Wren Mercer had known Chase would come back.
She had expected it.
The timing, too, was almost exactly what she'd predicted.
"Changed your mind?" she asked.
Chase let out a quiet breath, as if surrendering to something unavoidable, then nodded.
"If you're offering yourself," Wren said with a faint, amused smile, "I won't refuse. Come in."
Chase stood at the doorway for a few seconds before stepping inside.
There were no men's slippers by the entrance, so he walked into the living room in his socks.
Wren sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, her gaze slow and deliberate as it moved over him, like someone inspecting merchandise.
In that moment, Chase understood.
There was no turning back.
His dignity and pride had already been crushed under someone else's heel.
Wren crooked her finger at him, the teasing in her eyes completely unhidden.
"Come here. Kiss me."
For a split second, Chase wanted to run.
But the thought of the three hundred thousand dragged him back to reality.
He walked over, bent down slightly—
Before he could reach her, Wren caught his chin and tilted his face up.
His jaw lifted, his neck exposed. Beneath his slightly open shirt, his collarbones showed faintly.
His skin was pale and smooth. There was a light, clean scent on him, like fresh soap. Crisp. Pleasant.
Wren didn't dislike it.
"Your first time touching a woman?" she asked softly.
Their closeness made Chase flinch. He pulled back instinctively, a flash of disgust rising in his eyes.
Whether it was disgust toward himself, or toward Wren for treating paid companionship like a sport, even he didn't know.
Wren liked his reaction.
Especially that look.
Like a startled hedgehog, bristling the moment anyone got close.
"Regretting it?" she said lazily. "The door's right there. You can leave anytime."
Chase clenched his jaw.
There was no such thing as turning back once the arrow was loosed.
He had chosen this path himself. He had no right to hesitate now.
"No," he said after a pause. "I just… I've never had a girlfriend."
Wren smiled, then lifted her arms toward him.
"Carry me to the bedroom."
Chase froze for a moment, then bent down again. One arm slipped around her waist, the other beneath her legs, lifting her steadily.
She was tall, but light.
As their bodies drew close, a soft perfume rose from her silk dress, warm and faintly intoxicating. His ears burned red almost instantly.
The bedroom décor was understated and elegant. Expensive skincare bottles lined the vanity.
This wasn't the room from earlier. It was clearly her private space.
He set her down on the bed and was about to straighten up—
Suddenly, Wren's arms looped around his neck.
Chase jolted. Acting on instinct, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them away, almost throwing her aside.
She hissed softly.
The movement tugged at her injury, pain flickering across her face.
If she hadn't been wounded, he wouldn't have been able to touch her at all.
Chase froze.
Then he immediately released her.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Big reaction," Wren said calmly.
She didn't mind. The more he resisted, the more interesting he became.
She stood up and deliberately brushed a finger beneath his chin, then slid her hand under his shirt.
Her cool fingers against his skin made him shiver.
The hem of his shirt lifted, revealing a lean waist and defined muscles. Beneath his dark trousers, his long legs were taut and strong.
"Nice body," she commented. "You train?"
"I studied combat sports and fencing."
"No wonder," Wren said with a smile.
As if deliberately wearing down his resolve, her hand slid along his waist and across his back.
His skin was smooth, his lines clean and sculpted, like something carefully crafted.
Tension tightened his muscles. Beneath his shoulder blades, the bones stood out faintly, sharp and powerful.
Wren's mind flickered back to that stormy night, lightning cutting across his back.
Those wing-like bones.
Beautiful. Like something meant to fly.
Chase's thoughts spiraled. He wanted to step back, but didn't dare.
He was afraid that displeasing her would end the transaction.
"Have you ever touched a gun?" Wren asked suddenly.
He shook his head. "No."
"Then why choose me?"
He looked confused. "What do you mean?"
"You could've made just as much money at the club."
Realization hit him. His expression shifted.
"I'm not—"
The word prostitute almost left his mouth, then stopped.
Selling his body for money.
What difference was there now?
His gaze dimmed.
"Because here, it's just the two of us," he said quietly. "And when this is over, we won't know each other."
Wren raised an eyebrow. "I could introduce myself."
"No," Chase refused immediately.
She found that interesting.
"So once the deal is done, we're strangers?"
Chase stayed silent.
He had already sworn to himself.
Once.
Only once.
Wren studied his face for a moment, then withdrew her hand and smoothed down his shirt.
"My body isn't in good condition today," she said calmly. "We'll stop here."
Chase panicked.
Had he upset her?
He had done everything she asked.
"Why?" he asked. "Was I… not satisfactory?"
Wren touched his face gently, soothing him like a hedgehog ready to lash out.
"Don't overthink it. I'm just not well."
She had only meant to tease him, not go any further.
Her gunshot wound hadn't healed. Pushing things now would be reckless.
Chase hesitated, then finally asked, "The money…?"
"I'll pay it," Wren said.
"As for you—" her gaze swept over him slowly, "you'll owe me."
Chase released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
As long as the money came through, nothing else mattered.
Wren stepped out of the bedroom, pulled out her phone, and held the QR code in front of him.
"Add me. When I'm better, I'll call you. You'll come whenever I ask."
She paused slightly.
"Don't think about running."
"I won't," Chase said quietly.
"Until the deal is finished, I'll be here."
He knew how empty the promise probably sounded. A ruined man drowning in debt had very little credibility.
But it was all he had to give.
