Ten

H E R

I couldn't imagine Michael being able to cut my ties so easily.

Tucker was powerful—his reach stretching from the LAPD to the courthouses downtown. Strings ran from his fingers into every corner of the city. Pull one, and something moved. Someone moved.

Cops became bounty hunters the moment a girl even thought about running. Judges handed down sentences like favors owed—which was how most of the Playhouse dolls ended up buried in debts they could never climb out of.

Girls disappeared sometimes.

Everyone knew it.

But there was a reason I hadn't.

I made Tucker too much money.

That was the truth no one said out loud.

The only thing that had ever protected me was the number beside my name in Tucker's books. Tucker wasn't sentimental. He didn't care about loyalty, promises, or tears.

Only profit.

As long as the money kept coming in, I stayed valuable.

And now that value had been erased from the board.

A huge percentage of the Playhouse's income had just vanished overnight.

Michael had influence—anyone with eyes could see that.

But Tucker had ownership.

Ownership over people.

Ownership over situations.

Ownership over silence.

"Natalia."

Yaris waved her fingers in front of my face, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Are you not gonna eat your pizza?"

I blinked down at the slice still sitting in my hand.

"No, I'm gonna eat it," I murmured. "Just letting it cool a bit."

When I finally lifted it to my mouth, it was nearly cold.

Yaris laughed quietly.

"Yeah, I'm sure twenty minutes of staring into space cooled it off perfectly."

I took a bite anyway, chewing slowly.

Mostly so I wouldn't have to talk.

"So," Yaris said after a moment.

Her voice lowered slightly.

"What I really wanna know is why you're not scheduled."

She kept her eyes on the table instead of me.

"He practically wiped the entire board and took your name off it."

My grip tightened slightly around the paper plate.

"Rumor going around is you got kidnapped," she continued. "But that sounded like bullshit."

She looked up at me.

"Or at least I was hoping it was."

I swallowed before answering.

"People around here hear one thing and turn it into ten."

"That's not an answer," Yaris said, squinting at me.

I shrugged lightly.

"Maybe Tucker's restructuring."

She scoffed immediately.

"Yeah. Okay. And maybe pigs are about to fly through the damn ceiling."

I said nothing.

Yaris leaned forward, lowering her voice even more.

"You've been the top earner in that house for two years, Natalia. Tucker doesn't just remove someone like you unless something big happened."

Her eyes searched my face.

"So what happened?"

The NDA burned in the back of my mind like a warning.

Don't disclose our encounters.

Every word had to be careful.

Measured.

Neutral.

"Now that I have a sponsor," I said calmly, "and an on-campus job, I don't need the Playhouse anymore."

Yaris stared at me.

"You're lying."

I took another bite of pizza.

Slow.

Unbothered.

Or pretending to be.

"I know Tucker," she continued. "And I know he didn't just let you walk away like that."

"Well," I said, wiping my fingers with a napkin, "you better start believing it."

"Bullshit."

Her eyes narrowed.

"This sponsor of yours... how powerful are we talking?"

I didn't answer.

She leaned back slightly.

"Because Tucker doesn't make deals unless he's getting something bigger in return."

My stomach tightened.

Deals.

The word sat heavy in the air.

"I wouldn't know," I shrug eating another bite of pizza.

"Is he rich?"

I shrugged.

"Connected?"

Another shrug.

"Dangerous?"

That one I didn't answer at all.

The silence stretched long enough for her suspicion to grow.

"Jesus, Nat," she muttered. "Who the hell did you get tied up with?"

Before I could think to answer, a sharp beep cut through the air.

Small.

Electronic.

But loud enough to make my pulse jump.

My hand slipped into my bag immediately.

The pager blinked quietly in my palm.

One number.

One signal.

Michael.

Yaris tilted her head.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

I slid the pager back into my bag and stood quickly.

"You're leaving?" she asked, surprised.

"I have to make a call."

"Now?"

"Yes."

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair.

Yaris stared at me like she was trying to piece something together.

"That your mysterious sponsor?"

I slung my bag over my shoulder.

"Something like that."

Her brows lifted slightly.

"Damn," she murmured.

