My brother lent his car to a friend, who ended up drunk-driving and causing an accident. A girl in the car was critically injured and rushed to the ICU, while his so-called friend fled the scene to avoid responsibility. When I went to visit the injured girl, I was stunned to discover her brother was none other than Dallas—the strikingly handsome bodyguard I’d met at a party just days before. Former special forces, no less. Even though this situation technically had nothing to do with me, I offered to cover the girl’s medical expenses. But Dallas, proud as ever, refused my help outright. Half a year later, the girl was still in a coma, and Dallas had run out of options. He came to me, his voice tense and his expression worn. "I need money." I raised an eyebrow, my lips curving into a smirk. "Looks like you’re not very good at asking for favors." "What?" he asked, confused. "Take off your pants,' I said, leaning in slightly. "Then you'll understand."
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