In college, I conquered a trust-fund baby using nothing but my culinary skills. His friends despised me. Their collective verdict? “She’s broke, she’s pretty, and aside from knowing her way around a kitchen, there’s absolutely nothing special about her.” So, when Holden and I finally crashed and burned, you’d think they would be popping champagne. Instead, the ones throwing the biggest temper tantrums were his two best friends. “Look, breaking up is one thing,” they whined, “but what do you mean we can’t hang out with her anymore?” “A man can survive without his bros, but he cannot survive without good food!” “Don’t worry, Josie! We’ve already found you your next boyfriend. We’ll be over for dinner at eight, love you!” Me: “?” 1 Holden and I were over. The catalyst was the return of his “golden girl”—the one who got away. Daphne. When she moved back to the States, I threw every fit in the book. I forbade him from picking her up at JFK. I banned him from attending any Hamptons parties where she was on the guest list. To my face, he played the compliant boyfriend. Behind my back, he was venting to his inner circle. “I am so entirely sick of her. Since when did she get so damn territorial?” “She actually thinks because she’s in my bed, she owns my life. I’m the heir to the Croft empire, for God’s sake. Does she really think she can keep me on a leash?” He’d scanned the room of his trust-fund buddies, a pulse of irritation in his voice. “Tell me I’m not crazy. She thinks she’s untouchable, right?” The echo chamber responded immediately. One of his oldest friends scoffed. “Exactly. Who the hell does she think she is, trying to manage Holden Croft?” “You could have literally anyone. All Josie has going for her is that she knows how to sear a decent steak. If we’re looking at the whole package, she doesn’t hold a candle to Daphne. It’s delusional.” Holden exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, nodding in solemn agreement. “You’re right.” “Honestly, if she wasn’t so gorgeous, I would have cut her loose months ago.” “Right! You have to dump her—” The friend who was cheering him on suddenly choked on his own words. He scratched the back of his neck, a look of profound distress washing over his face. “…Actually, maybe don’t dump her just yet?” “If you dump her, where the hell are we supposed to go for dinner?” Holden’s face darkened instantly. “Is that all you animals think about? Food?” He could never understand what kind of voodoo I had worked on these guys. The mere mention of my name triggered a Pavlovian response. His friend immediately fired back, defensive. “Oh, don’t give me that! You’ve been eating like a king! You’ve put on fifteen pounds in the last six months, don’t act like you haven’t noticed!” …Fair point. The memory of my flawlessly executed menus made Holden hesitate. He sat in that VIP lounge for half the night. He stayed until the ashtray was overflowing, burying the ghost of our relationship under a mountain of ash. When I texted him to come home, he stubbornly sent my calls straight to voicemail. But then, Daphne posted a new photo on Instagram—a group shot from a dinner party. Holden’s fragile grip on reality shattered. He gritted his teeth and fired off the text: Josie, we need to end this. 2 When the text lit up my screen, my initial instinct was to play the hysterical, heartbroken girlfriend. I had the whole routine queued up. Until the second bubble popped up. As compensation, I’m transferring the deed to the Greenwich townhouse into your name. The hysteria evaporated. A profound, icy calm washed over me. Without a second thought, I started pulling my suitcases from the closet, more than happy to clear out my side of the vanity to make room for his new girl. Let’s be real. Greenwich real estate was astronomical. If I relied on my entry-level salary of four grand a month, I would have needed to start working during the Jurassic period to afford a place like that. We were adults. Taking the buyout wasn’t shameful; it was practical. Besides, over the years I spent playing house with Holden Croft, I had already stockpiled quite the safety net. I typed back a cool, single-word response: Okay. Then, I immediately pulled up the contact for my favorite luxury consignment dealer in SoHo. I packed up every Chanel flap bag, every Dior dress, and every piece of Cartier jewelry Holden had ever bought me. Watching the balance in my checking account skyrocket, a genuine smile touched my