Chapter 1

The school bell chimed through the crisp Milanese air, signaling the end of the day at the city’s most elite elementary school. My son, Milo, came hopping out, his laughter cutting through the chatter of the other children.

On his feet were a pair of sneakers—one of only a hundred pairs ever released globally. They caught the afternoon sun, flickering like diamonds against the gray pavement.

I stepped out of my Maybach to greet him. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. The whispers of the other parents drifted over like a toxic fog.

"Look at her. The fallen princess of the Vane family," a woman hissed, her eyes scanning my tailored coat with pure envy. "Trying so hard to hold onto a life that doesn’t belong to her anymore."

I didn’t blink. Their opinions were static in the background of my life.

But then, the driver’s side door swung open, and Lydia Thorne slid out like a viper.

Lydia was our live-in nanny, though you wouldn’t know it from the way she dressed. She wore a silk dress two sizes too small, the fabric straining against her curves, one shoulder deliberately exposed.

She already had her phone up, the red "LIVE" icon glowing on her screen.

"Ready to see how the 'one percent' corrupts their children?" Lydia chirped into the camera, her voice dripping with fake populism. "Zoom in on these, guys!"

The comment section on her YouTube stream was moving at light speed.

[Is that real gold on those laces?]

[Disgusting. Show us more!]

"Lydia, enough," I said, my voice tight. "You are not authorized to film my child."

She ignored me entirely. Crouching down with a predatory sweetness, she pretended to tie Milo’s laces while shoving the camera lens inches from his feet.

"See this, everyone? While your kids play in normal shoes, this boy is being taught to look down on the world. This kind of vanity is a cancer!"

Before Milo could pull away, she yanked the right sneaker clean off his foot.

"Luxury items are a distraction on school grounds," she declared, tossing the $30,000 shoe into her bag. "I’m confiscating these for his own good."

Milo stood there, one sock-covered foot on the cold concrete. His face crumpled, his bottom lip trembling as he fought back tears of humiliation.

I stepped between them, my blood beginning to simmer. "Give him back his property, Lydia. Now."

Lydia swung the phone toward my face, a vicious smirk playing on her lips. She lowered her voice so only I could hear. "Touch me, Seraphina. I dare you. I’ll call the police for assault before you can blink. Wouldn’t it be a shame for Milo to watch his 'aristocratic' mother get hauled away in cuffs?"

I looked at Milo’s tear-streaked face and forced my hand to drop. The crowd of parents began to close in, fueled by the spectacle.

[Stop the rich from bullying!] one comment read.

[Ban luxury in schools! Support the nanny!]

Lydia felt the tide of the mob behind her. She reached for Milo’s other shoe, pulling so hard he stumbled.

I grabbed her wrist, my grip like iron. "Touch my son again, and you will regret the day you were born."

She winced, her hand shaking until she let go. But the second she turned back to her camera, she transformed into a victim.

"I’m just a poor nanny trying to save a child's soul," she sobbed to her audience. "And now I'm being threatened by the elite…"

The mob erupted.

"Typical!" a father shouted, jabbing a finger toward me. "Showing off with dirty money! We know your husband is the one who actually works. You just spend his sweat on shoes!"

"She probably seduced some mogul to pay for that Maybach," another sneered.

Lydia pressed her advantage, her eyes gleaming with greed. "Milo’s father is a frugal, hardworking man. He’d be disgusted by this. If Milo doesn't apologize right now for his vanity, I’m going to expose this entire family’s rot to the world!"

They surged forward. Milo shrieked as several parents pinned him down, their faces twisted with a strange, righteous fury. The remaining sneaker was ripped from his foot and tossed, with a wet splash, into the foul-smelling roadside gutter.

My heart shattered as Milo wailed for me, his voice raw with terror.

"Stop! I’ll comply!" I screamed, the words tasting like ash.

Lydia lowered her phone, a look of pure triumph crossing her face. She reached back into the car and pulled out a chubby little girl with freckles—her niece, whom I’d let live in our house out of pity despite her penchant for stealing my jewelry.

Lydia stepped closer, holding up a printed document for the camera to see.

"If you want this to end, Seraphina, you sign this," she whispered. "An engagement contract. Milo marries my niece when they turn twenty. If you break it, you owe my family ten million dollars in damages."