$300K Blackmail Lesson of My Bestie's Father

"Arch that back lower, sweetheart. Higher with the hips. Trust me, you'll like it better this way."

When I accidentally shattered that antique vase at my classmate's house, his father saw an opportunity. Now here I was, bent over like some shameful display while he loomed behind me with threats and that damn phone.

My eyes darted toward where Ryan and our classmates were gathered just rooms away. A cocktail of fear and something else entirely—something hot and unfamiliar—made my body obey against my better judgment.

...

"Hold still. Evidence first."

Mr. Royston's command froze me mid-movement as I tried to tug my skirt down. My face burned. God, could he see how hard I was shaking?

"I—I didn't mean to!" The words tumbled out in a rush. "The vase was right by the bathroom door, I didn't even— Can I just... adjust this? It's riding up everywhere. You're going to— Please, just let me cover—"

Vincent didn't even glance up from his phone as he stepped closer. No, his gaze stayed fixed on me over the screen's edge, dark and hungry.

The strawberry lace peeking beneath my skirt might as well have been neon. My cheeks flamed, but without permission, I didn't dare yank the fabric down.

"Good girl, Emily." His smirk sent a traitorous thrill down my spine.

He sighed theatrically at the porcelain shards before his attention snagged on the thin cut bleeding down my thigh.

"Tsk. Such pretty skin." His calloused thumb swiped through the blood, rough against the softness he'd just praised. Millionaire hands, but they felt like they'd seen real work. The contrast alone made me shudder.

"Three hundred thousand. Certified appraisal's right here."

His stare dropped to where my dress gaped, and I instinctively hunched. "But it was just sitting there—"

"Doesn't matter." His voice turned to ice. "Cameras caught you. Legally? You're fucked."

Ryan had invited half our class to his family's monstrosity of a mansion. My boyfriend was probably still by the pool. All I'd done was excuse myself to pee—who puts a Ming dynasty heirloom next to a toilet?

Vincent leaned in, heat rolling off him. "The money's pocket change. But since you don't have it..." His thumb pressed harder into my cut. "You could pretend to be mine instead."