The barista dropped the cup when Stiles walked in. Not because she stumbled—Stiles never stumbled—but because sunlight caught the curve of her hips through the scandalously thin fabric of her dress. She didn’t react. Years of men’s tongues hitting the floor had made her immune.

"Americano, no sugar," she said, tapping one long nail against the counter. The polish matched her lipstick, which matched the flush of her bare thighs where the dress slit ended. A college boy at the next table audibly gulped. Stiles didn’t glance his way.

At home, Noah was already setting out Lydia’s favorite plates—the ones with the little sunflowers. His tie hung loose around his neck, sleeves rolled up past forearms still tan from last month’s beach trip. "She texted she’s running late," he said, stirring the bologna.

"Again?" Stiles kicked off her heels, stretching her toes against the cool wood. "That girl’s part-time job will kill me before her entitlement does." But she was smiling when she said it.

Lydia burst in forty minutes later, cheeks flushed, shopping bags dangling from both wrists. "Look!" She shook a striped one at them. "70% off!"

Noah sighed. "Lydia, how many part-time shifts was this?"

"Only three!" She kissed his cheek, then Stiles’s, leaving a sticky gloss imprint. "I’m fine, Dad. Seriously." Her phone buzzed. She flipped it facedown so fast the chopsticks rattled.

Stiles caught Noah’s raised eyebrow but shrugged. Kids these days.

The doorbell rang at 8:17 PM. Not the cheerful ding-dong of a deliveryman, but three long, impatient bursts.

Noah wiped his hands on a towel. "Who—"

The man in the doorway made their cramped apartment hallway look like a luxury hotel lobby. Broad shoulders strained against a tailored black jacket, knuckles resting on the doorframe. His gaze slid past Noah to Stiles, lingering just a second too long before settling on Lydia.

"Miss Lydia," he said, voice smooth as the ice in his untouched drink. "We need to talk about your debt."

Lydia turned white.

Stiles's pink lips parted—not a gasp, more like the slow unfurling of a warning. She stepped forward in her stockinged feet, the silk catching on a loose floorboard. "Debt?" The word tasted like the first sip of bad wine.

Derek Hale reached into his breast pocket. The leather gloves he pulled on creaked. "30000 dollars," he said, watching Lydia tremble. "Plus interest." He tossed a folded document onto their coffee table. It slid across Noah's crossword puzzle.

Noah snatched it up. His thumb left a smudge on the highlighted number. "Lydia—" His voice cracked.

"I was going to pay it back!" Lydia's tears dissolved her carefully applied eyeliner into black streaks. "I just needed more time—"

"Time," Derek repeated, tilting his head. The gold chain around his neck glinted. "My favorite currency." His eyes flicked to Stiles's collarbones, then lower. She didn't cover herself. After all, the dress wasn't the problem.

Noah stepped between them, shoulders squaring. Stiles noticed the way his work shirt stretched at the elbows. "We'll handle this," he said. "Just—give us two weeks."

Derek laughed. It wasn't cruel. That made it worse. "Sir," he said, patting Noah's shoulder like a waiter brushing off lint. "Your daughter signed for daily compounding." He leaned in, smelling like sandalwood and something metallic. "Today is day sixty-two."

Lydia choked on a sob.

Derek's gaze—dark, calculated—didn't waver. "She comes with me tonight," he said, flexing his gloved fingers. "Or I start breaking things." His thumb brushed the edge of a framed family photo on the shelf, the glass squeaking under the pressure. "Starting with kneecaps."

Noah's fists clenched. "You can't just—"

"I can." Derek's smirk was a slow blade. "Contract's pretty clear. Collateral stays with the lender until payment." His eyes flicked to Stiles's chest, then back up. "But I'm flexible. The mother would do just as well."

Stiles's breath hitched. Not from fear—her pulse hammered against her ribs for an entirely different reason. She reached behind her without looking, squeezing Lydia's wrist. "Go to your room," she murmured, voice steady. "Lock the door."

