The Tycoon's Contract With A Vicious Beauty

Gena used her shoulder to shove open the peeling metal door of the Flushing apartment building. She dragged Claudio, whose face was now the color of ash, into the cramped living room.

The air inside was thick with the smell of cheap beer and greasy fried chicken. Leland, her adoptive father, was sprawled on the stained sofa watching a baseball game. Bulah, her adoptive mother, was sitting at the table counting a small stack of one-dollar bills.

Bulah's head snapped up at the sound of the door. When she saw Gena-the girl she had sold just hours ago-standing there, her face twisted in rage. She opened her mouth to scream.

The scream died in her throat the second her eyes locked onto the man leaning against Gena. Specifically, her eyes locked onto the blood-stained Patek Philippe watch on his wrist.

Leland jumped off the sofa. He wasn't a smart man, but he knew expensive fabric when he saw it. The ruined suit Claudio wore cost more than their apartment.

Gena stared at the two greedy parasites with dead eyes. "This is my boyfriend," she lied smoothly. "We got mugged. He's hurt."

Bulah's expression flipped instantly. A sickeningly sweet, fawning smile stretched across her face. She rubbed her hands together and rushed forward. "Oh, my poor dear! Is your boyfriend okay? Let me help!"

Claudio fought through the agonizing pain in his gut. He maintained his aristocratic posture, giving Bulah a look of absolute disgust. He let out a cold, dismissive "Hmph" through his nose.

Leland reached out to grab Claudio's arm, but Claudio shot him a glare so sharp that Leland yanked his hands back and stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

Gena didn't waste time. She hauled Claudio past them, kicked open the door to her tiny ten-square-foot bedroom, and slammed the door shut, locking it.

Through the thin walls, Gena could hear Bulah and Leland whispering excitedly, already calculating how much money they could extort from their new "son-in-law."

Gena dragged Claudio to the narrow twin bed and pushed him down. She dropped to her knees, pulled a dusty first-aid kit from under the bed, and took out rubbing alcohol, gauze, and scissors.

Claudio leaned against the headboard, his chest rising and falling heavily. He watched this girl-who lived in a slum but moved with the cold precision of an assassin-with growing suspicion.

Gena didn't ask for permission. She took the scissors and, realizing cutting the shirt off overhead would cause him too much pain, cut the ruined, bloody fabric up the side from the hem to the collar, exposing his hard, muscular abdomen and a few faded scars.

Claudio grunted. His abdominal muscles flexed violently as the cold air hit the wound. His hand shot out and gripped Gena's wrist tight.

Their eyes met in the dim light of the desk lamp. Their faces were inches apart. Gena could feel the hot, ragged breath escaping his lips.

Gena yanked her wrist out of his grip. "If you don't want to die of sepsis, hold still, rich boy," she said coldly.

Claudio let his hand drop. He watched in silence as she cleaned the wound, poured the burning alcohol over the torn flesh, and stitched it closed. Her movements weren't those of a trained surgeon, but of a master haute couture designer. She treated his torn flesh like delicate, frayed silk, her fingers executing the precise, tight stitches she had spent years perfecting in her atelier.

When she finished, Gena walked to the tiny bathroom to wash the blood off her hands. She stared at her face in the mirror, digging her nails into her palms to remind herself this wasn't a dream.

She walked back into the bedroom. Claudio had taken over the entire twin bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady.

Gena sighed. She grabbed a thin blanket from the closet and prepared to sleep on the hard wooden floor.

Just as she laid the blanket down, a soft knock came from the door. "Gena, sweetie? I brought you two some hot milk," Leland's voice called out. The doorknob rattled.

Gena cursed. To keep the lie intact, she unlocked the door, took the mugs from Leland, and sat on the edge of the bed, pretending to be close to Claudio. Leland's eyes darted around the room greedily before he finally shut the door.

The second the door clicked shut, Claudio's eyes snapped open. His long arm shot out, grabbed Gena by the waist, and yanked her backward.

Gena gasped as she crashed onto the mattress, her back hitting Claudio's broad, solid chest. The cheap bed springs whined loudly under their combined weight.

Claudio pressed a finger to her lips. He pointed to the bottom of the door. Two dark shadows were visible in the crack of light. Bulah and Leland were standing right outside, eavesdropping.

Gena's body went completely stiff. She was forced to lie perfectly still, pressed flush against a man she barely knew, feeling the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart against her spine.

To sell the performance, Claudio shifted his weight, rolling slightly so he was pressing her into the mattress. He let out a low, deep groan that sounded incredibly suggestive.

The shadows under the door finally shuffled away. But the temperature in the tiny room had skyrocketed. Gena lay trapped in Claudio's arms, her skin burning, as they both waited in tense silence for the sun to rise.