Chapter 18
“It’s just a little over four weeks,” Claire says, twirling her straw through the half-melted ice of her French vanilla latte as she scrolls through her Instagram feed. “Let the guy take care of you.”
Lila forces a smile as she waits for her ride to arrive, watching the tiny whirlpool in her cup slow to a stop. Claire’s advice makes it sound effortless, as if spending a month with a rich man simply means spa days, designer gifts, and an easy escape from responsibility.
She doesn’t know about the contract folded neatly inside Lila's purse, or the scrawled signature that still makes her stomach knot every time she thinks about it. Yes, Max had drawn up a real contract, every clause polished and deliberate. She also doesn’t know that his promise to handle everything carries the quiet weight of temporary ownership.
To Claire, it’s a beautiful fantasy, all luxury and no consequences.
To Lila, it feels like navigating a minefield. She tried to comb through the short document for invisible strings and fine print meant to be overlooked but couldn’t find anything.
Perhaps I need to talk to a lawyer…
But with what money?
“Stop. Don’t overthink. Stress raises your cortisol level, and a high level of cortisol is going to make you age faster,” Chloe scolds.
Lila sighs.
There’s a silver lining at least. He hasn’t only promised her a large payout; he’s also dangled a shortcut into the New York art scene.
The pull of financial stability and professional opportunity earned by enduring him for a single month is too tempting to ignore.
It isn’t as though she has much of a choice anyway.
Max always gets what he wants, and pushing back would only complicate things…
Half an hour later, Lila sits in the back seat of the Maybach, stewing in her thoughts as Sergei drives her to Max’s place.
She was told everything would be provided for the next month, that she wouldn’t need to bring a thing.
But being a natural worrywart, she still stuffed her old backpack with a few essentials, just in case.
As she racks her brain, wondering whether she’s forgotten something important, she doesn’t notice her phone ringing.
“Ms. Thorne? Hello? Earth to Ms. Thorne!” Sergei’s voice cuts through her thoughts, jolting her back to the present. “Your phone’s been ringing.”
“Oh—shoot. Thanks,” she says, flustered, digging through her crossbody bag. In her haste, her grip slips on her art portfolio, and it tumbles to the floor, scattering smaller samples across the car.
“Ugh! Fucking Max!” she snaps as she leans down to gather them. “This is all his damn fault. You should quit, Sergei. Strand him somewhere far and secluded and make him walk home.”
When she looks up, she finds Max’s driver, composed and professional as ever, staring straight ahead. His expression is perfectly neutral, as though he hasn’t heard her rant at all. Her gaze drops to the phone still vibrating in her hand, and her heart skips.
She answers immediately.
“Hello!” she says, a bit too excitedly, her voice high-pitched and shaky, betraying more nerves than she'd like.
“Heya, Lila. How have you been?”
His rich, familiar voice sends a jolt through her.
It’s unmistakable, carrying the gentle cadence that once lulled her to sleep during late-night calls.
She remembers how he used to read aloud from dull medical textbooks while studying in another city—patient, steady.
The sound wraps around her like a warm embrace, sending a gentle rush of emotion that makes her heart flutter.
Even after almost a year, he still has the power to do this to her.
Jake.
“Fine. Amazing, actually!” she squeaks. “How about you?”
“Good. I’m good here too,” he replies, much to her disappointment. She wants him to say he’s missed her. “I’ve been accepted into a fellowship program in New York.”
“Oh! Wow. That’s really great, J—” Her voice trails off, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror. She studies the man behind the wheel. Sergei looks detached as always, eerily unreadable, his face wrapped in indifference as he remains focused on the road ahead.
Despite his calm demeanor, unease creeps in. It doesn’t feel safe having this conversation with her ex while her creepy stalker’s employee sits just a few feet away. No matter how pleasant Sergei appears, she doesn’t trust him. A shiver slides down her spine.
“I’m happy for you,” she adds.
“Thanks, Lila. I just wanted to reach out, to, uh, check in. Are you still living with your grandma?”
“Um… I actually moved to New York, too.”
“What? Really?” His surprise sounds genuine.
“Yeah. New York City.”
“Holy shit. So we’re in the same city again. Small world.” He pauses. “That’s a big move for you. How did your granny take it?”
She laughs softly. “How do you think? But I felt like it was time.”
In her mind, she pictures him smiling as his familiar chuckle reaches her ear. She thinks of his soft blue eyes and the crinkles that gather beside them when he laughs.
