Chapter 13

Sweet baby Jesus.

The blood drained from Elaine's face so fast that Leticia couldn't tell if it was from excitement or rage.

"Pathetic patronizer," Elaine spat, her voice laced with disgust. "Riley here has convinced me that her brother is definitely planning something—and not a good something. He wants to pull out of our engagement, right?"

Leticia had to bite back a laugh. As far as she was concerned, Dexter and Elaine were only engaged in conversation—there wasn't even a ring to prove otherwise. This woman was the very definition of delusional.

"Calm down, Elaine. We want to make Dexter our friend," Riley interjected, shooting Leticia an apologetic smile.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked Leticia, who nodded absentmindedly.

Meanwhile, Leticia was still trying to make sense of Riley. Was this the same woman who had stumbled into her house drunk, ranting about her undying love for her own brother while spewing venom about Elaine? And now, here she was—composed, measured, scheming. Who *was* Riley McFarlane? And why did Leticia have the nagging feeling that she was playing both sides?

"Actually, I'm not hungry. I'd like to leave now," Leticia said, snapping herself out of her thoughts. "He asked me to deliver his message and return to the company." She was just about to stand when Riley opened her mouth—and dropped a bombshell.

"We want you to be our mole. Report my brother's bad behavior. Better yet, stop him. And you get paid for your time. Twenty thousand dollars a month."

Leticia stared, dumbfounded. Did the McFarlanes just *throw* money around for sport?

"You want me to *spy* on your brother for you?" she asked, just to make sure she'd heard correctly.

Maybe if Riley had offered something closer to her brother's *five million*, she might have actually considered it. Instead, she shook her head as if truly disappointed.

"One hundred thousand dollars monthly," Elaine declared proudly, fully expecting Leticia to jump at the offer.

Leticia let out a slow, theatrical sigh. "He is your fiancé," she said, her tone heavy with implication. "And he obviously respects you and has your best interests at heart. If he didn't, he wouldn't have sent me here." She turned her gaze to Riley. "And he is *your* brother. You should talk to him."

*Hopefully not to confess your ridiculous crush on him,* Leticia thought wryly.

For a split second, something flickered in Riley's eyes—guilt, maybe?

"Thank you for your time. And please, not a word about this," Riley warned, dismissing Leticia without a fight.

"Wait—you're just going to *let* him go?" Elaine fumed. "That guy has issues, clearly. Playing the fucking *honorable one* in this game. Ugh, I'm so pissed—I feel like a fool."

Each passing second burned a deeper hole in Riley's chest. She was still sitting across from the one person she despised most in the world, all for the sake of money. And in doing so, she was breaking her own heart.

Honestly, Justin had done her a favor by not showing up today. If he had, she wouldn't have had the courage to say any of this.

As for Dexter… she liked him. And she could only hope he'd keep her secret.

---

"I've got something to do with Dad. I'll talk to you later," she told Elaine—no goodbye kiss, no hug. Nothing. Just a quick exit.

As a matter of fact, she felt terrible in her own skin, disgusted by her own actions.

***

"Dexter…"

"Sir."

"Thank you."

Leticia gave a brief nod from the passenger seat, watching him as he drove. Why had he chosen to drive himself?

"We're going to my house," Justin said casually.

Her stomach clenched for a split second—then she reminded herself: *I'm a man.*

"Okay, sir. You having some girls over?" she asked, keeping her tone light.

Justin let out a tired laugh. He was exhausted. The girls, his family, the company—it was all weighing on him. And lately, loneliness had settled into his bones. No Welsh. The thought still stung. Welsh had disappeared from his life without a trace, and Justin hadn't been the same since. Sleep had become a battle, one he could only win with sedatives and chains programmed to unlock at a set time.

"No. No girls tonight."

Oh.

Leticia felt unease slither back into her gut. Then why is he taking me to his house?

*He's not bisexual… is he?*

"If you don't mind me asking, sir… why are we going to your house?"

"Relax, Dex." Justin shot her a side glance. "You're my personal assistant. It's normal for you to know where I live. I think it's time I let you in a little—have a drink or two, talk about your ideas, whatever."

*Oh.*

*He's lonely.*

Leticia arched a brow at the realization. Someone like *him*… lonely? That was unexpected.

They arrived at his actual apartment, and Leticia wasn't surprised to see a sleek, high-end condo. It suited him—definitely his style. The compound wasn't ostentatious, but the building itself was a sight for sore eyes.

This time, Leticia made a conscious decision to remain neutral, and she succeeded.

"My house," Justin announced with a touch of sarcasm.

