AN: We have wedontslave and In A World All Our Own to thank for them pressuring me to update, lol. I'm sure you're familiar with their work if you've been in the fandom for some time. Check them out if you haven't already.

BTW, I'm active on IG and threads now quinntanarivera. Now, on with the show!

Santana

Quinn took a step back from Santana, shaking her head adamantly. "No way. I can't ask you to do that."

"Didn't you just say you wanted someone to take a chance on you?" Santana crossed her arms. No way was she backing down from this. Quinn had all but asked her for help, and she would make her see sense.

"Yes. A chance. Meaning a loan. Not an invitation to stay at their house." Quinn flashed a distasteful look. A look that reminded Santana a little too much of the ballsy upper-class girls in her social circle. It was hard to believe Quinn who dared to stand her ground didn't come from money.

"My property is huge," Santana informed. "You're welcome to stay until you get back on your feet."

"Okay. That's crazy."

She frowned. "What's so crazy about it?"

"I don't know how things work where you come from, but where I come from, people don't just move into other people's houses." Quinn's pink lips thinned and she held up her hands. "For all I know, you could be a psycho who runs a basement torture chamber. No offense."

"None taken." Santana allowed herself a smile. "It's more creative theory than what the tabloids come up with."

"Bored with the usual jet-setting playgirl stuff, are you?" Quinn challenged.

"Definitely. I apologize for being an insufferable cliche."

"So… the rumor is true then?"

Santana raised an eyebrow. "That I'm a psycho who runs a secret torture chamber?"

"No." A breathless laugh escaped Quinn's throat. "Are you a playgirl? Do you have a bunch of women at your beck and call?"

The conversation had gone off on an uncomfortably personal tangent, but if answering truthfully put Quinn at ease Santana would risk revealing a little of herself. Inviting someone to her home was a big deal, and it was only natural for Quinn to hesitate. "Depends on the day. Though right now I'm so focussed on work at the bank I honestly haven't been dating much lately. You'll probably be my only houseguest for the foreseeable future."

"That's if I even agree to this," Quinn points out.

"Quinn, you've stalled enough as it is. I'm not letting you sleep in your car for one more night," Santana said. "It isn't safe for you to be out on the street like that."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You can't just force me to stay at your house."

"You came here for my help. Beggars can't be choosers. That means I decide how I'll help you."

Uncertainty flashed on Quinn's face as she looked at Santana.

"I've got a guesthouse on my property if that makes you more comfortable," Santana continued. "You'll have your privacy, and I promise to always respect that."

Quinn seemed to relax at those words. "Okay. I'll stay at your guesthouse. But I swear I'll do everything I can to get a place of my own as soon as possible. I've been relying on sewing costumes for most of my income, but I'll go back and get a job in retail if I have to."

There was no use reminding Quinn that she could really stay for as long as she wanted. Quinn would only get defiant again, and she didn't want that. She opened the passenger door for her and Quinn slid inside, crossing her shapely legs as she settled into the seat. Santana reminded herself she was doing this as a favor, not trying to get an actual date.

As unorthodox as this living arrangement was, there was a spark about Quinn that fascinated her. Quinn was so passionate about her work. So ambitious. Just like Santana's parents had been before the family had struck it rich. Like them, all Quinn needed was a chance. She wasn't some spoiled heiress demanding a handout. What she needed was a lifeline, and Santana would give that to her.

"Um... I hate to ask, but can we stop by my car on the way?" Quinn asked as Santana got behind the wheel. "All my stuff is inside and I don't want it to get stolen."

Santana started the car and navigated out of the parking lot. "You can keep your car in my garage."

"That's so generous of you." Quinn's voice wavered as she stared down at her hands.

A wave of sympathy hit Santana, but she didn't say anything. Saying the wrong thing would only make Quinn emotional, and she sensed that Quinn's pride wouldn't allow her to cry again. Not in front of her at least.

"I haven't thanked you," Quinn went on before taking a deep breath. "So… thank you, Santana. You're a lifesaver. When I get a job, I swear I'll pay you back."

"Paying me back isn't necessary," Santana told her firmly.

All she wanted was to help Quinn get back on her feet. Despite her fascination and unmistakable attraction for her, pursuing any kind of romantic entanglement was completely wrong. Santana never wanted her to feel obligated in any way. Which meant, as long as she was helping her, Quinn Johnson was off-limits.

Quinn

She pulled her beat-up old sedan into the multi-car garage. Every other car in the place was a luxury vehicle, each one gleaming under the garage lights. Quinn grabbed her bags and scrambled out of her car. Being inside it only reminded her of how terrified she had been about sleeping in it the night before.

"You hungry?" Santana asked when she stepped out of her Mercedes. "My chef can make you whatever you want."

