Updated Dec 11, 2025 • ~9 min read
HANNAH
I had one week to find fifty thousand dollars.
Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.
I made forty-eight thousand a year. Before taxes.
I stared at the photos spread across my kitchen table, coffee drying in sticky puddles on the floor, and tried to think. Tried to breathe. Tried not to completely fall apart.
Connor had been watching. Had seen Oliver show up. Had photographed him entering my building, standing at my door, me pulling him inside.
The photos were damning. Even without context, anyone could see what they implied. Oliver King, billionaire CEO, engaged to socialite Vivian Ashcroft, visiting his assistant’s apartment at night.
If these went to the tabloids, it would destroy him. His reputation, his engagement, probably the company. Everything he’d been trying to protect.
And it would destroy me too. I’d be the homewrecker. The assistant who seduced her boss. Unemployable. Unemployed. Back to square one, except worse.
I couldn’t let that happen.
But fifty thousand dollars might as well be fifty million.
I grabbed my phone. Started searching.
Personal loans near me
Emergency loans bad credit
How to get money fast
Every result was predatory interest rates, payday loans, things that would trap me worse than the blackmail.
But what choice did I have?
Monday morning, I showed up to work looking like I hadn’t slept.
Because I hadn’t.
I’d spent the weekend applying for loans, getting denied, doing math that didn’t work no matter how many times I tried it. Even if I maxed out my credit cards, borrowed from friends—assuming I had friends with money—I’d be lucky to scrape together five thousand.
I needed ten times that.
By Friday.
“Morning.” Oliver’s voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway to his office, coffee in hand, looking at me with concern. “You okay? You look—”
“Fine. I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
“Hannah—”
“I have your schedule pulled up. Board meeting at nine, lunch with Peterson at noon, Shanghai call at three.”
He studied me. I could feel him trying to read me, trying to understand what was wrong.
I couldn’t tell him. If I told him, he’d try to fix it. He’d pay Connor off. And then he’d be complicit. He’d know I’d brought this mess into his life.
“Okay,” he said finally. Not convinced. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I nodded. Turned back to my computer. Tried to focus on work instead of the photos burning a hole in my bag.
OLIVER
Something was wrong.
Hannah had been different all morning. Jumpy. Distracted. She’d snapped at two vendors, forgotten to forward an important email, and spilled coffee on her desk.
That wasn’t her. She was the most organized person I’d ever met.
I found her in the supply closet at lunch, sitting on the floor, head in her hands.
“Hannah.”
She looked up, startled. Guilty. “Sorry. I just needed a minute.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re sitting on the floor of a supply closet.” I sat down next to her. Close enough to touch but not touching. “Talk to me.”
For a second, I thought she might. Thought she might tell me whatever was eating her alive.
Then her phone rang.
She glanced at it. I saw the caller ID: Vivian.
Reality snapped back into place like a rubber band.
“You should take that,” Hannah said quietly.
“Hannah—”
“Your fiancée is calling, Mr. King. You should probably answer.”
The formal address was a knife between my ribs.
I stood. Answered the phone. “Vivian. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m confirming dinner tonight. Seven PM. Don’t be late.”
Right. Dinner. Another night pretending our engagement was real while the woman I actually wanted sat twenty feet away, falling apart, and I couldn’t help her.
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“Good. Wear the blue suit. Mother likes it.”
She hung up.
Hannah was standing now, brushing off her skirt, rebuilding the professional mask.
“I’ll send you a calendar reminder,” she said. “For dinner.”
“I don’t want to go to dinner.”
“But you will. Because that’s what you do. You show up. You play the part.” She looked at me with something that might’ve been pity. “It’s fine, Oliver. This is who you are.”
She walked out before I could argue.
Because she was right. This was who I was.
A man who made promises to one woman while wanting another.
A coward.
HANNAH
Tuesday: Denied for a personal loan. Credit score too low.
Wednesday: Payday loan company wanted 300% interest. Would take years to pay back. Still not enough money.
Thursday: Called my bank. Asked about a line of credit. Laughed at.
Friday was in three days. I had $2,847 in my account. Connor wanted $50,000.
The math didn’t work.
Thursday afternoon, I was staring at my computer screen, not seeing it, when someone cleared their throat.
Tristan. Oliver’s cousin. The COO. I’d met him briefly, found him charming in a way Oliver wasn’t. More relaxed. More genuine.
“Hannah, right?”
“Yes. Can I help you with something?”
“Actually, I wanted to check on you. Oliver said you’ve been off this week.”
