I was lying in the private bedroom behind the top-floor office of Cross Meridian.

The richest man in the world was on top of me, coaxing me to say I loved him.

I looked him in the eyes and said it.

He whispered something back and pushed his cock inside me.

And this man was engaged to the person I hated most in the world. My sister. He was supposed to be my brother-in-law.

"Say it again, Elara."

His voice was rough against my ear. His hips rolled slowly, so I felt every fucking inch of him.

"I love you, Julian."

"Liar." He smiled into my neck and drove deeper. "But say it anyway."

I dug my nails into his back. His shoulders were broad and hot under my palms, slick with sweat.

"Darling," I breathed. "Fuck. Julian, harder."

"Take it." He caught my wrists and pinned them above my head.

His gray eyes were dark, focused, almost angry. Every thrust shoved me up the sheets. My thighs shook around his waist.

Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

The screen lit up.

**Sloane.**

Julian didn't even glance at it. He grabbed my jaw and turned my face back toward his.

"Ignore it."

"It's your fiancée."

"I know who it is." He slowed down, grinding into me until I gasped. "Right now I'm busy with her sister."

The phone kept buzzing. My sister's name glowed, then faded to black.

I stared at that dark screen. Somewhere under the heat and his weight on me, a cold old memory surfaced.

Did anyone ever ask how I ended up here?

It started with a ski trip.

---

I was sixteen, holding a printed itinerary like it was a winning lottery ticket.

"Okay, guys, I found a cabin in Vermont!" I dropped into the lunch booth beside Maya and Jordan. "Hot tub, fireplace, five minutes from the lifts. Winter break. Are we doing this?"

No one reached for the paper.

Maya pushed her tray away. "Are you seriously still pretending?"

"Pretending what?"

Jordan laughed, but it sounded wrong. "God, you're so fake. It's honestly impressive."

"What are you talking about?"

"We know what you said about us, Elara." Maya stood. "About my mom's job. About Jordan's grades. About Priya's face."

"I never said anything like that!"

"We're done." Priya grabbed her bag. "Don't sit with us anymore."

I chased them into the hallway. "Wait. Please. Just tell me what I did. I'll fix it, whatever it is. Maya!"

The door to the girls' bathroom swung shut in my face.

---

It took me two weeks to find out the truth.

Sloane had gone to each of them alone. She cried a little. She told them she felt *guilty* keeping my secrets.

Then she did my voice. My laugh. The way I said "honestly" when I was nervous.

"She sounded exactly like you," Priya told me later, arms crossed. "Your sister wouldn't make that up."

But she had.

By November, the whole school knew. People who used to share fries with me now called me a bitch to my face. Someone knocked my books out of my arms in the hallway and kept walking. My desk was covered in Sharpie: *FAKE. SNAKE. WHORE.*

Then came that Thursday in the cafeteria.

A senior named Kelsey walked up to my table holding a full tray.

"Hey, Elara. You hungry?"

She tipped it over my head.

Spaghetti slid down my hair. Cold milk soaked through my shirt and ran down my spine. The smell hit me first, sour and thick.

Phones came up all around me.

"Oh my God, get her face!"

"Post it, post it!"

I didn't cry. I just sat there shaking while forty people laughed.

---

That night I stood in our kitchen, still in the ruined shirt.

"Sloane lied about me. She told everyone I—"

"Elara." Sloane's eyes were already wet. Already. "I've spent *months* covering for you. Do you know how embarrassing it is, apologizing for your mean comments?"

"I never made any comments!"

"Lower your voice," Dad snapped.

Mom didn't look at my hair. She looked at Sloane. "Your sister is trying to help you, and you attack her like this?"

"She's the one who—"

"Apologize," Dad said. "Now."

The milk had dried stiff on my collar. It stank. I could taste it in the back of my throat.

Sloane wiped her cheek and waited.

"Sorry," I said.

"Mean it," Mom said.

"I'm sorry, Sloane."

My sister smiled at me over Mom's shoulder. Just for a second.

---

College was supposed to be my escape. Three states away from home. No Sloane.

And there was Liam Hart.

He was a junior in my econ class. He had soft brown eyes and a laugh that made strangers turn around. He held doors. He texted good night.

He also kept asking when I'd be ready.

"No pressure," he'd say, kissing my knuckles. "Seriously. Whenever."

"I know. I'm just... not there yet."

"That's okay, El."

He said it was okay. His jaw tightened every time, though.

---

One evening in October, we walked across the quad with our fingers laced together. The sun was going down orange behind the library.

"So my mom wants to meet you at Thanksgiving," Liam said. "Fair warning, she's going to ask about grandkids."

I laughed. "Already?"

"She's very ambitious."

"Should I bring a résumé?"

He didn't answer.