Then she shook her head.

"Well whoever he is... he must be powerful."

I didn't answer.

Because if Michael was paging me, it meant one thing.

He wanted to talk, now.

And the only place I could reach him was the payphone two blocks down the street.

So I left the pizza behind, pushed through the door, and stepped out into the cold night air.

The air outside bit at my skin the second the door closed behind me.

The city hummed the way it always did at night—cars rolling past, distant sirens, voices spilling out from bars down the street. None of it mattered.

My focus stayed on the pager sitting heavy in my bag.

Michael didn't use phones. Not directly.

Not with me.

If the pager went off, it meant one thing.

Find a phone.

Call the number.

Now.

I crossed the street quickly, heels tapping against the pavement as I headed toward the payphone two blocks down. The yellow streetlight above it flickered faintly, casting uneven shadows across the cracked sidewalk.

The booth stood empty.

Good.

I stepped inside and shut the folding door behind me, the small metal space smelling faintly of old rain and cigarettes.

The number displayed on the pager glowed faintly.

I reached into my pocket for a quarter and slid it into the slot.

The machine clanked softly.

My fingers dialed the number from memory before the pager even finished blinking.

The line rang once.

Then twice.

On the third ring, it clicked.

Silence filled the receiver for a moment.

Then his voice came through.

Low.

Calm.

Controlled.

"Angel face."

Just hearing it made my chest tighten slightly.

"Yes," I said quietly.

"You received the page."

"I did."

Another brief pause settled between us, the faint hum of the phone line buzzing in my ear.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

I glanced through the scratched glass of the booth, scanning the sidewalk.

A couple walked past. A car rolled through the intersection.

No one paying attention.

"Yes."

"Good."

His voice stayed even, but there was something under it tonight. Something heavier.

"I need to see you."

My grip tightened slightly around the receiver.The depth of his voice as he spoke the word need seemed to leave so much lingering behind.

"Now?" I asked.

"Yes."

Michael never wasted words.

"Where?" I asked.

"The usual driver will pick you up," he said. "Ten minutes."

That meant he was already nearby.

Or he'd planned this.

"From where I am," I said quietly.

Another pause followed.

Then, softer this time—

"Yes..don't keep him waiting."

The line clicked dead.

I stood there for a moment, the receiver still pressed to my ear.

Then I slowly hung it back on the hook.

Outside the booth, the city continued moving like nothing had changed.

But Michael didn't call without reason.

And if he wanted to see me tonight—

Something had shifted, or maybe he was ready to make his neck move.

My heels start to click rampantly as I made my way back across the street to the pizza place.

Nearly out of breath, I sat back down in my seat— Preparing for whatever arrangements of interrogation questions my dear friend had lined up for me.

"So are you gonna tell me who the sponsor is or are you gonna leave me hanging?"

Lie. To lie is easy, to face the consequences of it..is harder.

Knowing I could lose this opportunity by one rule being broken seemed much worse than telling my best friend one little white lie.

"I work for the assistant dean... on campus."

The words came out smooth.

Too smooth.

Yaris didn't react right away. She just stared at me over the edge of her soda cup, straw pressed between her lips.

Then she slowly pulled the straw out of her mouth.

"Mm."

That was all she said.

But I knew that sound.

That was Yaris filing something away.

"You?" she said finally. "Working for the assistant dean."

Her eyebrow lifted slightly.

"Doing what exactly?"

"Office stuff," I replied, reaching for my drink. "Scheduling. Filing. Administrative things."

Yaris tilted her head.

"You hate office work."

"I hate a lot of things," I muttered.

She tapped her nail against the table.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"You also hate authority," she added.

"Not when it signs my checks."

That earned a small laugh from her, but it didn't remove the suspicion from her eyes.

"You're telling me," she said slowly, "that the assistant dean just... hired you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"And somehow that job—" she gestured vaguely with her hand "—is enough money to replace Tucker's top earner?"

I shrugged.

"Plus my sponsor."

Her gaze sharpened again.

"There it is."

She leaned forward across the table.

"So let's circle back to that part."

I sighed quietly.

"Yaris—"

"No," she cut in. "You don't get to drop that word and then act like I'm not supposed to ask questions."

