It had all returned to him… why he had liked her—no, why he had loved her so much. Because now, in the brutal light of morning, as he regarded her calm look and her cool demeanor, he realized that in the space of just a few hours he had lost his grip on her. He had smashed her, raped her soul if not her actual body, and she had sunk to bottom. What could he do to her now short of physical violence against her or the kid, a step he wasn’t willing to take? Right now, she had nothing left to lose.

This night wasn’t going to happen again. He had caught her off guard, had been given a small window of opportunity to act. Two months ago, she hadn’t been as bad off, only a couple of months’ arrears in her rent. Two months from now, in order to survive, she’d have to quit school and work full-time. Out in the job market, she’d find men who’d turn handsprings for her. But as of yet, she didn’t know that. Just the type of girl she was, so focused on her own end point of day-to-day living, she had never looked around.

How long would that last?

If he wanted her back in his power as well as back in his bed— and he really did want that—he was going to have to offer her something, entice her with her own dreams.

He gave her a proposition. She was in her third year of college, struggling to stay afloat. Her goal of becoming a physician was a solid one, but costly, therefore out of reach in her current financial state. Even with scholarships and loans, she wouldn’t be able to hack it. Her debts were substantial, and mounting with each passing day. If she expected to continue with her studies as well as raise the kid properly, she would require money and lots of it. So why not take it from the father of her son?

The deal was straightforward—sex for support—as banal as any American marriage out there. While it was true that she could bring a paternity suit against him—that the law was definitely on her side— it wouldn’t be to her advantage. He had the money and the lawyers to drag it through the court system for years. And he’d make demands—child-custody rights, weekend visitation, summer months, and holidays, too. There’d be lots of animosity…irreparable damage. No, it wouldn’t be good to get technical about it. It was much better to keep it friendly—more practical, too. His way meant she’d be in charge of the kid’s moral and ethical upbringing without his interference. His way meant anything she needed, no questions asked.

Think about it, he had told her. No more debts hanging over her head, no more creditors beating at her door or writing intimidating letters that threatened homelessness if she didn’t pay up.

Think about it.

An apartment with heat and air-conditioning, a real stove instead of a hot plate, a shower and a bathtub, for God’s sake. There’d be money for food, money for clothing, private schooling and music lessons for the kid, and, best of all, no more menial labor for her. Any job or work that she’d take on would be for her own personal growth, for her own personal bank account—money that would be hers and hers alone, funds not needed to fill stomachs or put a roof over heads.