Late night, inside a lavish nightclub.

"Mr. Knight, let Claire keep you company tonight. She's still a virgin—I'm sure you'll enjoy her," Margaret said with a fake sweet smile, pushing Claire Hart into the private suite without giving her a chance to react. As long as this little girl could please Ethan Knight, their company might have a shot at survival.

Claire gave a dry, bitter chuckle.

"Play?" What exactly did she mean by that?

Play with her?

What a joke.

The private suite was dimly lit with hypnotic lights swirling around. There were more than ten people in the room—men in suits, women dressed to kill, each one more seductive than the last.

Right in the center sat the infamous "Mr. Knight" her stepmother referred to. Ethan had short, messy hair that somehow looked effortless and sexy. His dark, piercing eyes held an air of arrogance, narrowed as if everything bored him. One arm rested lazily on the back of the sofa, with two attractive women nestled on either side.

He radiated a kind of quiet dominance—the kind that made people instinctively wary. Even slumped on the couch, he gave off that untouchable, upper-crust vibe.

A man who could give you chills just with a look...

Claire’s first instinct was to bolt. She’d been tricked. She thought she was going shopping—dressed up pretty for a fun day out—only to be delivered like a present. Wrapped too?

What a joke.

Ethan let out a mocking laugh, his eyes skimming over her lazily as his lips curled, half amused, half cruel. "A virgin? You're not just some backup plan, are you?"

The room immediately erupted in laughter.

Seriously? Did he really just say that out loud?

Who talks like that?

A curvy, overly clingy woman glued to Ethan’s side chimed in, echoing his sneer. "Yeah, backup plan maybe?"

Claire clenched her fists tight, clearly done with this crap. She shot Ethan a frosty glare. Normally, she’d cuss someone out for less. And this guy? He delivered a full insult in under ten seconds. Impressive. Really.

She scanned the room, calculating her chances of escaping. No way was she going to be some sacrificial lamb—they’d have to find another way to save the company. Why did she need to be the bargaining chip?

"Margaret, I’m going home," Claire said quickly, and turned toward the hallway.

But Margaret wasn’t about to let her get away. Stepping right into her path, she shoved Claire hard—so hard that Claire stumbled and fell right into Ethan’s lap.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Under the light, Ethan’s face was startlingly attractive—angles cut like stone, deep eyes, and a wicked smirk tugging at just one side of his lips. Dangerous-level handsome.

Ethan cocked an eyebrow, that sneer still playing at his mouth. "What, throwing yourself at me already?"

Claire forced a small, bitter smile. Throwing herself at him? Yeah, not even close.

"Sorry, but I’m really not into you," she said seriously, squirming to get off him.

What kind of guy was he anyway? One of those spoiled playboys with too much money and too little class. Definitely not her type.

Not into him?

Ethan's eyes darkened at her words, studying her with interest. He’d had plenty of women pushed his way over the years, and he usually couldn't be bothered. But this one? This one was different.

Interesting.

She definitely had his attention now. But she better not be trying some “hard to get” strategy...

Because no one beat him at mind games.

Claire tried again to get up, but Ethan’s arms locked around her, holding her tightly.

Wait—what was he doing?

Surely he didn’t actually think she was a gift with a bow?

Just the thought made her skin crawl.

She struggled, panic crawling up her spine. "Let me go, you can’t—" His grip was steel, unmoving, like he’d trained for this.

Her flailing was useless.