I took another sip of my drink just to buy a second.

Ten minutes.

Michael's driver would be here in ten minutes.

Maybe less now.

"I told you," I said evenly. "He's just helping with tuition."

"And living expenses?"

"Some."

"And you just... met this guy?"

I nodded.

"Where?"

"A fundraiser."

"What fundraiser?"

"A university one."

She stared at me another long moment.

Then leaned back in her chair.

"Wow."

"What?"

"You are a terrible liar."

I almost choked on my drink.

"I'm not lying."

"Natalia," she said flatly. "You can't even keep your story straight for five sentences."

She pointed at me.

"You don't look relieved."

I frowned slightly.

"What does that mean?"

"If someone saved me from Tucker," she said, "I'd look like I just won the damn lottery."

Her eyes moved slowly across my face.

"But you look like someone just tightened the leash."

The words landed harder than she knew.

I forced a small smile.

"You're overthinking."

"Am I?"

She leaned closer again.

"Because the rumor around the Playhouse is that Tucker is furious."

My stomach tightened.

"He smashed his office lamp this morning," she added. "And you know how he is about his lamps."

That part was true.

Tucker hated disorder.

The idea of him throwing something meant he was losing control.

Or thought he had.

"And," she continued, lowering her voice, "two of his guys have been asking about you."

Ice slid down my spine.

I kept my expression neutral.

"What guys?"

"Marco and Devlin."

That made my pulse kick harder.

Marco didn't ask questions unless Tucker told him to.

"And what did you say?" I asked.

Yaris shrugged.

"That I haven't seen you."

I looked up sharply.

Her eyes met mine.

"I'm not stupid," she said quietly.

A beat of silence passed between us.

Then—

Headlights swept across the window.

A black sedan rolled slowly past the pizza place.

My chest tightened immediately.

The car didn't stop.

It continued down the block.

But I knew that car.

I'd seen it outside Michael's building more than once.

The driver was here.

Yaris followed my gaze toward the window.

"You expecting someone?" she asked casually.

"No," I said quickly.

Too quickly.

Her eyes flicked back to me.

Then to the window again.

Then back to me.

"You're leaving again, aren't you."

"I have to study."

She laughed.

"You hate studying more than office work."

I grabbed my bag before she could say anything else.

"I'll call you later."

"You never call later."

"I will this time."

She watched me stand.

Her expression softened slightly.

"Nat."

I paused.

"If you're in trouble," she said quietly, "you know you can tell me."

For a second the truth nearly came out.

Michael.

The deal.

Tucker.

All of it.

But the NDA sat like a knife at my throat.

So I forced a smile.

"I'm fine."

Yaris didn't look convinced.

But she nodded slowly anyway.

"Okay."

I turned and headed for the door.

The bell chimed as I pushed it open.

Cold air rushed in again.

And across the street, idling beneath the streetlight—

The black sedan waited.

The driver stepped out the moment he saw me.

Tall.

Expressionless.

He opened the back door without a word.

And as I slid into the car, the door closing softly behind me—

I realized something.

The familiar scent of Cedar and spice begin to circulate around me, causing my breath to hitch.

My eyes reach a pair of custom black Christian Louboutin's perfectly placed next to me.

As to confirm, his hand touches my thigh softly.

"Hello, Angel."

The sound of his voice sent a quiet shiver through my chest.

I turned slowly meeting his dark eyes.

Michael sat beside me in the dim backseat, long legs stretched slightly forward, one arm resting casually along the leather behind my shoulders like he owned the space around me. Which, in a way, he did.

The faint glow from the streetlight outside cut across his face for just a moment—sharp jaw, unreadable eyes, dark hair perfectly in place like the night itself hadn't dared disturb him.

It was unmistakably him.

My heartbeat steadied slightly, though the tension never fully left.

"I thought you said the driver would pick me up," I said quietly.

Michael's thumb moved once against my thigh, absentminded, slow.

"He did."

The corner of his mouth lifted just barely.

"I happen to be the passenger tonight."

The car eased away from the curb, gliding smoothly back into traffic.

For a moment neither of us spoke.