Santana's attention was throwing Quinn off. She was here to ruin her and her family, yet Santana had been nothing but kind to her. Too kind. The years had hardened Quinn's heart far too much for her not to be suspicious. Maybe Santana was trying to get into her pants. Though inviting her to stay at her place seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through for a stunning, wealthy woman who could probably have anyone she wanted.

"I don't want to put anyone out," Quinn said.

"You won't," Santana said. "Come inside and talk to the chef. I'll have one of the staff take your things to the guesthouse in the meantime."

With her dark eyes probing Quinn's, it was impossible to refuse. Impossible because Quinn didn't want to refuse her. Not when Santana looked at her with so much heat. So much concern. Nobody had cared about her well-being in years. Nobody had offered a helping hand. Now, the one woman she was here to destroy wanted to help her.

If Quinn was as soft and sentimental as she had been before her family had lost everything, she would have given up her mission the moment Santana invited her to stay here. Santana's kindness was overwhelming enough to give someone as jaded as Quinn pause.

But she hadn't actually lied to Santana. Everything she had said about her predicament had been true. Her tears might've been amplified, but her dire straights were real. Her landlord had evicted her and burdening her family with her woes was out of the question, so Quinn had to take a gamble. Asking Santana Lopez for help meant she'd find a way to stay afloat financially while getting close enough to Santana to find all the dirt she needed to bring her down. Only, Quinn hadn't counted on Santana inviting her to her home.

There was a very real danger of Santana figuring out who she really was, but staying in her home was too good an opportunity to pass up. Quinn's father would be proud when she gave him the news.

"Okay," Quinn said with a nod.

Santana placed her hand on Quinn's back as she guided her out of the garage. The touch felt so good Quinn forgot herself long enough to enjoy the protective weight of it.

But as they walked up a stone walkway towards the entrance of Santana's mansion, she shook herself out of her reverie. As her father said, no detail was too small to use against the Lopezes.

The grounds leading up to the entrance were immaculate, with a carpet of grass stretching as far as the eye could see. Trees and flowers dotted the front yard, sprinklers watering the shrubbery. A fine mist from the sprinklers sprayed Quinn's skin. On the far end of the grounds, she noticed a lake and a small rowboat attached to a pier.

Even in the dim light of the evening, she could guess how much the property cost to maintain.

As they walked up a short flight of steps to the front entrance, the front door swung open and a uniformed butler appeared. The butler greeted them with a subtle tilt of his head.

"Evening, Anders," Santana said. "This is my friend, Miss Quinn Johnson. She's our guest, and she'll be staying here for a while."

"Of course, madam." Anders turned to Quinn. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Johnson. Allow me to take your bags."

"Oh. Thank you," Quinn said, handing her bags over to him.

"Put them in the guesthouse," Santana instructed.

As Santana whisked them through the door, Quinn's stomach tightened. The only time she had been to a home this grand in the past ten years was when she made designs for wealthy clients. Now, all the luxury that had been denied her for so long was surrounding her. Taunting her.

The expansive drawing room to the right was exquisitely furnished, a stone fireplace tying everything together. Her eyes trailed past the grand piano to where the hardwood floors of the drawing room interior met with the stone floor of the patio outside. Beyond the patio, she glimpsed palm trees and a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean.

"It's beautiful," she said softly, almost forgetting a moment the view belonged to Santana and not to herself.

"I never get tired of the view out here," Santana said. "Remind me to show you around the property tomorrow."

"How long have you lived here?"

"About three years. It took me a while to believe my family's good fortune. So, for years I was hesitant to spend much money, but my parents convinced me to finally get a place of my own."

Quinn chewed her lips as she glanced around, jealousy boiling inside her at the sight of so much comfort. Comfort that had been stolen from her and denied her all these years.

Santana paused and grimaced. "I must sound like a total ass, complaining about money. Forgive me."

"It's fine," Quinn forced herself to say. "I think I understand. You started from humble beginnings, so this must be a lot to adjust to."

Santana nodded and flashed her an appreciative smile. "One day I know you're going to have this too. I see you doing great things in your future, Quinn."

That got Quinn to smile despite the dark emotions swirling through her.

"Let's go to the kitchen." Santana took Quinn's hand in hers.

Quinn couldn't convince her heart to stop fluttering at the sensation.

She walked with Santana to the enormous ultra-modern kitchen and nearly choked when she spotted the chef. The chef she recognized from one of her prep school classmates' homes. Panic at being found out made Quinn want to run for the exit. When the chef looked up from his work to greet them, she desperately hoped he wouldn't recognize who she really was.

AN: Thoughts? Leave me a review if you're still following along :)