen, what's your angle? What are you after?"

I lowered my head, forcing a slight blush to rise to my cheeks. "I like you."

Branson laughed. "Fine. You can support me."

He gripped my hand back. "Remember, you said this yourself. Don't regret it later."

I nodded vigorously. "I won't."

Then I thought, "Mr. Fletcher, remember you said that. Don't come crying to me later when you regret it."

Annika turned the other roommates against me. They gossiped loudly in the dorm, calling me shameless for picking up her leftovers.

"Shameless. She'll go after any man."

"Competing with Annika? She really should take a look at herself."

I ignored them all.

Then, Annika "accidentally" knocked over the skincare set Branson had given me, shattering the bottles.

She rolled her eyes and told me I shouldn't have left my things lying around.

I crouched down in silence and cleaned up the mess.

That night, while video calling Branson, I was applying ointment to the back of my hand.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

I quickly hid my hand behind my back. "Nothing. Just a clumsy bump."

But I let the camera catch a glimpse of the pile of broken glass swept into the corner of my desk.

The very next day, Annika's rich boyfriend had his credit cards frozen by his family and immediately dumped her.

Annika raged in the dorm, smashing her own makeup in frustration.

I knew Branson was behind it.

A man like him wouldn't tolerate anyone touching what belonged to him.

Even if that possession was just a plaything.

To solidify our bond, I decided to give him a gift.

I ordered a hand-knitted scarf online.

I specifically requested one that looked poorly made, with plenty of loose threads.

It cost 5 dollars. The goal was purely to provide emotional value.

Branson held the scarf, his expression unreadable.

I stood next to him, forcing my face to flush red.

"I'm sorry... It's my first time knitting. It's so ugly. I should just throw it away."

I reached out to take it back, but he dodged my hand.

He wrapped it around his neck. "It's warm."

Later in bed, Branson was unusually intense.

He paused suddenly, gripping my chin. "Kristen, if I stay this poor forever, will you still stay with me?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck. "What are you talking about? I love who you are, not your money."

I looked up at him, making sure my eyes appeared clear and full of affection.

"I'm willing to do anything just to be with you."

Branson's body tensed for a moment before he moved again with more force.

"Fool."

My gaze drifted over his shoulder to the watch he had carelessly tossed on the bedside table.

It was a Patek Philippe Nautilus, currently trading for 150 thousand dollars on the secondary market.

"Idiot," I replied silently in my head.

The next day, he posted a selfie wearing the scarf.

Even though he blocked most people from seeing it, it was a step forward.

This provoked Annika.

Freshly dumped, she started remembering Branson as a viable backup plan.

Unwilling to let go, she went to the boys' dorm to intercept him.

Instead, she watched him get into a black Maybach.

Annika was stunned.

She stormed back to the dorm and threw her phone in front of me, displaying a photo she had secretly taken.

"Kristen, you idiot, you're being scammed.

"I knew something was wrong. No poor guy looks that refined. Branson is obviously a kept man."

She spoke with manic excitement, convinced she had uncovered a massive scandal.

I looked at the photo and laughed internally.

Annika's imagination was limited by her own experiences.

The idea of a wealthy heir pretending to be poor was simply beyond her comprehension.

I pushed her phone away. "Branson isn't that kind of person."

Annika scoffed and snatched her phone back.

"We'll see who's right when I ask around tomorrow.

"Just wait until you're crying your eyes out, Kristen."

Chapter 3

I certainly wasn't going to ask, but Annika was exactly the type of fool who would.

If she actually confronted Branson about being an escort, his temper would flare instantly.

He'd turn hostile, drop his cover right then and there, and ruin any chance I had of getting close to him again.

I looked at Annika and let out a short, cold laugh.

"Annika, did some rich heir dump you? Are you running low on cash and trying to crawl back to Branson?" I asked.

"Is that why you staged this whole scene? To drive a wedge between us so you can swoop in?"

Annika's face turned bright red.

"What are you talking about? Why would I ever be interested in a broke loser like him?"

The louder she got, the more I knew I'd hit a nerve.

"If you're not interested, then why do you care if he's an escort?"

I stepped closer, challenging her. "Or is it simply that you can't stand to see me happy?"

Annika glared daggers at me, but in the end, she didn't go confront Branson.

Branson's birthday arrived soon after.

I drained my savings and maxed out my credit cards to scrape together 5,000 dollars, then headed to the luxury watch store I'd been eyeing.