lips. I had one singular, crystal-clear thought: Three years of playing the free, live-in chef just netted me eight figures. This is the ultimate return on investment. Thank you, Mr. Croft, for fast-tracking my financial independence. Just as I was mentally decorating my new living room, my phone buzzed. It was Holden’s best friend, Parker. Hey Josie, don’t overthink things. Daphne grew up with us, Holden just sees her as a sister. You’re still coming to the dinner party tonight, right? I saved you a seat. Oh, and please tell me you’re bringing those braised short ribs. I’ve been craving them. My brow furrowed. In the past, I catered to their every whim strictly out of respect for Holden. If one of them casually mentioned they wanted a specific dish, I’d spend half the day at the artisanal butcher and the farmer’s market, slaving over a hot stove to produce a Michelin-level spread just for them. But now? My fingers flew across the keyboard, my reply swift and lethal. Sorry. Holden and I are done. Don’t text me again. I paused, then added a little poison for good measure: Maybe if we cross paths in the future, I’ll treat you to dinner. In my head, I added: Yeah, a dinner of absolutely nothing. Empty promises were cheap. He was still a billionaire’s son, and there was no point in making permanent enemies out of the elite just because of a breakup. 3 Holden moved fast. A few days later, his private lawyer arrived at my door with the deed. The man was stiff, all business, and spoke with the warmth of a spreadsheet. “Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Croft asked me to convey his apologies. Furthermore, he is willing to wire an additional two million dollars as… severance, for the time you spent caring for him.” “However—” The lawyer’s tone shifted, his sharp eyes locking onto mine. “—He expects you to know your place. He assumes you won’t harbor any inappropriate delusions about trying to win him back.” I physically rolled my eyes. Right in front of the lawyer, I pulled up my phone, deleted Parker and Griffin’s numbers, blocked Holden on every social media platform, and even removed him from my shared Spotify playlists. Seeing my aggressive compliance, the lawyer gave a tight, satisfied nod and handed over the check. Tens, hundreds, thousands, millions… The zeros on that piece of paper were blindingly beautiful. I was so euphoric I immediately ordered two massive iced lattes, a bucket of fried chicken, and a ridiculously overpriced artisanal pizza with every extra topping available. Truffle oil? Yes. Burrata? Double it. Prosciutto? Pile it on. I didn’t even use a discount code. That’s the beauty of having money. You can be reckless. That night, I fell asleep smiling, practically counting stacks of cash in my dreams. Months bled into one another. I didn’t see Holden or his entourage anywhere near campus. It made sense; we existed in entirely different stratospheres. Stripped of the “girlfriend” title, our orbits naturally ceased to intersect. Occasionally, while sitting in a lecture hall, my eyes would catch the Louis Vuitton pencil case he’d bought me, and I’d let my mind wander. He’s probably playing house with his golden girl by now, I’d think. And then I’d go back to taking notes. 4 Until one quiet Sunday. I was lounging in my beautiful, air-conditioned Greenwich home, sipping a matcha latte. I had just prepared an exquisite, multi-course lunch for one, basking in the sheer, unadulterated joy of being rich and unbothered. Suddenly, a frantic, rhythmic pounding echoed from the front door. I pulled it open, only to find Holden’s two absolute worst friends standing on my porch. I blinked. “What are you two doing here?” Parker and Griffin exchanged a look, as if mentally rehearsing a synchronized routine. With a heavy thud, they both dropped to their knees. Parker wrapped his arms around my left leg. Griffin clamped onto my right. And then, the pathetic wailing began. “Josie! How could you be so cruel? Do you have any idea what kind of hell we’ve been living in without you?” “Okay, you broke up with Holden, fine! But why did you have to block us?!” “Do you know what my private chef fed me yesterday? It tasted like cardboard compared to your food. I physically gagged, Josie. Gagged!” I stumbled backward, entirely dumbfounded. Parker’s voice was actually trembling. “I’ve lost four pounds! Look at me!” He reached down, threatening to pull up his designer t-shirt to show me his ribs. Panic flared in