Wren lifted a brow.
"Good," she said. "Then I look forward to seeing you again."
With the money secured, Chase returned to his rental and collapsed onto the bed, his body finally going slack with relief.
No matter what he had gone through, at least his mother could be saved.
The exhaustion and strain of the past two months caught up with him all at once. He fell asleep quickly, and for once, slept deeply.
At five the next morning, the alarm rang on time.
Chase got up, washed quickly, and jogged to the breakfast shop.
The three hundred thousand only covered the surgery itself. There would still be recovery and follow-up treatment afterward. He couldn't stop working.
"Chase, are you feeling better?" Marianne Dupont asked. "It's not busy these next couple of days. You could rest a bit more."
"I'm much better, Madame Dupont."
The owner of the breakfast shop was a woman in her forties. Warm, outspoken, and easygoing. Her only flaw was her love of gossip.
When she saw Chase come out in his work clothes, she leaned closer with a grin.
"The woman who called yesterday morning to ask for leave for you," she said. "Was that your girlfriend?"
Chase reacted immediately.
"No. She's…"
He stopped.
What was she?
He didn't even know her name. He didn't know what she did. They weren't friends, not even close.
"I get it," Marianne laughed, her voice ringing through the small shop.
"No need to be shy. I've lived long enough to know. What does she do? A classmate? Someone you grew up with? I hear you young people these days are all about—"
Before she could finish, Chase grabbed a tray and headed out.
"Madame Dupont, customers are here. I'll get back to work."
"Oh, come on, I wasn't done yet," she called after him, smiling wide as she watched him go.
Chase had been working at her shop for over a month. He was quick, reliable, and hardworking. She genuinely liked him.
After finishing his shift, Chase called the university to arrange leave, then took the metro to the hospital.
In the ward, a pale woman sat by the window, staring at the leafy trees outside.
Illness had drained her strength so badly that she looked like a gust of wind could knock her over.
Even so, she was impeccably groomed. Her makeup was neat, her long hair pinned cleanly back, her posture composed and dignified.
"Mom."
Mrs. Ford stiffened slightly before turning around.
"Chase? Why are you here?" she asked. "Isn't it Monday? Don't you have class?"
Chase set the insulated food container on the table and hugged her gently.
"There was a lecture today, but it wasn't for my department. How are you feeling?"
"Much better," she said, visibly relieved. She touched his face, her gaze soft and lingering.
She knew her condition well. Treatment would cost a fortune. The family had already fallen. She didn't want to drag her son down with her.
"You've lost weight," she said quietly. "Have you been working too hard?"
"No," Chase replied lightly. "I just tutor for a couple of hours after class. It's not tiring."
He poured out a small bowl of porridge he had packed from the breakfast shop and handed it to her.
She looked thinner than before.
Mrs. Ford took a spoonful. Even illness couldn't strip her of her elegance.
She had already decided to request discharge today. If her time was limited, she wanted to spend it with her son.
But before she could speak, Chase told her the news.
"Mom, they found a kidney match. I've scheduled the surgery. The doctor said it can be done on Wednesday."
Mrs. Ford froze.
"Surgery?" she asked. "Chase… where did you get that kind of money?"
She knew their situation too well.
After the bankruptcy, everything sellable had been sold. The rest was frozen. Victor Ford had left behind nothing but debt.
Let alone hundreds of thousands, even daily expenses were hard to manage.
"Chase," she said carefully, fear creeping into her voice,
"tell me the truth. Did you do something illegal?"
"No," Chase said quickly. "My uncle helped."
"I told him about your condition. He agreed to give us the money."
Mrs. Ford didn't believe it, but she didn't press him.
She knew Victor's brother. After the collapse, he'd been eager to cut ties. Would he really help?
Seeing she didn't push, Chase quietly relaxed.
Aside from that excuse, he didn't know who else he could name.
Everyone treated them like a contagion now. Any other explanation would sound even less convincing.
After finishing the porridge, Mrs. Ford wiped her mouth.
"The weather's nice today," she said gently. "Take me outside for a bit."
"Okay."
This city was warm year-round, full of life no matter the season.
Once outside the ward, Mrs. Ford sat in a wheelchair, enjoying the sunlight.
A young nurse approached, cheeks faintly flushed.
"Ma'am, it's windy," Nurse Claire Martin said. "You should cover your legs so you don't catch a chill."
She draped a blanket over Mrs. Ford's knees and hurried off.
Mrs. Ford smiled.
"Chase," she said lightly, "you're exactly like your father was when he was young."
Chase adjusted the blanket.
"What do you mean?"
"You attract attention without meaning to."
"Mom—"
She smiled knowingly.
She had lived long enough to recognize those looks.
Her son was exceptional. She knew that. But early romance could derail his future.
The Ford family had fallen. Connections were gone. Resources scattered.
Education was the only path left.
"Chase," she said softly, "once you finish your second year, go abroad."
"To England."
"I still have some jewelry. A friend of your father runs an auction house. He's trustworthy. When you have time, go see him. He'll help convert them into cash."
"I've estimated it. It should be no less than one million. Enough for you to build a future overseas."
Chase was stunned.
Why had she never told him?
If that money existed, why had he begged and scraped like this?
Then realization hit him.
His eyes filled instantly.
She had never planned to treat her illness.
"Mom," he said hoarsely, "when you get better… we'll go abroad together."
Mrs. Ford looked at him and smiled.