After I Invoiced the Billionaire for Three Years of Fake Love, He Lost Everything

The wine glass never made it into my hand. It slipped past my fingers and landed squarely on her skirt.

Red wine splashed across white fabric, blooming like a stain of blood.

"Ah!" Clarissa shrieked, stumbling back two steps, and then she was on the ground, legs crumpled beneath her.

The room went dead silent.

Lewis shoved through the crowd and reached her side, pulling her to her feet.

"What happened?" His voice was low and dangerous as he took in her disheveled state.

Tears spilled down Clarissa's cheeks. "It's not Abigail's fault... I didn't hold on tight enough... Maybe she just couldn't bear to part with that necklace..."

Lewis's head snapped up toward me.

I looked right back at him.

I didn't explain myself. Explanations weren't part of the job description.

"Apologize," Lewis said.

I didn't move.

"Abigail. I said apologize." He stood, closing the distance between us by one deliberate step. "You're a server here tonight. You stained a guest's dress. Shouldn't you apologize?"

Everyone around us was watching. Enjoying the show.

I ran the math.

If I refused, he'd likely withhold my entire remaining payment—maybe even use it as an excuse to keep the necklace.

If I apologized, I'd lose my dignity but walk away with the money.

Dignity didn't pay bills.

I bent at the waist. A full ninety-degree bow.

"I'm sorry, Miss Simmons." My voice was steady. "My hand slipped and I stained your dress. I'll cover the dry-cleaning costs in full."

Lewis stared at me. Then a cold laugh broke from his throat.

"Cover the costs? You think you can afford it?"

He grabbed a bottle of red wine from the table.

Pulled the cork.

Red liquid poured down from above my head.

Ice-cold. Sticky. Reeking of alcohol. It streamed over my eyes, seeped into my mouth.

"That's what covering costs looks like."

He set the empty bottle on the table.

I kept my eyes shut, enduring the wine as it dripped down my face, my neck, soaking into my clothes.

"Understood, Mr. Delgado." I wiped a hand across my wine-streaked face. "Are we even now?"

Clarissa, shaken by her "ordeal," spiked a high fever that evening.

Lewis summoned his entire private medical team to the villa.

I had a fever too.

Wine left to dry on skin, combined with days of running on fumes—my body had finally given out.

But I was in the maid's quarters. Nobody knew.

10 p.m.

My phone buzzed.

The hospital.

"Ms. Fox, your father has suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. He's being resuscitated now. We need a surgery payment of fifty thousand dollars, and it has to clear within thirty minutes."

I sat up in bed. The room tilted.

I checked my balance.

Thirty thousand.

Everything else had gone to debts. My wages from this job still hadn't been deposited.

I staggered out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor.

The master bedroom door was ajar.

Lewis sat on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of water to Clarissa's lips.

I pushed the door open.

He turned with a scowl. "Who told you to come in here? Get out."

I gripped the doorframe to keep myself upright.

"Lewis." My voice came out raw. "Pay me my wages. Now."

"Are you out of your mind?" He set the glass down, lowering his voice. "Keep it down. Clarissa just fell asleep."

"My father is in the hospital being resuscitated." I locked my eyes on his. "I need the money. It's what I'm owed."

Lewis stood, walked to the door, shoved me into the hallway, and pulled the door shut behind him.

In the corridor, he looked down at me from his full height.

"Your father's being resuscitated?" A scornful smile. "Abigail, you'd really stoop to this kind of lie just to squeeze money out of me? Didn't you say last month he was getting better?"

"It's true." I grabbed his sleeve. "Please. Just give me what you owe me. Even twenty thousand now would be enough."