“I thought so.”

We remain standing next to each other for another minute or so, the distance between us almost nonexistent. It would be so easy to reach out and hold his hand. The sound of an incoming call breaks the silence, bringing us back to reality.

He takes his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and ignores the call after noting the name of the caller. He lifts his gaze to meet my own.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I should go … I’m here with someone,” I reply, not really wanting to leave him just yet.

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”

I frown. He didn’t have to be quite so blunt. The stranger extends a hand toward me, holding something in his fingers.

“Here … ”

I open my hand as I feel the edges of what I assume is his business card poke the skin of my palm. “What’s this?” I ask stupidly.

“My business card, of course.”

“Obviously … but why?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s just say that I’m an interested buyer.”

And then he’s gone.

He turns and walks away from me, disappearing into a sea of colorful gowns and black suits. As the sounds of the party infiltrate my ears once more, I lower my gaze to stare at the simple cream-colored card in my hand. Its simplistic and elegant design draws attention to the name printed in bold black letters on the paper.

Lawrence Rothschild.

I smile and let my fingertips trail his name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.

I’m still reeling from my encounter with the stranger when I spot Walker standing in the same place and with the same crowd as before. I run a hand through my hair nervously as I try to quiet the voices inside my head. Should I go back? Will I see him again? Afraid that I’ll turn around and go in search of Mr. Rothschild because, let’s face it, I’m fickle, I decide to join Walker and his friends.

Eyes on me, gazes filled with admiration or disapproval, it doesn’t matter one way or another—I’m untouchable. It also doesn’t change the fact that they can’t look away from my body exposing itself through the thin layer of lace that covers every decadent inch of pale skin.

Walker looks my way, his ice-blue eyes finding mine and darkening with ravenous desire. We smile at each other. We can’t look away. We fuck each other with our eyes while filthy images of his cock and where I want it flash through my mind. Dirty, so dirty. Gradually, I observe a smug smile as mouthwatering as the sweetest of sins spread across his face and it makes me feel like I’m flying. Yet, as I close the distance between us … as the buzzing of voices gets louder in my ears … as I grow wet with the promise of his taste on my tongue …

I decide not to throw Mr. Rothschild’s business card away.

One never knows when it will be time for an upgrade.

I stand next to Walker, his hand reaching out for mine, linking our fingers and pulling me closer to him. Lowering his mouth to my bare shoulder, he lets his breath hit my skin before kissing it.

“I was beginning to wonder if someone stole you away,” he whispers in my ear.

I glance at him sideways, a small smile playing on my lips. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, you sure are, baby.” He grins.

People cough around us. The men who saw him kiss me with familiar ownership stare at me while their partners pretend that I don’t exist.

“Ugh, Walker, get a room,” a female not much older than me says.

Lifting my eyes, I stare at a girl who looks eerily like me—black hair, blue eyes, pale skin but no curves. She reminds me of winter.

“Everyone, this is Bla—”

“As I was saying, Eleanor, before Walker interrupted us …” The girl turns to look the other way, talking over him without acknowledging my presence or the fact that Walker was about to introduce me to them. Her girlfriends follow suit, ignoring me as well.

Walker squeezes my hand but doesn’t say a word in my defense. Suddenly feeling very small and exposed, I want to let go of him, cross my arms over my chest while I walk away and never turn back. Maybe I’m not as untouchable as I thought.

I’m ready to leave when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman named Eleanor snicker and thank God for that because it lights up an angry fire inside me. And that fire wants to burn everything and everyone in its path. I’ve been here before. I’ve been bullied, I’ve been purposefully ignored, I’ve been made fun of, but this time I won’t let them win. No, I’m not that girl anymore. And maybe it’s my fault because of the way I dress, or the way I let him touch me, but that doesn’t give them the right to be rude to me when I barely know them. I haven’t done anything to warrant their cruelty. But if she wants a reason to be a bitch to me, so be it. I’ll give her and to her group of plastic friends a reason, no problem.

I let go of Walker’s hold to run my hands over my hips, seemingly fixing my dress when in reality I want to draw the men’s attention to the curves of my body. A taunting smirk in place, I make eye contact with Eleanor’s husband. Payback time. He seems to have been waiting for this to happen because the moment I do, he raises his glass of champagne in salute and takes a sip, his stare unwavering. Smiling at him even though I don’t feel like it, I lick my lips slowly, almost as if I could taste the bubbly liquid going down his throat on them. He seems satisfied as the usual look of greedy want glazes over his eyes, his dick likely growing hard in his tuxedo pants. He’s probably the kind of man who lies down on his back and lets the woman do all the work while he pants about what a bad, bad girl she is. Yawn.

Satisfaction warms my bitter heart when I see the woman tugging his arm forcefully, jealousy marring her pretty features in the angry blush coating her cheeks. I chuckle. If I really wanted to screw with them, I could drop a hint to the same gentleman who’s removing my clothes with his eyes and meet him in a dark corner …

But I don’t. I have nothing to prove to them.

Nothing.

When I’m about to look away, Walker lets his hand land on the curve of my ass. Molding his palm like a second skin on mine, I can feel his middle finger beginning to graze the back of my thighs, slowly making its way under my skirt—closer to my hot core. The tightly packed crowd is Walker’s perfect cover to his assault.

“I don’t like the way Arthur is staring at you,” he whispers in my ear. “At all.” And then his finger is inside me.

I stare ahead of me, seeing nothing but feeling everything, and try to focus on the handsome man with black hair who happens to be holding the hand of the girl who looks like me. Walker is right. He’s indeed watching me.

“He wants you,” Walker whispers once again, pushing his finger all the way in. It hurts, but I love it. It sends a chill coursing up my spine, making my hand tremble as I lift a flute of champagne to my lips.

After I take a sip, I turn to look at him. “They always do.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I’m gripped by a sense of melancholy—emptiness. They all want me—my body, my face, my mouth—but none of them want me. None of them care to know what lies underneath it all. There’s nothing there.