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He pulled out his phone and outbid every man in the auction — substantially. Not to have her. To stop the predator who'd already found his best friend's daughter's listing. She's twenty-two. A virgin. Engaged off like a corporate merger by the father who trusts him with millions. He came back to fix one broken friendship. Instead he's about to break it for good. Because the moment she opens that hotel room door and sees his face… neither of them walks out the same. Chapter 1 — POV Mikaela I'd read about this in books. I just never thought that the moment my father's forty-year-old friend closed his hand around my throat, I'd forget everything — even the small detail that I'm a twenty-two-year-old virgin. "Damn it." His hand tightens around my throat. "Touching you was a bad idea." "The worst," I whisper, tipping my chin up into his grip. His thumb drags slowly along my pulse. "Kissing you would be a cataclysmic mistake." "Calamitous." My hands settle on his chest — not to push him away. He leans in until his breath warms my lips. "We'll both regret it." "Naturally." I close the last inch myself. And now I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my life — the one that feels more right than any decision I've made in all twenty-two years. — Two weeks before — There's a special circle of hell called "turning 22 while Manhattan's elite assess your market value." I'm the birthday girl who gets no wishes, no song, no candles. Just appraising glances from people who think my virginity is still a commodity worth investing in. Twenty-two and never been fucked — and not just literally. Daddy's security team has cockblocked every potential experience since puberty hit. The irony? I probably know more about sex than half these married socialites, thanks to the Kindle stashed inside my hollow copy of Women in Economics. Three hundred and twelve steamy novels later, and I'm still trapped in this display case, untouched and pristine like some collector's item nobody's allowed to play with. That's when I see him — a man I've never spotted at my father's gatherings before. Dark hair kissed with silver, jawline sharp enough to slice through bullshit, watching the room with barely concealed disdain. He's older, but radiates something these corporate zombies lack: actual fucking life force. His eyes meet mine for exactly three heartbeats, and the air between us catches fire. My lungs forget how to work. Suddenly the whole room has shrunk down to just the two of us — and I want to hide and scream at the same time. Before I can process it, he's murmuring something to my father, then striding toward the exit with his phone pressed to his ear. "Smile, Mikaela," mother hisses through her veneers. "The Andersons are watching." My emerald dress shows just enough skin to prove I have it, not enough to suggest I might enjoy using it. I'm basically a walking prospectus with tits — amazing potential returns, minimal risk, zero agency. "Mrs. Wallace, you've done a remarkable job with your daughter," says Mr. Covington. "Such poise, such grace. They don't make young ladies like this anymore." I felt my soul crumble a little more as mother beamed. I'd never dated, never attended a school dance, never worked. I'd been dressed, educated, and molded into the perfect accessory. Perfect virgin-wife material. Then I freeze. The mystery man is back, now seated at my father's right hand. "I'd like you to meet Caleb O'Brien, an old friend and business associate of mine. Caleb, my daughter." So that's who he is. Caleb stood, towering at least ten inches above me, and extended a hand, his voice low and confident. "Hello, Mikaela. Last time I saw you, you were in pigtails hiding behind your mother's legs. I have to say, the years between then and now have been... generous." His eyes swept over me — not crude, but thorough. For exactly three seconds, he looked at me like a man looking at a woman who claimed his attention. Then he caught himself. Blinked. Shifted back into polite family-friend mode so smoothly I almost convinced myself I'd imagined it. Almost. My hand trembled in his, heat crawling up my neck. Throughout dinner, my eyes kept finding their way back to Caleb. Every low rumble of his laugh, every glance in my direction made my chest tighten in unfamiliar ways. "She's been raised properly," Mr. Hennington was saying. "A real lady. The kind of girl who understands her place in society." "If another man calls you 'a real lady,' I'm baptizing him with Cabernet," Caleb murmured, mouth dangerously close to my ear. A strangled laugh escaped me — social suicide — triggering my mother's laser-beam glare. Later he leaned in again. "These corporate feeding frenzies — your thing?" "Only when I'm the prize being auctioned off," I deadpanned. Caleb burst into a surprised laugh, genuine and warm. It was the first time anyone at the table had reacted to me as more than a trophy. When Father stood, champagne flute in hand, I finally relaxed. Birthday toast, then dessert and freedom. "I'd like to thank everyone for joining us," Father began. "Today we not only celebrate my daughter's twenty-second birthday but also a momentous announcement. It gives me great pleasure to announce the engagement of my daughter, Mikaela, to Anthony Harris, heir to Harris Financial. Our families will be united this fall." Anthony Harris? I'd never even met him. As applause erupted, I turned to Caleb. His smile was gone, replaced by a jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone. His grip on the wine glass was so severe the blood retreated from his knuckles. Something dark and unforgiving flickered in his eyes when he looked at my father — then they met mine. At that moment, I realized I wasn't just a daughter. I was a commodity that had just been sold. The room tilts. Somewhere I hear the sharp little scream of crystal shattering against marble. Then something cold and wet blooms across my thigh, soaking through emerald silk. Oh. Is that... my glass? The faces blur, and the last thing I feel is two strong hands closing around my waist, catching me before the world can. They're warm. So warm, and so unbearably, impossibly gentle for hands that big. Caleb. It's him, isn't it? What happens when she opens that hotel room door? Read V Card for Daddy's Friends Now!