Chapter 1

When I pushed open the door to my father Albert's study, Selena was already sitting by the fireplace.

Her posture was what it always was — perfectly obedient, perfectly still.

Father looked up, and his eyes went straight to my ears.

I had worn new earrings today, deliberately. They climbed from my earlobes all the way up to the cartilage — a neat little row of silver studs, glinting quietly in the firelight with a cool, indifferent light.

This was my own private form of rebellion.

Father's brow creased. "Evelyn, is this how you intend to present yourself when you marry into the Valenti family?"

"I'm not marrying into anything." I dropped the engagement contract onto the desk in front of him.

Selena shot to her feet, nearly dropping the teacup in her hands. "What are you saying?"

I lifted a pen from the holder, and right there in front of both of them, I drew a line through the name on the bride's portion of the document and wrote in: Selena Ferro.

Selena stared at her own name. "Evelyn! Are you out of your mind? You can't just alter a marriage contract from the Valenti family. We're not in a position to cross Calvin — not even close."

"I know." I met her eyes at last. "But you're in love with him, aren't you? In the end, the agreement only specifies that he's to marry a daughter of this family. Does it really matter which one?"

The color flooded Selena's face all at once. Her lips moved, and after a long silence she finally managed to speak. "I… I never thought you would… hand over something you'd spent two years fighting so hard to hold onto…"

"And give it to me?"

"Don't mistake this for charity," I said, with a short, cold laugh. "I never do anything out of the goodness of my heart."

Father's expression darkened.

"Evelyn," he began slowly, "these two years — you worked toward this. Every single step. Why are you turning back now?"

I paused.

Right. These two years.

I had been fed into this arrangement at eighteen. In public, Father called me lucky. In private, he had always preferred that it be Selena who rose to that position.

It had been that way my entire life. He had always favored her.

I had always known it. But unfortunately, I was the one Calvin had chosen as his fiancée.

So I had spent two years shaping myself into what a future Valenti matriarch was supposed to look like.

I had once believed that was love. Now I knew it was bondage.

If marrying Calvin meant losing myself, then I would rather walk away from him entirely.

"Because I can't breathe anymore," I said. Simply. Truthfully.

Father blinked.

I took a slow breath. "The closer the wedding gets, the more I have nightmares. In them, Calvin stands in front of me — perfectly still, like a statue. Not a trace of life in him."

"I can't do it anymore."

I pushed the document directly in front of him. "The woman he wants to marry is the wife the Valenti family requires. I was never that woman. But Selena is."

Father's gaze moved back and forth between us several times before settling on my face. "What do you want?"

"Ten million," I said. "I'm flying to Paris. Transfer the money into my account by the end of this week."

He nodded immediately.

Selena caught his sleeve. "Dad, we don't have that kind of money on hand—"

"I'll find a way." He let out a slow breath.

Selena turned to me. Her face was still flushed. "Evelyn… I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything useless." I stood, pushed the chair back under the desk. "You've gotten what you wanted. Hold onto it."

I walked out of the study feeling lighter than I had in years.

Back in my room, the first thing I did was strip off the couture gown Calvin had personally selected for me, and change into my favorite leopard-print miniskirt. I re-curled my hair — that exaggerated, defiant wave he had made me straighten for two years — and did my makeup the way I liked, finishing with a coat of black lipstick.

The person looking back from the mirror hadn't appeared in two years.

The future mistress of the Valenti family? A polished little doll?

Neither. Neither of those was me.

This was Evelyn.

I called a car and went to the loudest underground bar in New York.

The music rattled the floor underfoot. The dance floor was a solid press of bodies — the night had already crossed into something that felt like madness and celebration at once.

I pushed my way into the crowd. The silver studs on my cartilage caught the colored lights, flickering.

A young man with curly hair pulled me loosely into his arms and leaned close to my ear. "You look like someone who just escaped from somewhere."

I threw my head back and laughed. I put my hands on his shoulders. "So what if I did?"

He matched my rhythm. "Then just keep dancing. Don't go back."

I stood in the heart of the crowd and swayed with the music, freely, for the first time in what felt like forever.

This was what freedom felt like. I had almost forgotten.

And then, at the heaviest beat of the drum — the music cut out.

Every laugh, every shout in the room crystallized at once in the air.

Then a familiar voice came from somewhere behind me.

"Evelyn."