I had to pay a steep price to get the result I wanted.

On the day of Branson's birthday, Annika announced she was seeing another wealthy heir, a man named Davion.

"I'm not like you, Kristen. I wouldn't lower myself to date an escort."

I ignored her and walked downstairs, carrying a plastic bag.

Branson was waiting for me under the old locust tree.

"Branson," Annika said, lifting her chin arrogantly.

"Waiting for Kristen? You two are actually a perfect match. You both reek of the same pathetic poverty."

Davion wrapped an arm around Annika's waist and shot Branson a look of contempt.

"Kid, I heard you used to chase Annie. Stay away from her. A loser like you needs to know his place."

Branson just smiled. "Hope you two stay happy together."

Annika hadn't expected him to be so unfazed. She paused, scoffed, then turned around and got into the Porsche.

Branson stayed right where he was. I walked over and stood silently behind him.

He turned around, his eyes landing on the black plastic bag in my hand.

"What? Do you find me embarrassing?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I pulled a small box from behind my back.

I opened it and stuck a candle into the cake inside.

The wind was picking up, so I cupped my hands around the flame.

The orange glow lit up my face as I looked up at him and forced a smile.

"Happy Birthday, Branson."

Branson's gaze shifted from the cake to the bandage on my hand.

He stared at me, and the mockery and coldness in his eyes slowly faded.

I sniffled, holding the cake up to him. "Make a wish."

The wind blew the candle out.

For the first time, I saw guilt in the eyes of this wealthy heir.

Even if it was only for a split second, it was enough.

I handed him the luxury watch that had cost me my entire savings.

He opened the box and raised an eyebrow. He looked surprised, but he didn't ask any questions.

The romantic speech I had prepared wasn't necessary anymore.

Chapter 4

Branson followed me back to my place.

I went to the kitchen sink to wash up, running the numbers in my head.

Six grand for the entry ticket. Looking back, it seemed like a solid investment.

Branson came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in the crook of my neck.

I turned in his arms, and we kissed.

He was into it, passionate, but then he pulled back abruptly. "Give me a second."

I watched him head to the bathroom, his silhouette dark against the frosted glass door.

His phone was sitting on the nightstand. Suddenly, the screen lit up with a bank alert.

"Deposit: $1,500,000. Current Balance: $22,492,813."

My heart started hammering.

I couldn't help myself.

My fingers were shaking as I reached out and unlocked his phone; I'd watched him punch in the code enough times to have it memorized.

I opened his banking app just to be sure.

When I saw the balance with my own eyes, I almost laughed out loud.

Pure euphoria washed over me.

I had won. The gamble paid off.

From today on, everything changed. My future—hell, even my retirement—was secured.

For the rest of my life—no, for the next two lifetimes—I would be set.

But greed was a funny thing.

Looking at the money wasn't enough; I wanted to see his world.

I'd always dreamed of breaking into that circle of New York's top heirs.

That access was my ticket to staying in high society for good.

I opened WhatsApp. Pinned right at the top was a three-person group chat, "The Bet."

My stomach dropped. A cold sense of dread pooled in my gut.

I tapped on the chat.

The first thing I saw was a photo of me in a tight white T-shirt, looking innocent but suggestive.

"Branson, not bad. Her body is incredible."

"She looks so innocent; didn't expect her to be that good at the game."

My pulse pounded in my ears. My hand trembled as I played a voice note from Branson.

"She's interesting... With a body like that, it'd be a waste not to sleep with her."

I kept scrolling.

Every accidental run-in I'd staged, every heartfelt confession—he'd treated it all as a joke, livestreaming the commentary to his friends.

"Mr. Fletcher, how long you gonna play this one?"

"I'll see how long she can keep up the act.

"It'll be fun to wait until she thinks she truly has me, then dump her."

I gripped the phone, a sudden chill icing through my veins.

All my cleverness, all my careful planning—in his eyes, it was just a clumsy, ridiculous performance.

I felt sick—overwhelmed by shame, the anger of being played, and the fear of what came next.

The bathroom door opened.

I didn't have time to hide the phone, so I just looked up, stiff.

Branson was standing there with a towel around his waist, water dripping from his hair.

He leaned against the doorframe, pulled a cigarette from his pack, and lit it.

He looked at me through the smoke with a smirk of arrogant mockery.

"What's the matter, Kristen? Can't keep up the act anymore?"