She shook her head, quick and dismissive. “It’s nothing.”
“Damn it, Mia! It’s not nothing.” My frustration peaked as I pieced together what those marks meant—the intimacy they implied.
Her gaze softened, and she reached out to me with hands that spoke volumes more than words ever could. “Andy…”
My arms pulled her close instinctively—a harbor in the tempest for both of us. “Mia… talk to me.”
She pushed back gently, her resolve waning under my plea. “Andy… It’s not important.”
But it was—the marks on her body screamed it loud and clear.
“Sex, Mia!” The word felt like acid on my tongue. “These are from sex—intense… sex.”
Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson with every syllable that left my mouth.
“Not… not that intense,” she whispered.
The puzzle pieces clicked into place with an icy certainty—James Maxwell.
“It was him,” I said, voice leaden with accusation and disbelief. “Mr. Maxwell?”
She nodded once—confirmation that sliced through me.
She looked up at me then—vulnerable yet somehow unbroken beneath it all.
“Mia,” I began again, desperation edging every word. “What kind of contract did you sign with Mr. Maxwell? I know I said I’d fix things before you left… But now…”
“It’s nothing,” she repeated wearily.
“No!” My voice cracked with urgency. “It’s never nothing.” Her constant understatements were like cracks in armor—seemingly insignificant but ultimately fatal.
Her sigh filled the room as she finally relented. “Me,” she said simply. “I signed myself over for two million.”
Confusion reeled in my mind like a drunken carousel. “What? Say that again?”
“I’m his mistress now,” she clarified quietly, eyes downcast. “In exchange for the two million.”
Staring at her in disbelief felt like watching our childhood dreams crumble into dust before my eyes.
“Damn it!” The word was more prayer than curse now—a desperate plea to whatever powers might be listening for strength not to break down then and there. “This is because of me…”
She cut me off softly but firmly, grounding us both back in reality with her words about the debt and what had transpired last night.
A deep breath steadied me—somewhat—as resolve hardened within me like fresh concrete setting under fire. My gaze bored into hers as if trying to transfer some of that resolve directly into her soul. “I’m going to fix everything, Mia. Trust me.”
She gave a small nod.
“Get changed,” I instructed gently before turning toward the door once more.
“Andy? Where are you going?” Her voice trailed after me—tinged with concern and something else… fear?
“Personal business,” I answered over my shoulder as I strode out into what would undoubtedly be one hell of a day.
Istrutted down the corridor, my jaw set in determination, my footsteps echoing like a drumbeat heralding war, Bruno and Tyrone looming behind me like my own personal twin mountains of muscle. The lush carpet swallowed the sound, but not the fury that spurred me on. I didn’t bother knocking; subtlety wasn’t a luxury I could afford—not today. I barged into Matt’s office like a tempest, unannounced and unavoidable.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of money and machinations. Matt and James lounged on the sofa like twokings in their court. They were neck-deep in business talk—the kind that shapes destinies or breaks them.
My gaze locked on to James, and Matt turned to me, his expression one of mild annoyance giving way to concern.