"Hmm… your house," she mumbled, feigning mild interest. In reality, she had no desire to be here—no interest in being his friend. Justin was nothing more than a ticket out of Dexter's life. With his money, she could leave the country and start over. *As herself.*

But if playing his friend meant securing that money, she could pretend.

"Yeah, come in," Justin said casually, pushing the door open.

The moment Leticia stepped inside, she inhaled sharply. *Damn* The interior was stunning—modestly elegant yet uniquely stylish. It felt like a reflection of him: refined, expensive, and just a little detached.

"You've got a nice place," she admitted, shifting uncomfortably as her head swirled with insane thoughts.

Justin switched on the home theater system, filling the air with soft classical music. He gestured toward one of the plush sofas. "Sit," he instructed before heading toward his bar. A moment later, he returned with a bottle of fine malt whiskey and two glasses.

"Let's get drunk!" he declared.

Yeah, *definitely* not happening.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't handle alcohol well," Leticia confessed, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Justin gave her a look like she'd just grown a second head.

"Nerd…" he muttered under his breath. Then, with a teasing smirk, "You do know it's disrespectful to reject a drink in your boss's house?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I have… health issues, sir. My doctor said no alcohol."

Justin exhaled dramatically before nodding. "Fine. Let's talk about Dexter, then." He poured himself a generous drink before sinking into the armchair opposite her. "Tell me everything about you—everything that's *not* on your CV."

I'm Leticia Barman, a woman living my dead twin brother's life.

Instead, she offered a polite shrug. "I'm an open book, sir. Nothing much to tell."

Justin chuckled, shaking his head. "You? An open book? Please. You're one of the most secretive people I've ever met. I see the way you observe everything, how you barely speak. You're always in your head. And no offense, but…" He tilted his glass toward her. "Sometimes, you come off a little… feminine."

Leticia's breath hitched.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" she said, eyes widening in feigned offense.

"Yeah, I shouldn't have said that," he admitted quickly, running a hand through his hair. "Forget it. It came out wrong."

She simply nodded, deciding not to press the issue.

"You mentioned setting your fiancée up…" she prodded, steering the conversation elsewhere.

"She's not my fiancée," Justin corrected, scowling. "And yeah, but honestly? I think it's the lamest idea of the century."

"Lame, huh?" Leticia hummed, pretending not to find his frustration amusing. "I disagree. I think it's… interesting. We find a wealthy target—gorgeous, irresistible—"

"Yeah, because there are so few of those on Earth," Justin quipped, smirking.

Leticia rolled her eyes. "Or, better yet, we create a scheme that makes you *appear* bankrupt. Since she's attracted to your wealth, she'll drop you like a bad habit. She might even scramble to secure herself with someone else. Boom—two birds, one stone."

Justin raised a brow, intrigued. "Huh. Who are you? I like it. So… what kind of scheme do you think would sell?"

Leticia hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd need time to craft something foolproof—something that would rattle McFarlane himself.

"I haven't settled on a solid plan yet, sir. It's still just an idea."

"Magnifique!" Justin smirked. "So, my five million stays in my pocket for now. Fine. In the meantime—alcohol time!"

Leticia groaned internally.

"Sir, I told you, my doctor—"

Justin's eyes gleamed with amusement. "When you filled out your employment form, you marked *no* under medical conditions. So… are you lying now, or did you lie back then?"

She clenched her jaw. Shit.

"I was desperate. So… I lied in the form."

Justin threw his head back and laughed. "Dexter, you are one tough nut to crack. But trust me—I *will* crack you." He took another sip of his drink before leaning forward. "There's a slight problem, though. My father might trace the ransom message back to you. He's hired the best in the business to look into it."

Leticia's blood ran cold.

Is he serious right now?

She stared at him, waiting for any sign of concern. But Justin was completely nonchalant—like he hadn't *personally* ordered her to send that message.

"I think you should handle that matter, sir," she said evenly. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to leave now."

Her phone buzzed. She glanced down, her stomach twisting at the message flashing across her screen.

Riley: Have you been kidnapped? Why the hell are you not home?

"Your girlfriend?" Justin asked, his jealousy barely concealed.

"Yes, sir," she lied effortlessly. "She needs me at home. I really have to go."

She needed to leave *before* he tried to shove alcohol down her throat—before anything happened that she wouldn't be able to live down.

Justin studied her for a moment before sighing. "Fine. See you tomorrow." He stood, stretching lazily. "Be here by six a.m. sharp. You're making my breakfast."

Leticia barely kept herself from groaning. Instead, she forced a tight smile and turned toward the door.

Six a.m.

What fresh hell was this?