Chapter 1

The neon glow of the city bled through the rain-streaked windows, painting the penthouse suite in sickly shades of pink and electric blue. My hands shook as I shoved the last stack of bills into the leather duffel bag.

"I got the jewelry," I whispered, the adrenaline singing in my veins like champagne. "And the cash from the safe. It’s enough, Julian. It’s enough to get us to Rio. We can disappear. We can start over."

I zipped the bag shut, the sound loud in the oppressive silence of the room. I looked up, expecting to see Julian throwing his clothes into a suitcase.

He wasn't packing.

He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass, his back to me, staring out at the storm battering the city. He held a tumbler of scotch in a hand that trembled ever so slightly.

"Julian?" I walked over, stepping over the discarded silk pillows I’d knocked off the couch in my haste. "We have to go. The car will be downstairs in ten minutes."

He didn't turn. "The car isn't for us, Elara."

"What do you mean?" I reached out, touching his shoulder. The wool of his suit was cold. "You said the debt collectors were coming tonight. You said we had to run."

"I said the debt had to be settled tonight." He took a long, burning swallow of the scotch. "There’s a difference."

I frowned, a small knot of unease tightening in my stomach. "We are settling it. By leaving. We’re doing this together, remember? You and me. Just like when we were kids."

I tried to turn him around, to make him look at me. I needed to see the boy I’d grown up with, the boy I’d married three years ago in a ceremony our parents arranged but which I had secretly prayed for. I had always loved him. I thought I could fix him. I thought if I just loved him enough, the gambling would stop.

"Julian, please," I pleaded softly. "We’re a team. We can survive anything."

He flinched. It was a small, sharp movement, as if I’d slapped him. "The house always wins, El."

"Not if we leave the table," I said, grabbing the handle of the duffel bag. "Come on."

A heavy, rhythmic knock echoed from the heavy oak door.

I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. "They're here early. Julian, the fire escape—"

"No," Julian said. His voice was dead. Flat. "Open it."

"Are you crazy? They'll kill you!"

"Open the door, Elara."

He finally turned to look at me. His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy with alcohol and something else—terror? No. Resignation.

Trembling, I moved to the door. I checked the peephole, expecting thugs with bats. instead, I saw a familiar face.

I unlocked the deadbolt and opened it.

"Victor?" I breathed, confusion warring with relief.

Victor stood in the hallway, immaculate in a tuxedo, shaking the rain from his umbrella. He was a fixture in our social circle, a man who owned half the hotels on the strip and smiled with too many teeth. I had always been afraid of him, though I never knew why.

"Good evening, Elara," Victor purred, stepping inside without an invitation. He looked past me, his gaze locking on the duffel bag in my hand. "I see you’ve packed. Excellent. I despise delays."

"Victor, you have to help us," I said, clutching his arm. "Julian is in trouble. We need a way out."

Victor laughed. It was a dry, rasping sound. "My dear, I *am* the trouble."

He walked past me to the wet bar, pouring himself a drink. "And Julian has already provided the way out."

I turned to my husband. "Julian? What is he talking about?"

Julian set his empty glass down on the glass table. *Clink.*

"I didn't have the money, El," Julian whispered, staring at the floor. "I played the hand anyway. I thought I had the flush. I was sure."

"So we give him the cash in the bag," I said, my voice rising in panic. "We give him the diamonds. It’s over a million dollars, Julian!"

"The debt is five," Victor corrected gently, taking a sip of his drink. "And Julian knew that. But he insisted on one final wager. Double or nothing."

"What did you bet?" I whispered.

Julian closed his eyes. "The annulment."

The room seemed to tilt. "What?"

"I bet the papers," Julian said, the words rushing out of him now, fast and pathetic. "Signed. Uncontested. Transferring your guardianship—and your trust fund—to the victor." He choked on a laugh. "To Victor."

I stared at him. The boy I had chased through the gardens. The man I had held when he cried after losing his inheritance. My husband.

"You bet me?" I asked. The words felt like glass in my throat. "You bet your wife?"

"I thought I would win," he pleaded, finally looking at me. "I was going to win it all back, El. I did it for us."

"No," Victor interrupted, checking his gold watch. "You did it because you’re a junkie, Julian. And you lost."

Victor gestured to the door. "Your car is waiting, Julian. The service elevator. Leave the bag."

Julian picked up a small overnight satchel from behind the sofa—the only bag he had actually packed. He walked toward the door. He walked past me.

"Julian," I said. It wasn't a question. It was a beg.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. He didn't look back. "I'm sorry, Elara. But I couldn't face the breakers. I’m not brave like you."

"You can't leave me here," I whispered.

"The debt is settled," he muttered.

He opened the door. The sound of the rain was deafening for a split second. Then he stepped out, and the heavy oak door clicked shut.

I heard his footsteps recede down the hallway.

I stood there, gripping the handle of the bag containing my life, alone in the room with the man who had just won me.

"Now," Victor said, setting his drink down and smiling. "Unpack."