"Liam?"

His hand had gone loose in mine. He wasn't looking at me anymore.

I followed his gaze, and my stomach dropped straight through the pavement.

Sloane was walking toward us.

She wore a red dress, short and tight, cut low enough that two guys on the steps stopped talking. Her dark hair was glossy and pinned to one side. Her lips matched the dress.

"Elara!" She opened her arms. "Surprise!"

She hugged me hard. Her perfume was sweet and expensive. Her chin rested on my shoulder.

Her eyes stayed on Liam the whole time.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. My voice came out thin.

"Visiting my baby sister. Is that a crime now?" She pulled back and laughed lightly. "You never call. I had to come see for myself."

"See what?"

"Everything." Her smile widened as she turned. "Especially him."

Liam straightened up. He actually ran a hand through his hair.

"Hi," he said. "I'm—"

"Oh, I know who you are."

Sloane stepped past me like I was a bench. She held out her hand, slow, palm down, red nails catching the last of the light.

"I've been dying to meet," she said, "my little sister's favorite thing."

Liam reached out and took it.

The first text came three days after the quad.

**Sloane:** *Hey! It's Sloane. Elara said you wouldn't mind driving me to the train station?*

Liam showed it to me over pizza. "You told her she could ask me?"

"No."

"Huh." He was already typing back. "Well, it's on my way."

It wasn't on his way. The station was twenty minutes in the wrong direction.

After that, the requests came faster.

*Elara said you're good with computers. Mine keeps crashing.*

*Elara mentioned you have a truck? I'm helping a friend move a couch.*

*Elara said I could call you if anything happened.*

That last one landed at 1:47 a.m. on a Tuesday. I woke up to Liam pulling on his jeans in the dark.

"Where are you going?"

"Your sister's stuck outside some bar. Her Uber canceled."

"She lives two hours away."

"She's visiting a friend near here." He grabbed his keys. "Go back to sleep, El."

I didn't.

---

I told him everything on a Sunday afternoon. We sat on the floor of my apartment with our backs against the couch, because I didn't want to look at his face.

"She told my friends I said awful things about them. She copied my voice, Liam. My laugh. Everyone believed her."

"Okay."

"People wrote *whore* on my desk. I was sixteen."

He nodded slowly.

"And then this girl walked up to me at lunch." My throat closed around the words. "She dumped her whole tray on my head. Spaghetti. Milk. And everybody filmed it, and I just sat there, and—"

My voice broke apart. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, but the tears came anyway, hot and ugly.

"My parents made *me* apologize. To her." I turned toward him. "Please. Just this once, believe me. Stay away from her."

Liam was quiet for a long moment.

Then he sighed.

"El, listen to yourself."

"What?"

"Sloane is the sweetest person I've ever met. She asks about you constantly. She worries about you." He rubbed the back of his neck. "And you're over here telling me she's some kind of evil mastermind?"

"She *is*—"

"It's honestly a little sick. The way you talk about her. That's your sister."

I stared at him. The tears dried on my cheeks.

"You think I'm making this up."

"I think you were a hurt kid, and you needed somebody to blame."

---

He told her.

I knew because two days later Sloane was standing in my living room with mascara running down her face.

"I just wanted my sister back." She hugged her own arms. "That's all I've ever wanted. And she tells you I *ruined* her life?"

"Sloane, stop."

"I drove all the way here to fix things, El. I thought maybe if I got to know Liam, you'd finally let me in."

Liam crossed the room and wrapped her up. She folded right into his chest, sobbing into his shirt.

Over his shoulder, her eyes found mine. Completely dry underneath the mess.

"Elara." Liam's voice was hard. "Apologize to her."

"For what?"

"For assuming the worst about someone who loves you. Every single time."

The room went still. Sloane sniffed softly.

I heard myself laugh. One short, strange sound.

"Sorry, Sloane."

"Thank you," she whispered, and pressed her cheek tighter against my boyfriend.

---

Five weeks later, my Friday seminar ended early.

I bought two coffees on the walk home. Liam liked his with too much sugar. I'd decided I would apologize properly, tell him I wanted to try harder.

The apartment door was unlocked.

Sloane's red heels lay on their sides in the hallway.

Then I heard it. A low moan from my bedroom. The bed frame knocking the wall in a steady rhythm.

I pushed the door open.

Liam was on my bed. On my gray sheets, the ones I'd washed that morning. Sloane was underneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her nails in his back.

The coffees hit the floor.

"What the *fuck*?"

Liam jerked around. Sloane didn't even flinch. She just pulled my comforter up to her collarbone, slow and lazy.

"El—" Liam grabbed a pillow and held it over himself. "You're supposed to be in class."

"That's your answer? My *schedule*?"