Great. Oliver was talking about me to his cousin.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
Tristan pulled up a chair. Sat down without invitation. “You’re a terrible liar. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and my cousin—”
My blood went cold. “There’s nothing—”
“Please. I’ve known Oliver since we were kids. I’ve never seen him like this. Distracted. Miserable. Staring at his phone like it holds the secrets of the universe.” Tristan leaned forward. “He cares about you. I don’t know the details, don’t want to know. But whatever’s going on, he’d want to help.”
“He can’t help.”
“Why not?”
Because telling him would destroy everything. Would make him complicit in Connor’s blackmail. Would force him to choose between protecting me and protecting his reputation.
“It’s personal,” I said.
“Is it money? Because Oliver has—”
“No.” Too sharp. I softened my tone. “No. It’s nothing like that. I’m just dealing with some stuff. But thank you. For caring.”
Tristan studied me. “You’re scared.”
Yes. Terrified.
“I’m fine.”
“If you change your mind, if you need anything, I’m here. So is Oliver. Whatever you think you have to handle alone, you don’t.”
He left.
And I sat at my desk, staring at the photos I’d hidden in my bottom drawer, and wondered how many more days I could keep this secret before it destroyed everything.
OLIVER
Thursday night, Vivian dragged me to a gala.
Some charity thing. Everyone who was anyone, all dressed in designer clothes, drinking expensive wine, pretending to care about causes they’d forget by morning.
I hated these events. Always had. But Vivian thrived in them. Worked the room like she was born to it.
Which she was.
“Oliver, darling, you remember the Ashtons?” Vivian appeared with an older couple, all smiles. “They’re contributing to the foundation.”
I shook hands. Made polite conversation. Played the part of the dutiful fiancé.
All while thinking about Hannah. About the way she’d been all week. Scared. Distant. Like she was carrying something too heavy and wouldn’t let me help.
“You’re distracted.” Vivian’s voice, low, in my ear. “Stop thinking about her.”
I looked at her sharply. “What?”
“Your assistant. Hannah. You’ve been distracted since she started.” Vivian sipped champagne. “It’s obvious, Oliver. At least to me.”
“There’s nothing—”
“Don’t lie. We’re past that.” She gestured to a quiet corner. I followed.
“Is it serious?” she asked once we were alone.
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s serious.”
Vivian’s expression didn’t change. “Are you in love with her?”
Was I?
I’d been trying not to think about it. Trying to categorize what I felt as attraction, infatuation, anything other than the word that made this real.
But standing in a ballroom, pretending to be happy with a woman I didn’t love, while the woman I actually wanted was home alone, scared and struggling—
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I think I am.”
Vivian nodded. Like she’d expected it. “Then you should call off the wedding.”
“What?”
“Call it off. Tell your lawyers to find a loophole in your father’s will. Marry her instead.” Vivian’s smile was sad. “I don’t want to marry a man who’s in love with someone else, Oliver. I’m not that desperate.”
“Your family—”
“Will survive. We always do.” She finished her champagne. “But if you go through with this wedding while loving her, you’ll destroy yourself. And probably her too. Is that what you want?”
No. God, no.
“I don’t know how to walk away from the company.”
“Find a way. You’re Oliver King. You’ve built empires from nothing. Surely you can find one loophole.”
She kissed my cheek. “I’m going to mingle. Think about what I said.”
She disappeared into the crowd.
And I stood there, champagne in hand, and realized she was right.
I had to find a way. Had to become the man Hannah deserved instead of the coward who kept choosing safety over love.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then I read the message. And my blood went cold.
Three days left, Hannah. Clock’s ticking. – C
Hannah.
Someone was threatening Hannah.
I dialed her immediately. It rang four times. Five. Then voicemail.
“Hannah, it’s me. Call me back. Now. I just got a weird text and—just call me.”
I tried again. Voicemail again.
Panic set in. The kind that made my hands shake and my vision narrow.
Someone was threatening her. And she hadn’t told me.
I left the gala without saying goodbye. Drove to her apartment going twenty over the speed limit. Took the stairs two at a time.
Pounded on her door.
“Hannah! Open up!”
Nothing.
“Hannah, I know you’re in there. I got a text. Someone named C. Open the door or I’m calling the police.”
The door cracked open. She stood there, eyes red, looking like she’d been crying for hours.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “Who’s C? Why are they texting me? What do they want?”
Hannah’s face crumpled. “You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Know what?”
She pulled out her phone. Showed me a message.
Time’s running out, Hannah. Pay up or Oliver gets a surprise tomorrow.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Connor.” Her voice broke. “It’s Connor.”
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