Till tomorrow

Leyla's Pov

By my fourth visit, I'm invisible. The secretary doesn't even look up; she just acknowledges my presence with a cold, silent stare before returning to her typing. I stand there a second too long, waiting for a "hello" that isn't coming.

To her, I’m just the stripper sister of the man who killed Raymond Vale.

I shift my weight, and a sharp, familiar pain shoots up my calves. My feet are still swollen from six hours on the main stage, and the skin around my ankles raw from the straps of seven-inch platforms. I reek of a life Lucien Vale wouldn't touch even with a gloved hand, yet here I am.

George’s hearing is the morning after tomorrow. Somehow, his two million dollar bail was denied and even worse... his hearing pushed forward. So, if I don't get to Lucien today, my brother is as good as dead. I’m his only hope, and I’m running out of time.

"Mr. Vale is in a meeting,” the secretary dismisses me.

“I’ll wait.”

She snaps, her patience breaking. "Look, I’ve told you already. There’s nothing more that can be done for him."

“Then stop telling me," I fire back, frustration already bubbling inside me.

That earns me a long look. She’s deciding between calling security or letting me stay. Finally, she sighs and points to the leather sofa.

I sit, watching Manhattan's elite glide in and out of the hallway. Nobody looks nervous or hopeful like me. People come here to win, not to beg.

Bzzzzz.

My gaze drops to my phone:

THE COURT HEARING IS CONFIRMED FOR FRIDAY. NO EXTENSIONS WERE GRANTED.

The words hit harder than I expected. I grip the phone until my knuckles ache. When another man steps out of Lucien Vale’s office, laughing as he buttons his blazer, I don't hesitate. I bolt upright.

"Please, just five minutes!”

“Wait your turn!” The secretary barks.

“I just need him to know I’m here.”

“I’m sure he does,” she replies coldly, her attention already back to her screen.

Frustration surges through me. “Then why am I still waiting?”

She doesn't bother responding. I sink back into my chair, defeated. I watch the sun dip below the horizon as minutes stretch into hours. Then, at last...

Bzzzt... Bzzzt... the intercom.

"Miss Blackwood."

I look up so quickly my neck ache.

She adjusts her glasses and looks in my direction.

"He'll see you now."

Relief and dread immediately fill my chest. Regardless, I push myself to my feet. My legs are stiff from sitting so long, and for a second, the room seems to spin, but I steady myself and walk in.

He sits behind his desk like a god chiselled to perfection. Perfectly calm and composed. He looks… prepared.

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“You know he's innocent," I blurt out. “He’s my only brother.”

My throat tightens. "Please."

“I know nothing,” then, almost as an afterthought: “And I certainly didn’t ask.”

The calm in his voice is worse than a shout.

I take a step closer to his desk, my hands curling into fists. “You know everyone. The judge, the mayor. Half the city answers your calls. You could stop this.”

His gaze remains steady.

“You’re right,” he says, “If only I wanted it to stop.”

Neither of us says a word. The lights buzz above our heads, and a car horn blares somewhere in the street below, then fades. Lucien doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

I keep waiting for something, a flicker of sympathy, maybe.

Nothing came.

“There has to be something,” I whisper. “Money. Influence, favours... anything.”

Still, silence. My stomach grumbles.

There is one question left. The one I'd sworn I will never ask.

"What do you really want?”

His eyes sharpen with interest. Slowly, he leans back, the leather chair groaning softly as he takes his time.

“You shouldn’t ask that, Miss Blackwood. Everything has a price.”

“I'm asking anyway.”

Silence stretches between us. I close my eyes, fighting back tears. "Name it."

His gaze drops to my lips just long enough to make his point. “But I already did.”

That harsh, ugly laugh escapes me. Alora always said I sounded like a monkey when I laughed like this. Right now, I couldn't have cared less. “You’re insane.”

He doesn’t smile. I patiently wait for the punchline. The smirk. Any sign that this was some twisted joke.

Nothing.

"You don’t even like me,” I continue. “And you definitely don’t need me. What makes you think you're gonna like her? There are women throwing themselves at you. Models, heiresses...”

“I don’t want them.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Mmm... you’re desperate. I like that.”

A chill runs through me as the memories of this office hit me without any warning.

Those two nights of dread... I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my waist and his firm weight on me. The way his hands had moved under my dress as if he’d done it a thousand times.

"Look at me," he had said.

And I did. The silence that followed had stayed with me far longer than it should have. It was the kind of feeling that clings to you, makes you ashamed at first but now... is it weird that I still want him?

"That doesn’t explain why," I force myself back to the present as goosebumps prickles across my arms.

He stands and begins to pace. “I need a wife.”

"For?"

"Let's say... appearances."

“How long?”

“Two years.”

I scoff. “That’s not a marriage. That's more like jail to me.”

“Think of it as a contract," he says, sliding a folder across the desk. "She stays where I say, attend the events I require. And you only show up when I tell you to. Make sure she doesn't embarrass me.”

He stops meeting my eyes. "Most importantly? Nobody falls in love.”

I roll my eyes and wave him off. “In your dreams.” I open the folder, my voice tightening. “And George?”

“He walks free.”

My head starts to swim again, and I grab the edge of the desk for support, and that’s when I realize. For hours, I'd walked in here expecting threats. Manipulation or even blackmail.

Instead, he hands me an exit. Though it's a terrible one because I still don't know how to pull this with Alora. But an exit all the same.

“Why would I ever agree to this?” My voice trembles despite my efforts.

He sits back down. "You have another option?”

I hate that he's right. His gaze settles on me.

"And because no matter how much you claim to hate me... you still came back."

“You make me sick.”

“Maybe,” he doesn't even bother to agrue. “But you're still here.”

The truth stings more than the insult.

“I need time to think,” I whisper.

"You have until tomorrow."

My head snaps up. "Tomorrow?"

"The hearing is Friday. You came to me because you're running out of time, Miss Blackwood."

He folds his hands on the desk. "So am I."