"Don't make this a whole thing."

"You're fucking my sister in my bed!"

He stood up. His face wasn't guilty. It was annoyed.

"What did you expect, Elara? Three years together, and you won't touch me. I asked you to be ready. I waited. A guy has needs."

"So you picked *her*?"

"She actually wanted me."

Sloane sat up and tucked her hair behind one ear. She smiled the way she used to over Mom's shoulder.

"Don't look so shocked, El." Her voice was soft, almost kind. "You never could keep anything."

My hand found the water glass on my desk.

I threw it.

It exploded against the wall two feet from Liam's head. Glass rained across the carpet.

"Get out." My voice cracked through the room. "Both of you. *Get out!*"

"Jesus Christ!" Liam yanked his jeans on. "You're insane. You know that? You're actually crazy."

Sloane gathered her dress without hurrying. At the door, she paused.

"Call Mom," she said. "She'll be worried."

The front door slammed.

I ripped the sheets off the mattress. I tore the pillowcases. I shoved everything into a trash bag and dragged it into the hall.

Then I sat on the bathroom tiles and cried until the window over the tub turned gray, then pink, then white.

That morning I called my landlord and broke the lease. I blocked Liam's number. His email. His Instagram.

Then I blocked Sloane's.

---

Six years passed.

New York was loud enough to drown out almost everything. I had a tiny apartment in Queens and a job at a consulting firm in Midtown. At work, I used my grandmother's last name, Arden. It was the closest thing I had to a clean beginning.

Then one night in March, my best friend from work sent me a screenshot.

**Isn't this your sister???**

I unblocked Sloane's account just to look.

A massive diamond filled the screen. Oval cut. Heavy enough to sink a boat. Sloane's hand rested on a man's chest, his dark suit sharp and expensive.

*He asked. I said yes. Soon to be Mrs. Julian Cross.* 💍

Julian Cross. CEO of Cross Meridian. The richest man in the world.

The comments ran forever.

**Aunt Denise:** *Finally! The perfect life you deserve, sweetheart!*

**Cousin Rachel:** *Living the dream!!! So proud!*

I scrolled down, my thumb going numb.

**Mom:** *Our proudest daughter. We always knew you'd do something amazing.* ❤️

**Dad:** *That's my girl.*

Proudest daughter.

Spaghetti in my hair. Milk on my collar. *Mean it.* Liam calling me crazy while my sister smiled in my sheets.

I set the phone face-down on the counter. Then I picked it right back up.

My fingers moved before I could stop them.

*Cross Meridian careers.*

The listing sat near the top.

**Executive Assistant to the Chief Executive Officer. New York headquarters. Immediate start.**

I read it three times.

Then I opened my laptop, rewrote my résumé until two in the morning, and hit submit.

*You never could keep anything, El.*

Fine.

Let's see if you can.

---

Nine days later, at 6:12 a.m., my phone buzzed on the pillow.

New email. Subject line: **Interview Request — Executive Assistant.**

*Ms. Arden,*

*Your application caught my attention. Be at the 58th floor, Thursday, 8 a.m. Don't be late.*

I scrolled to the bottom.

There was no HR department. No recruiter.

Just one name.

*Julian Cross.*

The final interview lasted eleven minutes.

Julian Cross didn't stand when I walked in. He just slid a folder across his desk.

"Three board members want to move tomorrow's meeting. Two of them hate each other. Fix it."

I fixed it in four minutes.

He read my schedule, then glanced up. His gray eyes were cool and sharp, like he was looking for cracks.

"You start Monday."

That was it. No small talk. No question about family.

He didn't know who I was. I had applied as Elara Arden, and Sloane had never told him she had a sister.

Of course she hadn't.

---

Julian was brutal to work for. He wanted coffee black at 7:05, briefs on his desk by 7:10, and no mistakes, ever.

"This font is wrong."

"It's the font you asked for last week."

"Then I was wrong last week." He tossed the file back. "Change it."

I changed it.

I never asked about the ring photos or the wedding. When his phone lit up with *Sloane*, I looked away and kept typing.

By the second month, he stopped checking my work.

By the third, he couldn't find his own calendar without me.

One night at nine-thirty, he was still in his office with the lights dimmed. He kept rubbing his temple with two fingers.

I set a glass of water and two pills beside his keyboard.

"What's this?"

"For your migraine. You get them when you skip lunch." I placed a takeout container next to the water. "Which you did. Again."

He stared at the food. "How do you know I get migraines?"

"You squint at your left monitor. And you get meaner."

For a second, he didn't move.

Then he smiled. It was small and tired, and it changed his whole face.

"I've had six assistants in two years," he said. "None of them figured that out."

"Maybe they were scared of you."

"Aren't you?"

