The next day, I was at a company-owned construction site in the south end when Caspian Thorne appeared, unannounced and utterly out of place.

He was lounging against a stack of drywall in a ridiculously bright, custom-pink suit, a cigarillo dangling from his lips. He looked as if he owned the place.

"Miss Sterling," he drawled, not bothering to look up. "What can I get you for an engagement gift? My heart, perhaps?"

I stopped in front of him, taking his measure. He was even more handsome than his portrait suggested, and ten times more arrogant.

"I want Thorne Capital's southern city plot."

The words hung in the air. Caspian slowly straightened up. The lazy smirk vanished, and his eyes, a startling shade of blue, sharpened with sudden focus.

He studied me for a long moment, then a slow, genuine grin spread across his face.

"Done," he said.

He stood, brushing dust from his suit. "Fair warning, though. That adoptive brother of yours isn't exactly stable. Don't be surprised if he tries to crash our engagement party."

As if on cue, a hysterical cry erupted from a short distance away.

"Julian, why won't you just tell her the truth!" It was Bianca. "You made me pretend to be with you, all to protect her!"

My heart gave a painful lurch. I’d told myself I didn’t want his excuses, but her words still sent a traitorous pang through me.

Julian's voice was low and strained. "I told you, it's over! There's no future for us!"

I was the one who ended it, so why did hearing him say it feel like a slap? I took a steadying breath, schooling my features into a mask of indifference.

Caspian watched me, a smirk playing on his lips. "Did you catch that? Pure soap opera. Shame you're not falling for it."

I ignored him, walking toward the argument. My eyes landed on Bianca's belly. She had to be at least seven months along. If what she said was an act...

When I spoke, my voice was calm, almost glacial. "Quite the performance. You even got a prop baby for the part. You've really committed to the role, Julian."

Julian’s face went white. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Bianca, on the other hand, burst into tears, her delicate sobs turning my stomach. She fumbled with her phone, pulling up a gallery of photos.

"Julian has always loved you, Scarlett, truly," she wept.

Then, with a feigned slip of her hand, the phone clattered to the ground. The screen glowed with her social media feed.

The photo was from last Valentine's Day. Julian, passionately kissing Bianca on a moonlit beach in Mexico. Another showed a lavish diamond ring on her finger.

And all that time, I was turning down every suitor, waiting for him in our SoHo apartment. I was even alone when I was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis, staring at the ceiling of a cold, empty room.

My expression hardened. The last three years of my life had been a joke.

I turned to Caspian, who had followed me. "Is there something you know that I don't?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

Caspian paused, his gaze sharpening. "What I do know is that the man who sent Julian undercover was my father."

My heart skipped a beat.

"And the woman he brought back," Caspian's voice dropped, "her file's a blank slate. She's not the informant listed in his official report."

A jolt went through me, but I kept my face a perfect, unreadable mask.