3.

If you had to put a name to it, Adrian had been my older brother.

More or less.

My mother was rich.

For as long as I could remember, the men around her had come and gone.

They were all her kept men.

Adrian's father had been one of them.

I'd heard his wife died of rage over it.

That sort of thing didn't figure into my mother's calculations.

She wanted her men attractive and obedient. That was all.

Adrian saw it differently.

To him, we'd destroyed his family and driven his mother to her death.

Once he made something of himself, the first thing he did was take his revenge.

He didn't spare his father.

He didn't spare my mother.

And he certainly didn't spare me.

My mother simply had a lot of lovers.

I was different. I liked tormenting people.

Especially the upright ones. The good ones. The ones who looked as if nothing could ever make them bend.

I liked breaking them down, little by little.

Adrian had been perfect.

I'd put a dog collar around his neck and made him call me master.

Deliberately smeared moisturizer over my feet and ordered him to clean it off.

Watched the veins stand out in his neck as he endured it.

Enjoyed the humiliation of knowing he didn't want to do it and had no choice.

If he refused, of course, there were others who would.

Thanks to my mother, I had plenty of admirers willing to please me too.

But Adrian had always been my favorite.

He had a backbone.

He was also the one who told me my mother had died and the family was bankrupt.

I still remembered his expression.

Someone had asked him what should be done with me.

He looked at me, drunk in someone else's arms, with the cold indifference you might give a miserable insect.

"Leave him. A spoiled brat like that won't survive on his own. He'll come begging soon enough."

Right.

He was waiting for me to beg.

I refused.

4.

It hadn't.

Someone was standing over me with an umbrella.

I followed the outstretched hand upward.

Through my swimming vision, Adrian Mercer's face slowly came into focus.

My heart gave a violent thud.

I'd imagined running into him again more times than I could count.

In those versions, I'd usually rebuilt my fortune. Made something of myself. Become the dazzling Julian Ashford again.

I would stamp my foot at him, all confidence and attitude.

Never this.

Never crouching at his feet like a stray, filthy and pathetic.

I hoped he wouldn't recognize me.

Unfortunately, he probably would have recognized me even as a pile of ashes.

A mocking smile lifted his mouth.

He took a step forward.

Right across my fingers.

Another shoe print on bills that were already dirty enough.

The polished toe of his shoe tipped up my chin.

He looked down at me.

"Isn't this my master? How did you end up like this?"

His gaze flicked toward the brightly lit club behind me.

The contempt wasn't even disguised.

"Julian Ashford is doing that for pocket change now?"

He had the wrong idea.

I delivered food. I'd happened to have a delivery here today and picked up a little extra money while I was at it.

My brief silence must have looked like an admission.

His expression darkened.

He was angry.

The toe of his shoe ground harder against my cheek.

"You could have come to me. I'd pay you more than they would."

I considered how to hit back.

Nothing came to me.

I was flat broke. Who was I kidding?

I could still disgust him, though.

I grabbed his trouser leg with my dirty hand and squeezed, leaving a dark handprint.

Then I tipped my head back and grinned shamelessly.

"Did you get so used to being my dog that you still lose your shit whenever you see me?"