Sold for $1 To The Hawthorne Brothers

My attempt to pull away from Adrian fails as his arm tightens around my waist. "Not so fast, Miss Wilson," he grunts softly. "Unless you want to end up with a concussion."

I try one more time, glaring at him when he doesn't budge. "What do you care? It would keep you from having to see me, wouldn't it? You won't have to bother about my lack of social etiquette and how much of a sore thumb I am."

My words slur as I speak, and the anger in my voice is nothing compared to how it sounds in my head.

Adrian's brow lifts a fraction as he leans closer. "Have you...been drinking?"

Duh? I shrug. "Why? I didn't get it from the bar, if that's what you're worried about. And I haven't assaulted any of your guests yet," I say snappily, sarcasm and frustration evident in my voice. "So, you can let me go now."

He doesn't.

He looks me over, his gaze tracing an invisible pattern from my face, over my lips that feel parched, and my dress-my chest, actually, with the gaping cleavage space. His jaw tightens as his eyes flare sharply with something too quick to name.

His arm falls away abruptly, but his presence has sucked away some of my inebriation, so I don't fall to the ground. I step back, thrusting my arms to my chest. "What? You're going to lecture me now on how much I can drink, by myself?"

"Your dress," he mutters, his voice coming out with a thick rasp. I scoff, ready to defend myself, but a soft breeze blows by, and I feel a patch of cold on my chest. Not the chill in the air, but a brush in one particular spot.

I glance down.

"Shit, shit!" I groan, turning around quickly to do damage control. Between my near kiss with death and Adrian's timely arrival, my dress...malfunctioned. The plunging space that was supposed to be in the middle had moved to one side, exposing my-

And he saw it.

Oh heavens, strike me dead now.

I wouldn't mind going this way, without doing anything on my list.

"I didn't see anything," Adrian says from behind me.

My face floods with embarrassment, and my cheeks turn so red I can feel the heat burning through them. "Please," I mumble, unable to muster anything beyond a whisper, "can you go? I'd like some space."

I hear footsteps retreating moments later, and my shoulders slump, a raw exhale slipping out of me, tears burning my eyes again. I yank the dress to its original position, but it slips away, refusing to cooperate.

I yank harder, and a loud rip fills the air.

I tore it.

It was supposed to be a beautiful dress, but I ruined it. "Stupid dress," I say, gritting my teeth to fight the tears. "Stupid party." It's my fault. I tried to be like them-the people who can actually afford expensive things and don't have to steal a bottle of rum.

My shoulders tremble as a thick sob catches in my throat. It burns as I shove it down, spreading through my chest like a punishing, icy fist. I wrap my arms around my stomach, staring off into the twinkling night sky. "What karma am I paying for? Was I such a terrible person in my past life that you've decided I don't deserve a break?"

"There's no such thing as karma."

A thick coat settles on my shoulders before I can turn. "Human beings take what they want."

My lips stretch into a thin smile as I face Adrian. "What would you say about me, then? That I'm too weak? That I should've been stronger, smarter-" my voice cracks with exhaustion and bitterness, "-and probably seen ahead of time that my stepfather was going to take everything I had?"

He says nothing for a minute, but his jaw flexes subtly, a muscle ticking there. He glances away for a moment, dragging a hand across his chin.

"Let's go."

"What?"

"Home. Let's go home."

I shake my head slowly, confused at his sudden decision. "Why? Isn't this your party? You're the host. I'm the one who wasn't invited. I can take an Uber or something."

Adrian's lips twitch as he chuckles. My eyes widen. It's the first time I've ever heard him laugh. Or do something close to it. "I don't care about the party, Alina. I couldn't give a fuck about the people in there, either. But I'm required to perform certain activities, to pretend as if I care about their vacations and beach homes, to keep my family's name on their lips."

"Oh..." I mutter.

He sighs softly. "And I doubt you'll be going anywhere with that dress. You're my excuse to call it a night."

I roll my eyes, but a tiny smile floats on my lips for a second. "I don't think it's fair to use me, Mr. Hawthorne, after I was so easily discarded just hours ago. That sounds very unfair."

"Hour," he corrects me without missing a beat. "And you had a few glasses from a scheming staff member to keep you company, didn't you?" He looks at me, his expression unreadable.

I squint.

It takes a second for it to click. "That was you?" My voice rises as I point a finger at him. "Why would you ban me from the bar, then?"

His shoulder tips in an imperceptible shrug. "I was saving you from a terrible situation. While you were wondering if you fit in, there were a handful of men staring at you...leering, I should add. None of them would've passed up the opportunity to take advantage of you, Alina."

Oh.

And because I feel silly now that he's pointed it out, I mutter again, "Oh."

Adrian nods. "Unfortunately, my world isn't kind to people who don't understand how it works. Which is why I forbade Julian from bringing you. I knew he was going to pull something tricky, and I wanted to be sure he wasn't going to use you."

So...the social etiquette, the comment on my ability to dance, and his cold attitude were to keep me from waking up in a stranger's bed tomorrow morning without knowing how I got there.

I blink slowly, my gaze to the floor, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling thoroughly guilty. "I-" I lift my head, but he's already walking away.

"Try to keep up," he says, "or you might have to call the Uber after all. Or walk-" he throws me a look over his shoulder, "-you did say you could walk to your uni."

I just-

I was about to take back everything I thought about him tonight. "Ugh." I roll my eyes hard, scoffing under my breath. Adrian Hawthorne is irredeemable.

There's another car waiting for us, with a chauffeur holding the door open. Adrian gets into the back seat, and I start to go forward when the chauffeur's hand shoots out. "I'm sorry, Miss Wilson, but Mr. Hawthorne insists that you ride with him at the back."