She swallows, but her eyes never leave his. She holds his stare with quiet defiance, even though I can see her trembling.
“You think he would tell me?” she replies, her voice soft but steady. “After the way I treated him?”
Oliver chuckles like she’s told him a joke.
“I admire how self-aware you are,” he says brightly, then turns back to me, wicked amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well… let me tell you how your boy’s been making his money.”
My stomach coils tight. My fingers dig into my jeans, nails biting into denim like it might hold me together.
“You remember when you used to sleep with men for money, Kathryn?” Oliver says, his voice low and grating like gravel dragged across concrete. “Your son does the same now. The only difference is, he’s fucking upscale. And dealing with wealthy men. The kind of old money that owns countries in whispers. Right now, the man he’s bending over for? He is stupidly rich and his family is one of the wealthiest in this damn country… and in Russia.”
Something snaps inside me.
“I am not sleeping with men for money,” I say—my voice slicing through the room before I even know I’m speaking. The fury behind it scorches my throat. My heart is pounding so loudly I can barely hear anything else. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms, and I don’t care that I’m trembling.
Oliver’s face lights up with something sick and triumphant.
“See? I knew you could talk. Fucking knew it.” He grins widely, eyes glittering with mock delight. “C’mon, Lucas, don’t be shy now. It’s alright. You’re a high-end manwhore, at least you’re getting good money for it.”
“Don’t you dare call my son that,” my mother hisses, surging up from the chair. Her voice cracks, ragged with rage, but she doesn’t get far, one of Oliver’s men grabs her roughly by the arm and shoves her back down into her seat.
“You stand again,” Oliver says, all the amusement bleeding from his voice as it turns ice-cold, “and I’ll tell him to blow your boy’s brain out.”
My stomach tightens.
She’s frozen now, pinned in place. I can see her entire body trembling—not with fear, but fury. The kind of fury that simmers into heartbreak. She turns to me, her eyes wide and wet, searching my face like maybe I’ll give her something to cling to. Her voice is softer this time. Broken.
“Lucas…” she whispers. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me that’s not what you’re doing.”
I don’t say a damn thing.
Because I don’t owe her anything. Not the truth, not reassurance, not an ounce of vulnerability. Whatever I have with Alex… It’s mine. It’s not some shameful thing I need to defend in a trailer home filled with people who wouldn’t know love if it choked them. It’s not transactional. It’s not dirty.
It’s real.
And it has nothing to do with them.
Oliver claps once—slow, deliberate, slicing through the silence like a blade.
“I hate to interrupt this little Hallmark family moment,” he drawls, flicking ash from his cigarette straight onto the trailer floor. “But let’s get back to business, shall we?”
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, that smug smirk still carved into his face. His eyes lock onto mine, and I feel the chill crawl down my spine.
“So far, you’ve managed to cough up $45k,” he says, voice casual like he’s reading from a menu. “In just under three months. Impressive, really.”
His eyes glint as he drags on the cigarette again. “And you’ve got, what—about thirty thousand left? Cute.”
I know there’s more. I can see it in his eyes. He’s setting me up for the real blow.
“But,” he says, flicking his fingers toward one of the guys standing behind us, “we’re starting fresh.”
The man steps forward and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He hands it to Oliver, who smooths it out on his knee with a kind of theatrical calm.
“I’m wiping the slate,” Oliver says with a grin. “Clean. No more tracking what you’ve paid or haven’t paid. That’s the old deal.”
My brows draw in tight. The pit in my stomach sharpens.
“What are you talking about?” my mother snaps, voice tight with confusion. “You can’t just—what do you mean, starting fresh?”
