Sex, huh?

Rome

You keep acting like you have a choice.

That’s what kept echoing in my skull like a curse. A loop I couldn’t break, no matter how much I wanted to. Because he was right.

I didn’t understand. Not really.

Not why I came back to this cursed city. Not why I said yes to this meeting. Not why, after everything, I was sitting here in a private room with Zayn fucking Sanchez again, when I swore I’d never let him near me, not in this life, and definitely not in the next.

I came back to get my life back together. To scrape together the version of myself that didn’t come with apologies or handouts. I told myself I was done with ghosts, especially the kind that wore expensive suits and smelled like sin.

But here he was, lounging across from me with that same unreadable smirk, like he hadn’t just gutted me and walked away five years ago.

Only this time, he wasn’t here to fuck me senseless and disappear.

This time, he was asking for my hand in marriage.

To help the Calloways.

That part? That was the punchline. The real joke. Marry Zayn Sanchez to help the same family that once turned their backs on me? The same people who made sure my mother died, carrying their horrible secrets to her grave.

No. Fucking. Way.

I left that estate with blood in my mouth and rage in my lungs. I told myself I was done being their pawn. I’d burned every bridge, starved out every ounce of hope, sold my soul in pieces to keep my sister breathing in that hospital bed.

I buried our name in shame just so the world wouldn’t laugh when they saw me walk by.

And yet, Zayn found everything.

The collapsing business. The late bills. The collectors I sweet-talked and threatened just to buy another week. He saw all of it. Knew all of it. And worse—he stared at me with those deep eyes.

Silently. Like it meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

He didn’t just fuck me that night. He bought every version of me I tried to bury, every humiliation, every desperate choice. He wrapped them in a bow and brought them back to the surface like he had the right.

And I hated that he could.

Hated even more that I let him.

But I’d done my own digging too. Zayn Sanchez wasn’t just some Wall Street god with a temper and a black card. He was the unwanted son of a dying empire, the bastard with blood on his hands and grit in his veins.

He was the last card they had left, the one they threw away, only to come crawling back when he built an empire of his own. He ruled now and from what I found out, he was the ruthless and merciless heir of the Sanchez Empire.

The kind of man who smiled while the world burned.

And now, apparently, he wanted me.

Not for love. Not for some long-lost spark he couldn’t forget. For business.

The irony?

I still came.

I sat across from him while he looked at me like he was waiting for the first move in a game he already knew how to win. That fucking smirk again. The same one that used to make me feel like I was falling apart, but now it just made me shiver.

“You always wear that smirk when you’re lying or when you’re horny,” I said, arms crossed. “Which one is it this time?”

He didn’t blink. He simply tilted his head, all calm and menace. “Maybe both.”

And damn me, my body still remembered him.

But I wouldn’t be that stupid again. Not twice.

He folded his hands on the table like he was about to pitch a business merger, not proposition me into some twisted alliance.

“I know you’ve thought about it,” he said smoothly. “You wouldn’t be sitting here if you hadn’t.”

I chuckled bitterly and dryly. “Or maybe I just wanted to slap that smug look off your face.”

“Maybe,” he said, lips twitching. “But you're still here.”

God, I hated how calm he sounded. How sure. I hadn’t said a damn word about that night, hadn’t even hinted at how he left me exposed and broken, and yet here he was, ten steps ahead, like always.

"Zayn, what precisely are you offering?" I leaned forward and spoke quietly. “You want to marry me for show, screw me behind closed doors, and then what? I become your trophy? Your weapon against my father?”

His eyes remained fixed. “You want honesty?”

I stared at him, my jaw clenched.

“I’ll clear all your debts.”

I blinked.

“Every last cent,” he said. “Your sister’s treatments. The loan sharks. The lines of credit. I already have the numbers. I know you’ve been paying what you can, but it’s not enough. It’s been four years, and you’re still drowning—because every time you make a dollar, it goes into saving someone else.”

That hit. Hard.

“You looked into me,” I said sharply even though I knew about it.

“Of course I did.”

That stung more than I wanted to admit. He knew. All the things I fought like hell to keep hidden, he peeled them back like it was easy. As if I were just another file to read, another deal to negotiate.

“You think money fixes everything?”

“No,” he said softly. “But it gives you a choice. You don’t have to keep selling yourself to survive. You can breathe, Rome. You can protect her without breaking yourself.”

I hated how quiet his voice got. Like he actually cared. Like he wasn’t the one holding the knife.

“I’m not for sale,” I muttered.

He stood then, slowly. Came around the table until he stood beside me, close enough to feel him.

"No," he whispered, his voice dark and low. “But you’re already drowning. I’m just offering a lifeline... with strings.”

His hand found my waist, confidently and possessively. The way it used to be. He slid it down, fingers tracing the shape of my ass like he owned it.

“It’s one year,” he said. “Sex. No feelings. We marry. We play nice. When it’s over, you walk. Debt-free. Clean slate. What’s got you hesitating?”

He smirked again. “Scared you’ll fall in love with me again—or scared I’ll ruin this ass of yours?”

My glare sharpened, but my body? My body betrayed me.

“Why the hell would I be scared?” I snapped. “I’ve taken bigger cocks than yours.”

His smirk faltered.

I smiled.

Then, as slowly as sin, I allowed my hand to fall, pressing through his slacks, hard, hot, and just as cocky as I remembered.

“Sex, huh?” I pressed my lips to his ear as I leaned closer. “Let’s see if you’re even worth the trouble.”

Because if he was going to use me, I'd make sure he bled for it.

And if I was going to drown?

I’d damn well take him with me.