The Price of Being His

One word from him

Chapter Two

Andrea's POV

The whole room turns at once.

Security stops moving, the host straightens, and every whispered conversation around me dies when everyone heard that voice.

I turn slowly, and the first thing I notice is that he isn’t looking at the broken pieces on the floor, or the host, or any of the people staring… he’s looking directly at me. My throat tightens, and I look away quickly because there’s something in his gaze that feels like it can see straight through everything I spent months building.

The host clears his throat and says, “Sir, this piece comes from a private European collection. It really isn’t something that can just be…”

“I said add it to my account, Gerald.” The man doesn’t raise his voice or look away, and that’s exactly what makes Gerald stop mid-sentence and nod like a man who knows better than to argue.

“Of course,” Gerald says tightly.

And just like that, it’s over. Staff appear to clean the mess, the crowd drifts back to their drinks and chatter, and I’m left standing here, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The man turns and walks away without a word while I watch his back, thinking—who does that and asks for nothing in return? The answer comes immediately: nobody. Nobody does that for free.

I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and try to find somewhere to breathe.

But then I hear his name before I see him again.

I’m near the back of the room, pretending to study a painting, when two women beside me start whispering—well, not exactly. They are whispering the way people think is quiet but isn’t.

“Did you see what just happened with Gerald and that girl?”

“I did, but who was that man who stepped in?”

“Are you serious, Freya? You don’t know Tristan Hale?”

I go very still.

Tristan Hale?

The city’s youngest billionaire. The man who dismantled two rival companies before he turned thirty. The one who rarely shows up in public and almost never gets photographed.

That Tristan Hale?

“I’ve heard the name, but…”

“His own cousin,” the first woman says, lowering her voice, “was blacklisted. Not just here. Everywhere! London, Dubai, New York… the man hasn’t been able to secure a single meeting in two years, all because of one business move that Tristan didn’t approve of.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“That’s Tristan Hale for you,” she says, like that explains everything and honestly? It does.

I look down at a card suddenly in my hand. Someone must've pressed it into my palm during the rush of people moving around. I read the name printed on it, and something cold moves through me.

It’s Tristan Hale’s business card.

Fear settles deep in my chest. This is not the kind of man you want to owe anything to… and yet here I am, already owing him a six-figure vase and whatever comes attached to that.

He wants something. I don't know what yet but men like Tristan Hale definitely don't cover disasters for strangers out of kindness and I would be very stupid to think otherwise.

The balcony is empty, and I find myself there without really deciding to. I just need air, something away from all the eyes. I grip the railing, letting the night settle around me, when I hear footsteps behind me.

“You studied them well, I must commend.”

My fingers tighten around the railing when I turn around to see who it was. Tristan stands a few feet away, unhurried, like he followed me here and saw no reason to pretend he didn't.

“Them?”

“The wealthy,” he says simply.

There is no accusation in his tone. If anything, there’s faint interest.

I give him my best polite expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“From the moment you walked in,” he says, his gaze drifting over me. “I knew you didn’t belong.”

My heartbeat stutters.

Is this it?

Is my cover being exposed?

I swallow carefully, trying to maintain my confidence at the very least. “That’s a bold assumption.”

“Not bold. Observational.” He steps closer, slow enough that I can track every inch.

“The supposed foundation you mentioned inside while talking to some men,” he continues, voice even, “doesn’t exist. I checked.”

My mouth goes dry.

“The estate near the coast? Belongs to the Delacroix family. It has been so for three generations.”

I stare at him, feeling bare and he keeps going.

“You mispronounced Kingston’s founder earlier when you spoke to Richard. It’s subtle. Most wouldn’t notice. But for someone who graduated from the school? It's disappointing.”

He looks completely unfazed, hands tucked into his pockets like he is discussing the weather. “People like you are usually called gold diggers.”

The word lands softly but it burns.

“I’m not—” I start, and hate that my voice already sounds thinner.

“The list is endless, I can keep going if you want.”

“Please, Mr Hale I…”

“Shhhh.” He lifts a finger gently, cutting me off. “I’m not here to humiliate you.”

The words freeze me. I stare at him, waiting for the rest.

He steps closer again. Close enough that I can see the faint line near his eyebrow, like an old scar. Close enough that I can smell his expensive woody cologne.

“I know you came here looking for something,” he says, and my throat tightens.

“Your father’s logistics company filed for bankruptcy three years ago, and my reports say he had a significant gambling debt even before that. Clearly, your mom’s job as a nurse assistant can’t clear one-tenth of it, especially with poor Ethan, your little brother who was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect.”

The world tilts. My practiced confidence shatters instantly. “Mr. Hale, I can explain. I promise I’m not here to scam anyone—”

“Don’t cut me off while I’m still talking next time.”

His expression turns cold, and I swallow, because there’s actually nothing to say. This man just took apart my entire life in the space of one evening and is now reciting it back to me like it’s nothing.

“I want you to be mine, Andrea.”

A gasp leaves my mouth. “W-what did you say?”

“I want to offer you the life you’re pretending to have. I can clear your family’s debt in one call and pay for your brother’s treatment while you live the life you’ve been faking.”

“I don't understand…” My voice becomes shaky. “Why me?”

“You walked into a room full of people who would have devoured you and almost held it together perfectly,” he says. “I find that interesting.”

My mouth goes dry. For a moment, it feels like I never went to school. Where did all those premium online etiquette lessons go?

“I had my assistant slip that card into your hand.” His eyes darts to the card I’m clutching. “Call the number written on it when you have your answer.”

My fingers tighten around it. “What if I never call?” I ask, barely meeting his eyes.

“I don’t think you’d be foolish to do that, considering you owe me a debt you can’t afford in your current situation.” he says, smirking. “But hey, if you do, you go home tonight to the same problems sitting in your kitchen,” his hand moves to stroke a stray strand of my hair, “and every night after that.”

I think of the papers stacked on my mother’s table, my father staring blankly at the TV, Ethan’s shallow breathing, the men who came to our door last month, smiling like predators who know you have no options and I wonder how much longer I can pretend any of this will fix itself.

“Seven days, love.” He steps closer, lifting my chin until our lips are inches apart. “That’s how long I’m willing to wait. After that, this opportunity disappears like it was never real.”

He lets go of my face and turns to leave. Right before he disappears from my sight, Tristan pauses without facing me. “Whatever you came here looking for tonight… I might have something better.”