CHAPTER ONE: "Bank Account Broke, Body Ready"
The irony hit her like a slap.
Twenty-year-old Ava Monroe, LA’s “bad girl sweetheart” on Instagram, was sitting in her tiny West Hollywood apartment eating instant noodles—while her face was plastered across three brand campaigns she’d barely been paid for.
Her bank account?
Negative $134.07.
She needed money. Fast.
So when she got the exclusive invite to a private event hosted by the richest man in America, her gut told her it wasn’t just a party—it was an opportunity. One she’d have to take… even if it meant playing dirty.
---
He entered like he owned the planet.
Dominic King.
Fifty. Sharp. Dangerous.
Salt-and-pepper hair.
Italian suit molded to muscles that shouldn’t exist at his age.
Rumored to own half of Manhattan and every woman who crossed his path.
But tonight—he only had eyes for her.
She saw him staring across the room, dark whiskey gaze locked onto her legs like they were his personal playground. The hunger in his stare made her thighs clench. God, she hadn’t been touched in weeks.
He didn’t wait long.
Dominic moved in close—his cologne was warm spice and sin.
> “You don’t belong with boys who don’t pay their rent,” he murmured, voice silk-wrapped steel. “I can see it in your walk—you want to be owned.”
Ava’s breath hitched. His words hit somewhere low and wicked.
> “And you want someone who can pay for it all?” he asked, eyes dragging down her neckline. “You want to be spoiled, ruined… fucked like you’re not even real.”
She tried to sass him. “And you think that’s you?”
> “I don’t think, kitten. I know.”
---
That night, he drove her to his penthouse—one that overlooked the entire LA skyline. His driver didn’t speak. His staff didn’t blink.
And when the doors shut behind them, Dominic backed her against the glass wall overlooking the city and kissed her like he already owned her soul.
His lips were hot and slow.
His hands didn’t ask permission.
They took.
She moaned as he shoved her crop top over her head and cupped her bare chest in both hands.
> “These are mine now,” he growled against her throat.
Her knees buckled, but his hand slid between her thighs—no panties.
> “Naughty girl,” he murmured. “Already wet for me. So desperate. So fucking ready.”
She gasped as his fingers slid inside. Deep. Curled.
He knew what he was doing.
He made her body betray her before she even had time to beg.
> “Say you want it,” he said, breath hot in her ear.
> “I… I want it.”
“Louder.”
“I want you, Mr. King.”
“That’s Daddy to you.”
Her back arched. Her stomach flipped. Her breath broke into desperate moans as he dropped to his knees and devoured her like a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks. His tongue was slow, cruel, rhythmic. He didn’t let her come until she sobbed his name.
Then—he turned her around.
Bent her over the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The entire city could see.
She didn’t care.
She needed it.
> “You want to be my filthy little toy?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be mine. Only mine. I’ll buy your silence, your beauty, your obedience. You’ll never work again… unless it’s on your knees.”
And when he finally slid into her—thick, huge, and perfect—Ava screamed. Loud enough that someone in a nearby skyscraper probably dropped their glass.
---
Hours later, naked and spent on 1000-thread-count sheets, Ava blinked at the glowing contract on his nightstand.
> "$150,000 weekly stipend. Unlimited access to luxury cars, shopping, and property. In exchange: absolute loyalty, secrecy, and submission."
She picked up the pen.
> “So I sign… and you own me?” she asked, pretending to hesitate.
Dominic smirked, naked beside her. His chest was perfect. His hands were already sliding between her legs again.
> “No, baby girl. I already do.”
