Aria's POV
"Aria, seriously—are you doing this?" Maya Lin's voice crackled through my phone speaker as I fumbled with the edge of the whiteboard. Her tone was equal parts shock and pleading.
"I don't have a choice, Maya," I whispered, heart pounding so hard I was sure the customers inside O'Connor's Bar could hear it. "Fifty thousand dollars. They want fifty thousand now, or Lila dies."
A long silence. "I… I don't know what to say," Maya finally breathed. "You're my best friend. I can't lose you."
"Help me, Maya." I wiped a tear away before it smudged my eyeliner. "I'll call you later. Promise."
With trembling fingers, I ended the call and set my phone into my back pocket. The bright white of the board gleamed under the streetlight, the black marker slashes reading "Virginity for Sale – $100,000." My breath came in ragged gasps. All around me was the low hum of late-night traffic and the muffled laughter from inside the bar where I'd worked three nights a week since September. Tonight, though, there were no tips, no courtesy drinks, just panic and the sick twist in my gut.
I braced my free hand on the brick wall behind me. The coolness seeped through my shirt as I raised the board higher, scanning the street for someone—anyone—who might help. And then I saw him.
From the corner of my eye, a sleek black SUV rolled to a stop. The door opened, and out stepped Damon Westin: tall, impeccably dressed, with that same hard, unreadable expression plastered on his face in every magazine photo. At his side was his personal assistant, Godson Crane—lean, alert, scanning the street with hawk eyes.
My chest tightened. This was my chance.
"Stop!" I called out, my voice shaking with urgency. Damon paused mid-stride. Godson raised an eyebrow. Customers inside the bar turned.
I took a step forward, whiteboard held high. "Sir—please. I need your help."
Damon's gaze dropped to the sign: Virginity for Sale – $100,000. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Godson clicked his tongue.
"Are you—serious?" Damon's voice was low, almost amused. He took a careful step closer, personal assistant hovering behind him.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "My sister… she needs heart surgery. Fifty thousand dollars just to start. I can't— I'm in college, I work here part-time… I don't have it."
Damon's jaw clenched. "You want me to buy your virginity?"
"I…I'm sorry." I raised my chin, tears welling. "I wouldn't ask if I had another option. Please."
He studied me—my teary face framed by loose waves of chestnut hair, the desperation etched in every line. Then he glanced to Godson, who gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Why should I do this?" Damon asked, voice cold but curious. "You're…still tender. What makes you think I want it?"
My throat felt raw. I blinked back tears. "Because I have nothing else. I'd rather die than watch her die. Please, Mr.—"
"Westin." His lips curved in the slightest tilt of a smile, though his eyes remained unreadable.
"Please help me, Mr. Westin." My words rushed out in a plea, tears slipping free down my cheeks.
For a moment, the city seemed to hold its breath. Then Damon reached into his jacket pocket and produced a crisp, black-edged business card. Under the streetlamp's glow, I could just make out the silver foil lettering:
Damon Westin
Chief Executive Officer
Westin Industries
He extended it to me, fingertips almost brushing mine. "Wednesday. The Beaumont Hotel. Room 612. 8 PM."
My chest seized. "I…yes. Thank you."
Godson stepped forward. "You'll sign a contract. Terms are non-negotiable."
I swallowed hard, nodding. "I understand."
Damon's gaze softened—just a fraction—before he turned on his heel. Godson followed, and within seconds they were back in the SUV, the engine roaring to life. I watched them go, the tail lights disappearing into the night.
My legs trembled so badly I had to lean against the brick wall for support. My breath was noisy in my own ears. I pressed the business card against my heart, the metallic edges biting into my palm.
"Thank you," I whispered to the night, though I wasn't sure if I meant him or the Goddess of Desperation for answering a prayer I didn't even know how to form.
I staggered inside the bar just as my shift was ending. The bartender, Marcus, glanced up but didn't ask questions—he knew better than to pry when I was in that state. I dropped the whiteboard behind the counter, the marker hissing as the cap rolled across the floor.
Maya was waiting for me in a broken-down booth at the back, her face ghost-white. "What…what happened?"
I slid into the seat opposite her, pressing the business card onto the table. "He said yes."
Maya's hand flew over her mouth. "Aria, that's… insane."
"I know." I closed my eyes, fighting the bile rising in my throat. "But it's the only way."
She reached across and gripped my hand. "I'll help you prepare, whatever you need. You're not alone."
Her words gave me a small spark of warmth in the darkness. "Thank you."
That night, back in my dorm room, I sat on the edge of my bed, the card clenched in my fist. The city lights spilled through the window, painting patterns on my sheets. Lila's room was next door—silent, still.
I imagined her pale face, her thin frame hooked up to IV drips, the way she used to laugh when I tickled her. I swallowed the lump in my throat. For her, I would do anything.
The contract terms swirled in my mind: non-negotiable, one night, no attachments. But I had no illusions—emotions had nothing to do with this transaction. It was business, cold and clear-cut.
Rubbing my temples, I pressed the card flat against my palm. Wednesday. Beaumont Hotel. Room 612. 8 PM.
I tried to study the room number in my head, but every time I closed my eyes I saw Damon's face—the shock, the curiosity, the odd softness in his gaze before he walked away.
Had I imagined it? No. He was intrigued. Maybe even… concerned. I shook my head. He was a CEO. Calculated. Dangerous. He didn't do concern.