Mistaking The Ruthless CEO For An Escort

The quiet menace in Garrison's voice sent a fresh wave of panic through Ava.

She realized the money wasn't going to work. He was going to hurt her, or call the police, or worse.

She scrambled off the mattress, dragging the heavy duvet with her to cover her body. She reached down to grab her torn dress from the floor, but her foot caught the strap of her purse.

The bag flipped over. The remaining contents spilled onto the carpet with a metallic clatter.

Among the cheap lipsticks and loose change, a silver locket rolled across the floor. It was old, tarnished, and shaped like a half-open pocket watch. It was the only thing she had left of her dead mother.

Ava gasped. She dropped her dress and dove for the carpet, her hand slamming down over the locket to protect it. She pulled it to her chest, her breathing ragged.

Garrison's eyes followed her sudden movement. But as he looked down, his gaze caught on something else.

The white sheets of the bed were tangled and pulled back. Right in the center of the mattress, glaringly obvious under the morning light, was a dark, unmistakable smear of dried blood.

Garrison's breath stopped in his throat. His pupils dilated.

The blood roared in his ears. She was a virgin.

He whipped his head around to look at Ava. She was huddled on the floor, clutching a worthless piece of tarnished silver to her chest as if it were her own beating heart.

The reality crashed down on him. The stiffness of her body last night. The tight, painful resistance. The tears he had ignored in his drug-addled state.

She wasn't a spy. She wasn't a hooker. She was innocent.

"You..." Garrison started, his voice suddenly thick and raspy. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the massive knot of guilt forming in his throat.

Ava saw him staring at her. She thought he was looking at the necklace. She shrank back against the bed frame, her eyes wide and terrified like a cornered animal.

Garrison's pride, his arrogant defense mechanism, kicked in to cover his shock. He couldn't handle the sudden rush of guilt, so he weaponized his words instead.

"No wonder you had the nerve to offer me your debit card," Garrison sneered, his voice dripping with cruel sarcasm. "You thought that would be your trump card? Selling a sob story along with your body to drive up the price?"

The words hit Ava like a physical blow to the face.

Her head snapped up. Tears instantly flooded her eyes, blurring her vision, but she bit down on her lip so hard she tasted copper. She refused to let the tears fall.

"I told you!" Ava screamed, her voice tearing from her throat, raw and hysterical. "I don't know who you are! And I am not a whore!"

She grabbed the torn black dress from the floor and shoved her arms through the sleeves, not caring that the back was completely ripped open. Her hand shook violently as she pulled the silver locket from her pocket and held it out toward him.

"This is all I have," she choked out, a sob finally breaking through. "If you want your half a million dollars, take this as collateral! Take it!"

Garrison stared at the cheap necklace dangling from her trembling fingers. He knew it was worthless in monetary value, but looking at her shattered, desperate eyes, he knew it was her entire world.

A sharp pain shot through his chest. He had pushed too far.

"Put the necklace away," Garrison commanded. He tried to soften his tone, but years of giving orders made it sound harsh and dismissive. "I don't want your junk."

To Ava, it was the ultimate humiliation. He had violated her, demanded a fortune, and now he was spitting on her mother's memory.

A sudden, blinding anger replaced her fear.

She shoved the locket back into her pocket. Her eyes blazed with a feral, desperate fire.

"If you don't want it, then I'll see you in court!" Ava spat. "I will sue you for extortion!"

Garrison watched her stand there. She looked like a feral cat, all claws and teeth, ready to fight to the death.

And God help him, he found it incredibly fascinating.