The Fallen Heiress's Debt to the Billionaire

The light in the penthouse was assaultive. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, scattering diamonds of light that pierced Felicity's headache.

Barnett didn't let her go. He gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her ribs through the fabric of his jacket. He steered her into the room like a prize heifer at a county fair.

"Look who I found!" Barnett announced to a group of B-list actors near the bar.

Heads turned. The whispering started immediately. It sounded like a hive of bees.

"Is that Felicity Aguilar?"

"Why is she wearing that?"

"I heard they lost everything. Even the Hamptons house."

Felicity kept her head down. She focused on the pattern of the Persian rug. Red. Gold. Black.

Barnett paraded her through the room. He was enjoying this. He was showing everyone that the untouchable girl was now touchable.

Dewitt stood on the mezzanine balcony. He held a glass of scotch. He hadn't taken a sip. He watched Barnett dragging Felicity through the crowd.

Carter Vance walked up to the railing next to him.

"Rough night for the princess," Carter observed. "Barnett is a piece of work. Parading her around like a pet."

Dewitt swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "As long as his pet doesn't have fleas that jump onto my guests."

Down below, a woman in a red dress bumped into Felicity. It was deliberate. A shoulder check.

"Oops!" the woman squealed. Her wine glass tipped. Cabernet splashed all over the front of Barnett's jacket that Felicity was wearing.

The dark stain spread rapidly.

Felicity gasped and stepped back. The cold liquid soaked through to her skin.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," the woman said. Her eyes were bright with malice. It was a stylist Felicity had fired two years ago for stealing jewelry.

Barnett didn't help. He laughed.

"Don't worry about it," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "It's not like she has anything better to wear underneath."

The circle of people laughed. It was a cruel, low sound.

Felicity felt the heat rising up her neck. She felt naked. Exposed. She instinctively looked up. Toward the balcony. Toward the only person in the room who had more power than Barnett.

Her eyes locked with Dewitt's.

Help me, she pleaded silently.

Dewitt looked at her. He saw the wine stain. He saw the desperation.

He watched the pathetic display for a moment longer, a flicker of contempt in his eyes for the cheap drama unfolding on his marble floors. Then, without a word, he turned his back on the scene completely and faced the city skyline.

Felicity felt her heart stop. He wasn't going to help. He was one of them.

Barnett decided the show was over. He leaned into her ear.

"You're a mess. Let's go get you cleaned up."

He didn't mean cleaned up.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the crowd, toward the hallway that led to the guest suites.

Felicity tried to dig her heels in. "No, I want to go home."

"You don't have a home," Barnett whispered.

He dragged her into the shadows of the corridor.

Up on the balcony, Dewitt watched them disappear into the hallway. The noise of the party seemed to fade into a dull roar. His hand tightened around his glass.

He heard Carter talking about a merger, but the words meant nothing.

All he could see was the look in her eyes. It wasn't the look of a woman playing a game. It was the look of an animal caught in a trap.

Dewitt set his glass down on the railing. It made a sharp clink.

"I need air," he said.

Carter looked confused. "The terrace is that way."

Dewitt turned and walked toward the stairs. Toward the guest wing.

"I know where I'm going."