Sophie doesn't have it. Doesn't have a savings account, a family backup plan, or a boyfriend who could spot her the cash. What she has is a dead-end job with a delayed paycheck and a studio apartment with water stains on the ceiling.
Then her landlord shows up.
Griff is twice her age, built like a weapon, and doesn't do charity. He's got ink climbing his neck and eyes like wet concrete, and when he looks at her standing there in her sleep shirt, he doesn't see a damsel in distress.
He sees an opportunity.
When Sophie blurts out that she'll do anything to buy some time, she expects him to laugh in her face. Instead, he flips the deadbolt and tells her the rules: no games, no drama, no pretending she didn't want this the second he walked through the door.
Sophie agrees to all of it.
What happens next isn't gentle. It isn't sweet. It's a man who takes what's offered with the same relentless authority he uses to collect on overdue leases. By the time Griff walks out the door, Sophie's been taken apart and put back together in ways she never imagined.
The rent is covered.
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