Chapter 10 Chapter 10
Chapter 10
SELENE
The morning of the dress fitting arrived too quickly. I'd barely slept, my mind spinning through scenarios and possibilities, all of them leading to dead ends. But I forced myself out of bed, showered, and dressed in one of the simple outfits Derek's assistants had chosen for me—elegant but understated, appropriate for a woman of my supposed station.
The bags from yesterday still sat in my closet, taunting me with their uselessness. I grabbed them on impulse, some stubborn part of me refusing to give up. Maybe there was one more shop I could try. Maybe someone, somewhere, would be willing to help me.
The sixth pawn shop was in an even rougher part of the city, the kind of neighborhood where my car stood out like a beacon. I parked in front of a shop with barred windows and a faded sign: "J&J Pawn - We Buy Anything."
Anything. Maybe they meant it.
I gathered my bags and headed inside, my heart pounding with desperate hope. The interior was cramped and musty, shelves crammed with items people had traded for cash. A heavyset man with a cigarette dangling from his lips looked up as I entered.
"Help you?" he asked, his eyes immediately suspicious.
I set the bags on the counter and pulled out the Hermès bag. "I'd like to sell this."
He examined it briefly, then looked at me. "You Mrs. Sterling?"
My heart sank. "How did you—"
"Lady, everyone in this city knows who Derek Sterling is. And everyone knows his wife." He pushed the bag back toward me. "I can't help you. Sorry."
"Please," I said, hating the desperation in my voice. "I need the money. I'll sell everything at a discount. Half price. Whatever you think is fair."
He shook his head, almost looking sympathetic. "It's not about the price. It's about what your husband would do to me if he found out. I got a family to think about. Can't risk it."
I left the shop with tears burning in my eyes, clutching the bags that had become symbols of my powerlessness. The sidewalk was crowded with midday foot traffic, and I walked blindly, not caring where I was going, just needing to move.
I was so distracted, so caught up in my despair, that I didn't see the man until I'd walked directly into him.
The collision was hard enough to knock the bags from my hands, sending luxury items scattering across the dirty sidewalk. I stumbled backward, would have fallen if strong hands hadn't caught my arms, steadying me.
"I'm so sorry," I stammered, looking up to apologize properly.
The words died in my throat.
The man was tall—taller than Derek—with a presence that seemed to fill the space around him. He wore an expensive suit, perfectly tailored, but there was something rough about him, something dangerous that luxury clothing couldn't disguise. His face was striking—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, full lips set in a hard line. But it was his eyes that caught me, held me frozen.
Amber. An unusual color, almost predatory, like a wolf's eyes. They studied me with intense curiosity, taking in every detail of my face with an attention that made me shiver.
And then there were the tattoos.
They covered his neck, intricate patterns that disappeared beneath his collar and emerged from his sleeves, continuing down to cover his hands completely. I'd never seen anything like it—the contrast between the refined suit and the aggressive ink was striking, almost hypnotic.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my chest.
"I—yes, I'm fine. I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going." I pulled away from his grip, suddenly aware of how close we were standing, and knelt to gather my scattered belongings.
He crouched beside me, helping collect the items with tattooed hands that moved with surprising grace. He picked up the Hermès bag, examining it briefly before handing it to me.
"What's with all this?" he asked, gesturing to the collection of luxury items.
I should have made up a story, should have protected myself. But I was so tired, so worn down by the morning's failures, that the truth spilled out.
"I'm trying to sell them," I said, shoving items back into bags. "But no one will buy them. They're too expensive, too recognizable. They're useless to me."
He was quiet for a moment, still crouched beside me on the sidewalk. When I glanced at him, those amber eyes were watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Why are you trying to sell them?" he asked.
The question was simple, but the way he asked it—direct, genuinely curious—made me want to answer honestly. But some survival instinct kicked in, reminding me that I didn't know this man, shouldn't trust him.
"That's... complicated," I said carefully.
He nodded, as if he understood the need for secrecy. We finished gathering the items in silence, both standing. He was close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something dark and woody, expensive but not overwhelming.
"How much do you need?" he asked abruptly.
I blinked, confused. "What?"
"How much money do you need? For whatever it is you're planning."
My heart started racing. "I don't—I'm not—"
"I'll buy everything," he said, cutting off my stammering. "All of it. Name your price."
This had to be a joke, or a trap. People didn't just offer to buy luxury items on the street from strangers. "I don't understand. You don't even know what it's worth."
A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I know quality when I see it. And I know desperation when I see it too." His eyes held mine. "You need money. I'm offering to give it to you. Simple transaction."
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Someone who appreciates beautiful things," he said, his gaze never leaving my face. "And someone who doesn't ask questions he doesn't need answers to."
I should have walked away. Everything about this situation screamed danger—the stranger, the offer, the way he looked at me like he could see straight through my carefully constructed façade. But I was desperate, and desperation made people do foolish things.
"How much?" I asked.
He glanced at the bags in my hands, making a quick mental calculation. "Five hundred thousand."
The number made my head spin. That was more than I'd hoped for, more than I'd dreamed. That was enough to leave, to start over, to give my baby a real future.
"That's too much," I said automatically, even though everything in me wanted to say yes.
"It's fair," he countered. "For what you're selling. Do we have a deal?"
I nodded before I could talk myself out of it. "Yes. Yes, we have a deal."
"Good." He pulled out his phone, typed something quickly. "My accountant will wire the money. I'll need your bank information."
Reality crashed down on me like ice water. "I don't have a bank account."
He looked up from his phone, those amber eyes sharp. "What do you mean you don't have a bank account?"