The story came out in fragments. An ex-fiancé who'd dumped her on camera. A viral breakup that destroyed her career. Sponsors dropping her, followers leaving, losing her apartment, her income, everything. Coming to Hope Peak as a final gamble to save herself.
"I saw you and I just—" She wiped at her face, mascara smudging dark beneath those expressive eyes. "I knew it would perform well and I was frantic and it was so wrong but I did it anyway and I'm so sorry. I'll take it down. I'll post an apology. I'll do whatever you want, just please don't sue me. I can't afford a lawyer. I can barely afford to be here."
She was falling apart in front of me, drowning.
The anger simmering in my chest started to cool.
This wasn't calculated. She was just young and broke and reckless, making terrible decisions because she was backed into a corner.
Still wrong. Absolutely, unquestionably wrong.
But different from the cold exploitation I'd experienced before.
I watched her while she cried. Twenty-five at most. Living off savings that were clearly running dry. She'd built her entire identity on external validation—likes, followers, brand deals. When her ex humiliated her publicly, she'd lost everything. Now she was trying to claw it back any way she could.
She pushed her hair back from her face, and despite everything, I registered what I'd been trying to ignore. Twenty-five at most, with curves in all the right places beneath that cream sweater, smooth skin that looked like she'd never spent a day outdoors, and probably a smile—when she wasn't crying—that could be equal parts devilish and angelic depending on what she wanted.
I was forty-two years old and hadn't been with anyone in three years, and my body didn't care about ethics or legal violations. Blood headed south despite every logical reason it shouldn't.
I took a step back, needing distance.
The rational part of my brain said to follow through with the lawsuit. Make an example. Protect myself.
But a lawsuit meant publicity. Court filings. Media attention. Journalists digging into why I was hiding in Montana.
The opposite of what I wanted.
An idea was forming. Risky, possibly brilliant, potentially disastrous.
I'd been planning Christmas Wishes for months—a charity where struggling families could submit wish lists and I'd purchase gifts for Christmas Eve delivery. Give kids theChristmas I never had growing up, when my single mother worked three jobs and still couldn't afford presents.
But I'd been stuck on logistics. I had the money. What I needed was organization, promotion, someone who knew how to spread the word without exposing my identity.
Someone who owed me. Someone desperate enough to do exactly what I needed.
Someone like her.
I made my decision.
"I'm not going to sue you," I said.
Her head snapped up, hope flooding her face. "You're not?"
"One condition."
She was listening now, leaning forward slightly.
"Anything. I'll do anything. I'll take the video down right now—"
"Leave the video up."
"What?"
"Leave it up. Let it run its course. But you're going to help me with a project. You help me through Christmas, follow my rules, and I'll drop this. Violate the agreement or fail to hold up your end, legal action is back on the table. Understood?"
"I don't... what project?"
I grabbed my phone, opened the photos I'd taken of the converted barn last week. Scrolled through images of wish lists, organizational systems, gifts I'd already purchased.