my chest, and I slapped his hand away. “Don’t!” Griffin, still clinging to my right leg, wailed louder. “Holden is a monster! He dumped you and then threatened to exile us if we tried to contact you. I had to bribe his security team just to find out where you lived.” As he spoke, his eyes darted past me, locking onto the dining room table. “I searched for you so hard my blood sugar is crashing. God, I rushed out of the house and forgot to eat breakfast…” He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “If only… if only there was some perfectly seared steak and garlic mash somewhere nearby…” Watching these two billionaires’ sons perform a broadway-level tragedy over my cooking, I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Alright, get up. Come in and eat.” Showing up right at lunchtime? Absolutely calculated. Master manipulators. The second the words left my mouth, their eyes lit up like floodlights. They scrambled up and practically sprinted into my dining room. They grabbed forks and began shoveling food into their mouths, inhaling the meal with such ferocity they didn’t even pause to breathe, let alone speak. Looking at these two spineless, food-obsessed aristocrats, a fond smile crept onto my face. 5 Once they were fully stuffed and leaning back in their chairs, they finally revealed their true agenda. “Josie, we came here today on a mission. We brought you a new boyfriend.” I nearly choked on my matcha. I froze, convinced the acoustics in the room had warped their words. But they were already gaining momentum, bouncing off each other’s energy. “Yeah, we threw the old one in the trash! The guy we picked out for you is top-tier. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, stupidly long legs, and a great ass. More importantly? He is obscenely wealthy. You’re going to be obsessed with him.” “Whoa, stop, stop—” I held up both hands, cutting them off. “Did you guys eat so much you’re hallucinating?” “You two,” I pointed at them, then at myself. “Holden’s best friends. Are trying to set me up?” “Exactly! Like I said, a man can survive without his bros, but he cannot survive without good food.” Parker thumped his chest proudly. “Don’t worry, Josie. To ensure we have lifetime access to your cooking, our loyalty is now officially yours!” Griffin whipped out his phone, pulled up a photo, and shoved it in my face. “Look! He’s even hotter in person.” I glanced down. The man in the photo was wearing a bespoke suit that screamed bespoke Savile Row. His features were sharply carved, his jawline aggressive, and he radiated the kind of dark, commanding aura that belonged to a man at the absolute top of the food chain. He was, undeniably, gorgeous. He hit every single one of my aesthetic weak points. My skeptical expression faltered. Catching my hesitation, their eyes gleamed. “It’s already set up!” Parker cheered. “Come on, let’s go right now!” Before I could even process what was happening, I was being ushered out my own front door, practically kidnapped by two guys in tailored streetwear. We drove for nearly an hour, winding deep into the moneyed wilderness of Westchester County. We finally pulled up to a sprawling, heavily wooded estate. Wrought-iron gates parted silently, revealing a limestone mansion that looked less like a house and more like a modern fortress. I stared out the window, my jaw slacking. “Exactly what kind of mafia boss are you setting me up with?” They just exchanged a smug, secretive smile. “You’ll see when you get inside. He’s in a completely different league than Holden. And way more reliable.” They dragged me up the sweeping front steps. The heavy oak doors swung open. And I walked straight into a man descending the grand staircase. He was wearing a black silk robe, the belt tied loosely, revealing a swath of defined, sculpted abs and pale, taut skin. His dark hair was still damp, falling haphazardly across his forehead. He exuded a suffocating blend of exhaustion, arrogance, and raw power. My breath hitched. I just stared, completely paralyzed. He didn’t speak. His dark eyes drifted to the two idiots standing beside me. Then, they moved slowly, deliberately, back to my face. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint, wicked smirk. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that felt like velvet scraping over skin. “Seen enough?” “If you need a better look, you can always step a little closer.”
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