Lydia hesitated, tears dripping onto Stiles's bare shoulder. "Mom—"

"Now." The command left no room for argument. The moment Lydia's footsteps faded down the hall, Stiles stepped forward. The slit of her dress parted, revealing a flash of thigh. "There must be another way. We'll liquidate assets—"

"Assets?" Derek laughed, plucking a loose thread from Noah's collar. "Your husband's salary wouldn't even cover the interest." He traced the thread down to Stiles's waist, hovering just above the silk. "But you... you're tempting. Walk away with me now, and the debt disappears."

Noah lunged. Derek caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting until tendons popped.

"Don’t hurt my hubby!" Stiles's cry made Derek pause.

She didn't touch him. Instead, she peeled off one dangly earring, then the other. Gold plink-plinked onto the table.

"You like jewelry," she murmured, rolling her neck with a dancer's grace. "Take these. My wedding ring too." The band made a duller sound when she dropped it. "The appraisal papers are in our safe."

Derek didn't even glance at the glittering pile. His leather glove skimmed the inside of her elbow. "No receipts, no value." His breath smelled faintly of mint. "Only guaranteed collateral."

Stiles exhaled through her nose. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat. "You're not taking my daughter." She unclasped her necklace—the one Noah gifted her after Lydia's birth—letting it slither onto the table. "But I'll go."

Noah's head snapped up. His split lip trembled. "Stiles—"

Stiles silenced him with two fingers pressed to his mouth. His stubble scratched her skin. "It's okay," she whispered, thumb swiping blood from his chin. "It's for Lydia." She tasted salt when she kissed him—his tears or hers, she couldn't tell. His hands clutched her waist so tight the silk dress ripped at the seams with a sound like peeling fruit.

Derek watched them with the bored patience of a cat eyeing trapped mice. He rolled one wrist, checking his platinum watch. "Thirty seconds," he said, tapping the crystal face. "Then I revoke the offer."

Stiles turned to Noah, cupping his face between her palms. His stubble scratched her skin, grounding her. "Promise me," she whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "No police. No stupid heroics. Just take care of our girl." His rapid breaths smelled of bologna and fear. She kissed him once—hard—then pulled back before he could deepen it. "I'll be home tomorrow."

Derek chuckled. The sound coiled around them like smoke. "Optimistic." His gloved hand came down on Stiles's ass with a sharp smack that made the dishes rattle. The sting bloomed hot through the thin silk. Stiles's lips parted on a gasp she refused to voice, but her traitorous nipples tightened visibly against the dress.

"Oh?" Derek's thumb dug into the cheek he'd just struck, kneading the flesh through the fabric. "We'll see if I'm satisfied by then."

Noah lunged again, but Stiles caught his wrist. "Don't," she hissed. The raw helplessness in his eyes made her stomach twist.

Derek didn't wait. He gripped Stiles's hip with one hand, yanking her back against his chest while the other slid down to squeeze her ass again—harder this time. The silk stretched dangerously under his fingers. "Walk," he ordered against her ear, breath hot on her neck.

Stiles obeyed, heels clicking on the linoleum. Derek's hand never left her ass, groping and kneading with every step like she was already his property. She could feel Noah's gaze burning into her back, but she didn't turn around. Couldn't.

The hallway light flickered as they reached the elevator. Derek trapped her against the mirrored wall, his thigh slotting between hers. His knee pressed deliberately high. "No underwear?" he murmured, scraping his teeth along her shoulder where Noah's tears had dampened her skin.

Stiles stared at their reflection—her flushed face, his possessive grip on her waist—and swallowed hard. The elevator dinged.

Behind them, muffled through the apartment door, came the sound of Noah punching a wall and Lydia's choked sobs. Derek's chuckle vibrated against Stiles's spine. He shoved her into the elevator just as the doors closed.