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Chase: $842.15.

Citi emergency fund: $120.00.

Freelance design payments: $1,450.00.

All of it didn't even hit twenty-five hundred.

"Fuck... FUCK!"

I hurled my phone at the carpet and grabbed my hair.

Who could I call?

Isabella? The girl who just called me a disgusting liar? Or Marcelo? The man I'd just blocked—the one who shoved me into this hell?

No. I'd rather sell my blood. I'd rather die than crawl back and beg.

I grabbed my phone and opened the browser. Typed: "emergency unsecured loan same day funding."

Predatory lenders popped up—five percent daily interest, your whole family pays if you default. I bit my bleeding lip and dialed. A sleazy voice answered. "Yeah, this is Warm Heart Loan Company, how can I—"

The apartment door exploded inward.

The old lock tore from the frame. Splinters flew. The metal door slammed into the wall with a deafening crash.

I screamed. My phone hit the carpet.

A man stepped into the shadows of the entryway. Expensive navy cashmere coat. Slicked-back blond hair. Broad shoulders—still built like the college quarterback he used to be. A smile curled his lips.

Chad Wellington IV.

My ex-boyfriend. The asshole who made me a joke and a bet.

"Chad?" I lurched to my feet and grabbed the heavy fabric shears from my table, pointing them at him with both hands. "Get out! This is breaking and entering—get the hell out!!"

"Breaking and entering? Relax, my little fatty." Chad pushed the broken door shut with one hand, slid both hands into his coat pockets, and looked around at the chaos on the floor. "I heard you've been living large lately. Just wanted to check in."

I gripped the shears tighter, breath coming fast. "I don't have time for this. Leave!"

"Still got that temper." Chad stepped closer, eyes roaming over me with naked greed and contempt. "Ruby, you're really something. Played the virgin saint in college—wouldn't even let me touch your tits. Said you were saving yourself for your wedding night... Then what? You waltz into Moretti's company and spread your legs for some old man the first chance you get?"

The blood drained from my face.

How did he know?

Chad saw my expression and barked out a laugh. "Surprised? Connecticut's a small world, sweetheart. The fashion industry's even smaller! Isabella Barone? She's society royalty! She ran out of IS·MA sobbing this afternoon—it's all over the executive gossip channels!"

He stepped closer, grinning. "'That fat art school girl seduced the CEO and got caught by his daughter'—Ruby, that's a way better show than when you busted me at the graduation party!"

Humiliation poured over me like molten lead.

"Shut up... Shut your mouth!!"

"Why should I?" Chad lunged forward, eyes wild. "You'd rather be some Italian stallion's cheap whore than look at me twice? What'd he give you? A couple plus-size dresses? Or did he tell you your saggy fat feels good in bed?"

"GET OUT!!" I swung the shears. The blade nearly grazed his collar.

Chad dodged, expression darkening.