Play Poor? Be One

I gave Judy a look so sharp it could've cut glass.

Her eyes twitched, fists clenched, but she stayed quiet.

I yanked her straight to Brighton's bougiest club. The elevator shot us to a top-floor suite dripping in gold.

And there was Mason—half-drunk, tangled in a pack of girls, spraying champagne like some wannabe rockstar.

The place roared.

Brighton's rich boys swarmed him.

"Fifth bottle tonight, Mason! No doubt you're the next Leonhart heir."

"Tomorrow it's official—you'll run Leonhart Group and Harrington Corp. Top of the food chain, man."

I crossed my arms and glanced at Judy. Her face was priceless—eyes bugging, jaw unhinged, riding the line between thrilled and wrecked. Then it hit her. Head down. Reality check: she was just another girl in a rich guy's rotation.

Mason spotted me.

One look at Judy's tear-streaked face and he sobered like someone flipped a switch.

He shoved the girls aside, staggered up.

Silence. Every head turned.

"Mason..." Judy's voice cracked. "Shiloh was right. I'm just a nobody. I'm not even worthy to stand next to you, let alone be anything more."

She shook like she might break—no wonder he kept her around.

"That's not true. Judy, listen to me..." He grabbed her arm, then sliced me a look colder than ice. "Shiloh! Who said you could bring her here? Keep it up and your mom's dead."

My chest locked.

"Mason, that's my mom! Remember your promise to your grandpa? You said you'd protect us."

He sneered. "Threatening me now? Cute. Boys—Eleanor Harrington's done in thirty minutes. Make it happen."

They moved fast.

My phone buzzed. I grinned. "Hold up. Marriage swap announcement—Mason, that Leonhart heir spot? Not yours anymore."

Gasps shot through the room. His goons froze mid-step.

I laughed and smacked the divorce decree against his face. "You wanted this so bad? Congrats."