Chapter 5
1240 Words
The Debt Ledger
Ava woke to the sound of rain lashing the penthouse windows, gray light filtering through like a bad omen. Her body ached in places she didn't want to think about reminders of last night's gala, the limo, the bed. Lucian's side was empty, sheets cold. He was already gone or so she thought.
She padded to the kitchen in one of his discarded shirts, the fabric soft against her skin, smelling faintly of him. Coffee was brewing, automatic timer probably, but there was a leather-bound ledger on the marble island, propped open like an invitation. Or a trap.
Curiosity won. She flipped it closer.
The pages were filled with precise handwriting; she recognized the sharp loops on the L's. Columns of numbers, dates, calculations. At the top: DEBT LEDGER AVA HARPER.
Original Principal: $3,000,000 (Embezzlement: July 15, 2019)
Annual Interest Rate: 20% compounded quarterly (Opportunity Cost + Emotional Damages)
Accrued Interest as of December 20, 2024: $25,400,000
Total Owed: $28,400,000
Her stomach dropped. Twenty-eight million? It was absurd. Criminal. But then, so was she, technically.
Footsteps behind her. She didn't turn.
Like what you see? Lucian's voice, smooth as the leather under her fingers.
She slammed the book shut. This is insane. No court would enforce this.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, still in workout clothes, sweat dampened shirt clinging to his chest. Who said anything about courts? This is between us.
Us? There's no us. This is extortion.
He shrugged, pouring coffee into two mugs. Pushed one toward her. Call it what you want. But every night you submit fully, without that little defiant spark in your eyes I'll credit you. Say, a hundred thousand per session. At that rate, you'll be free in... oh, about seven hundred and eighty-four nights. Give or take.
Ava's laugh was bitter, barking. You're delusional if you think I'll play along for two years.
Two years? He sipped his coffee, eyes locked on hers over the rim. That's if you're good. If you fight me, interest accrues.
She wanted to throw the mug at him. Instead, she gripped it tighter, heat seeping into her palms. I'm not your w***e, Lucian.
No, he agreed, stepping closer. Whores don't steal your heart along with your money.
The air thickened. He was too close now, heat radiating off him, that post run scent of salt and effort making her head spin despite herself.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Hospital caller ID.
She answered, voice tight. Yes?
Miss Harper? It's Dr. Ellis. Your father's condition took a turn last night. Pneumonia on top of the cancer. We're starting aggressive antibiotics, but the specialist we need, it's not covered. We're looking at another fifty thousand upfront.
Ava's vision blurred. I... I'll figure it out.
She hung up, shoulders slumping.
Lucian watched her, expression unreadable. How much?
Fifty grand. Like it's nothing to you.
He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times. Done.
What?
Anonymous donation. Wired five minutes ago. He set the phone down. Consider it a signing bonus. But don't think it changes anything.
Relief warred with rage. Why? Why help him if you hate me so much?"
His jaw ticked. I don't hate your father. He didn't betray me.
The subplot hung there, unspoken he'd been funding bits and pieces all along, she realized now, piecing together the miracle payments the hospital had mentioned over the months. But admitting it would humanize him and he couldn't have that.
Work that day was a blur. She typed emails with mechanical precision, but her mind raced. Resist. Run. But where? He owned everything: her job, her home, her father's life.
By evening, back in the penthouse, the rain had turned to a downpour. Thunder rattled the glass. Ava headed straight for the shower in the master bath, needing to wash off the day, the debt, him.
Hot water cascaded over her, steam filling the room like fog. She closed her eyes, letting it pound against her shoulders, trying to drown out the numbers echoing in her head. Twenty-eight million. Seven hundred nights.
The door clicked open. She froze.
Lucian stepped in, fully clothed at first, but he stripped his shirt over his head, pants kicked aside until he was as bare as she was. His body was a masterpiece of controlled power, muscles shifting under skin marked by a few scars she didn't remember.
Get out, she snapped, but her voice lacked conviction. Her eyes betrayed her, tracing the V of his hips, the evidence of his arousal already stirring.
He ignored her, stepping under the spray. Water slicked his hair back, ran in rivulets down his chest. This is my shower, Ava. My rules.
She turned away, but he caught her wrist, spun her back against the tiled wall. Cool stone at her back, his heart at her front. Trapped.
Tonight's payment, he murmured, mouth inches from hers. Water dripped from his lashes. Submit.
Her heart hammered. No.
But her body traitor leaned into him, n*****s hardening against his chest. He noticed, of course. His hand slid up her side, thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
Liar, he whispered.
His kiss was slower this time, not the frenzy of last night. Exploratory. Punishing in its gentleness. He tasted like rain and restraint, tongue coaxing hers until she moaned despite herself.
She resisted at first. Hands flat on his chest, pushing weakly. But when his fingers trailed lower, dipping between her thighs, finding her already slick, the fight crumbled.
See? He circled her clit with maddening precision. Your mouth says no, but this...He slid one finger inside her, then two, curling just right. This begs.
Ava's head fell back against the tile, gasp echoing in the steam. Bastard.
He chuckled, low and dark, pumping his fingers slowly. Maybe. But I'm your bastard tonight.
She came like that pinned against the wall, his mouth on her neck, biting down as she shattered. Waves of pleasure that blurred the lines between hate and need.
But he wasn't done. He turned her, pressed her palms to the glass, entered her from behind in one smooth thrust. The angle was deeper, fuller, hitting spots that made her knees buckle.
Look, he growled, one hand in her hair, tilting her head to the foggy mirror across the room. Their reflection: her flushed, open-mouthed; him behind her, eyes fierce, hips snapping with controlled power.
It was erotic. Obscene. Intimate in a way that terrified her.
He took his time, drawing it out, whispering filthy promises in her ear, how she'd come for him every night, how she'd forget what freedom tasted like. She resisted with words I hate you but her body arched back, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing the build again.
When he finally let go, spilling inside her with a guttural groan, she followed seconds later, clenching around him, stars bursting behind her eyelids.
They sank to the shower floor together, water still pounding. He pulled her into his lap, almost tender, lips brushing her temple.
For a moment, boundaries blurred. No ledger. No debt. Just them, breathing in sync.
Then he stood, shut off the water, wrapped her in a towel like she was fragile.
Credit applied, he said, voice back to steel. "Seven hundred and eighty-three to go."
He left her there, dripping and dazed, wondering if the real debt was the one her heart was racking up all over again.
- Writer