"Eat your dinner, Mr. Cross."

He laughed. I'd never heard him laugh before.

I walked out fast, before he could see my hands.

---

The Hale Industries gala was all champagne and old money.

Julian left to take a call. Thirty seconds later, a palm settled on my ass and squeezed.

I spun around. Victor Hale was smiling at me, a heavy man with a gold watch and wet lips.

"Relax, sweetheart."

I shoved his chest. "Don't touch me."

He caught my wrist and pulled me close. His breath smelled like scotch.

"Executive assistants need to learn how to please important clients." His thumb pressed into my pulse. "Julian won't mind. Trust me."

"Let me go."

"Or what?"

"Or this."

Julian's voice came from right behind me.

He peeled Victor's fingers off my wrist one at a time. Then he bent them back until Victor winced.

The room around us went silent.

"Julian, come on, it was a joke—"

"Tomorrow's meeting is canceled." Julian didn't raise his voice. "So is every meeting after that."

"You're throwing away a three-hundred-million-dollar deal over a *secretary*?"

Julian shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders. It was warm and smelled like cedar.

"Yes," he said.

He put his hand on my back and walked me out.

---

In the car, I couldn't make my fingers stop shaking.

Victor's grip had brought it all back. Hands yanking my hair. Spaghetti sliding down my neck. Forty phones pointed at me.

"Elara."

I pressed my palms against my knees. "I'm fine."

Julian reached over and closed his hand around mine. His skin was steady and dry.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said quietly. "Nothing he did is yours to carry. You understand me?"

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

He didn't let go the whole ride.

I sat there with my sister's fiancé holding my hand, and something in my chest cracked.

*He's a tool,* I told myself. *That's all he is.*

It didn't sound true anymore.

---

The company's holiday party ran late. Julian drank more than I'd ever seen him drink.

By midnight, he was leaning on my shoulder in the elevator.

"You're babysitting me," he mumbled.

"Someone has to."

I got him into the private lounge behind his office. He sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled his tie loose.

I stood between his knees.

*Do it. This is why you came.*

I leaned down and kissed him.

He made a low sound and pulled me onto his lap. His hands slid up my spine.

"Sloane," he whispered against my mouth.

My stomach turned over.

I kept kissing him. I made myself unbutton his shirt while my sister's name sat on my tongue like something rotten.

Then he stopped.

He held my face in both hands and leaned back. His eyes cleared, slowly, focusing on me.

"Elara."

Not a question. Just my name, like he was finally seeing it.

He kissed me again, harder, and this time it was mine.

---

"Tell me to stop," he said, dragging my dress up over my hips.

"Don't you fucking dare."

He laid me back on the bed and pulled my panties down my legs. His mouth moved down my stomach, then between my thighs. His tongue pressed flat against my clit.

"Julian—*fuck*—"

"You taste so fucking sweet, Elara." He slid one finger inside me and groaned. "Christ, you're soaked for me."

I grabbed his hair and pulled him up. "I want you inside me. Now."

He kicked off his pants. His cock was thick and hard against my thigh.

He pushed in slowly. It burned. I bit his shoulder to keep from crying out.

He froze. "Elara? Am I hurting you?"

"Keep going. Julian, please. Fuck me."

He did. Slow at first, then deeper, until the pain melted into something hot and aching. I wrapped my legs around his back.

"That's it, baby." He kissed my throat. "Fuck, you feel incredible."

"Harder, Julian."

He gripped my hips and slammed into me until the headboard hit the wall. I came with his name in my mouth. He followed a moment later, shuddering, burying his face in my neck.

---

I woke to the sound of a pen scratching.

Julian was dressed, sitting in the chair by the window. He looked pale, like his head was killing him.

"Last night," he said. "I remember... most of it."

"Most of it."

He tore something off and held it out. A check.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

"Take some time off," he said carefully. "Paid. As long as you need. I think it's better for both of us if we—"

"If we *what*? Pretend it didn't happen?"

"I'm engaged, Elara."

I snatched the check, crumpled it in my fist, and threw it at his chest. It bounced off his shirt and fell to the floor.

"I never wanted your money!" My eyes were burning. "Not once. Not one fucking dollar!"

"That's not what I meant—"

"You know exactly what you meant."

I yanked my dress on and grabbed my shoes. My hands were shaking again, but this time no one held them.

At the door, I looked back.

Julian wasn't watching me leave.

He was standing by the bed, staring down at the white sheets.

At the small, dark red stain in the center.

His face went completely still.

"Elara," he said slowly, "was that your first time?"

I didn't answer.

I didn't have to. I watched it hit him, the math he was doing in his head, the thing he already knew about the woman wearing his ring.

He turned toward me.

"Then who the hell," he whispered, "have I been engaged to?"