“Maybe we could meet up for coffee sometime,” she ventures, gripping her phone nervously as she waits for his response.
“Yeah. It’d be nice to have an old friend in the city.” His tone warms. “I have to run, but let’s keep in touch so we can meet soon, okay?”
The call ends just as Sergei pulls to a smooth stop in front of the now-familiar high-rise. The sight of the foreboding building usually makes her skin crawl. But she’s floating, replaying the conversation in her head.
Jake wants to meet again. He wants to stay in touch.
The call lifts her spirits, making the city lights seem brighter, and the cool air blowing through the vents feels refreshing instead of harsh. Even the thought of seeing Max can’t dampen her mood.
Taking a deep breath, she prepares to surrender the next four weeks to fate, believing that at the end of the tunnel, Jake will be the light waiting for her.
Sergei opens the car door, and she steps inside the building.
The doorman and lobby staff greet her warmly, and the elevator attendant sends her up in Max’s private elevator without question.
People seem to recognize her now, though she isn’t sure whether it’s because they’re good with faces…
or for some other reason. She hopes it isn’t because she’s been coming here too often.
Inside the elevator, her thoughts drift to the secret floor Max mentioned before, her eyes lingering on the unmarked glass panel.
She presses her palm against its cool surface, waiting for a hum, a glow—
“Hello?” she whispers as she taps against it.
Nothing happens. It doesn’t warm beneath her skin or respond to pressure.
It’s just glass.
Maybe he was teasing her.
That’s very possible.
The elevator dings as it reaches the top floor.
She steps into the spacious foyer and is immediately met with the sight of Max, fresh from work and still in his suit.
“Lila,” he calls, smiling sweetly.
Beside him stands a tall, waif-like woman with large blue eyes and red-painted lips. Her soft brown hair is pulled into a sleek high bun, and she beams at Lila as she approaches.
“This is Sophie,” Max says, introducing the woman beside him.
Sophie looks sleek and stylish in her blue tailored power suit.
Suddenly self-conscious in her casual clothes, Lila offers a tentative smile. “Hi… Sophie.”
“Sophie knows everything about fashion and styling,” Max adds.
“Whatever celebrities or models you can name, I’ve likely styled zem at least once,” Sophie says airily. “Hm.” She studies Lila critically as her pink measuring tape slips from her neck, one end dangling beside Lila’s scuffed white sneakers. “Mon chéri, you are petite, petite, petite.”
Lila notes the unmistakable French accent.
“Monsieur Cooper, darling, I had no idea when you said she was short zat you meant so—” Sophie pauses delicately, her lips curling faintly downward, “—teeny tiny.” A hint of displeasure lingers in her tone.
Positioning himself behind Lila, Max bends down and nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck affectionately, sending shivers down her spine as his bristly stubble grazes her skin.
The unexpected display of intimacy in front of a stranger makes Lila even more uncomfortable, and she fights to hide a grimace.
“Sometimes the best things come in small packages,” he says, his arms wrapping tighter around her.
“But of course,” Sophie replies with a poised smile, revealing her impossibly white, perfectly straight teeth.
“Jewelry boxes with gemstone rings come to mind. I will be your personal stylist, Mademoiselle. My team and I will see to it zat you are impeccably cared for. You are with Monsieur Cooper now, so you must dress ze part, mon chéri.”
Her gaze drifts back down to Lila’s terribly worn shoes. “We’ll get you some new shoes,” she adds thoughtfully. “New ensembles, tailored precisely for you before your trip, and ze right accessories to match.”
“My… trip?” Lila asks hesitantly.
“I need to go to London to take care of some business. We will be leaving before this upcoming weekend,” Max explains casually, his voice steady as if he had just announced what he was craving for dinner.
“Oh…” she chokes out. “Sophie, do you mind if I have a private word with him for a moment?”
Sophie’s smile falters slightly as she glances at Max with a hint of nervousness. He nods toward the living room entrance, dismissing her.
“Don’t tell her I said this,” he murmurs, “but I’m pretty sure that accent is fake. It gets thicker every time I see her. She really knows her stuff, though.”
“You can’t just spring a trip on me like this!” Lila snaps, spinning around in his embrace to face him. She tries to push away, but he holds firm. “I don’t even have a passport! You should really be more considerate. I’ve been through hell and back because of you.”
She glares at him, her voice breaking. “Thanks to you, my creepy old manager asked if I wanted to be paid to be in a threesome with him and one of the bartenders before I left.”