"Here."

My father, John Kensington, pushed a rectangular slip of paper across the marble kitchen island.

I picked it up. A commercial boarding pass to Honolulu. Economy class.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Your flight details," John answered.

"I thought we were taking the family jet."

John crossed his arms, his posture rigid. "Fairy, you know your sister has depressive tendencies. She doesn't want to see you right now."

"Zoe is twenty-three, Dad."

"She feels guilty," he snapped, his voice rising. "She feels terrible for occupying your place all these years. So you'll take a commercial flight by yourself. The three of us, and Dean, will take the family's private jet."

I stared at the ticket. Five years. It had been five years since the Kensingtons found me, their biological daughter, living in a cramped foster home. They brought me back to this mansion. They introduced me to their world. Two years ago, I even married Dean Aston, the heir to the Aston family, cementing a business alliance my father desperately wanted.

Yet, I was still the outsider.

"So I fly commercial. Alone," I said.

"It’s just a few hours apart. Don't make a scene out of this."

"My husband is taking the private jet with my family, and I am flying alone. How does that make sense?"

"Dean agreed it was for the best," John said flatly. "Zoe needs a peaceful environment. Seeing you on that plane, knowing she took your life for eighteen years, is too much pressure for her."

A bitter taste flooded my mouth.

"Fine," I said. "If it keeps her calm."

John turned his back to me, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The conversation was over.

I left the kitchen and walked down the hallway into the main living room. My mother, Mandy, had three large suitcases spread open across the velvet sofa.

"Pass me that yellow sundress, would you?" she asked.

I handed her the fabric. It was a size zero. I wore a size six.

"Are you packing for everyone?" I asked.

"Just the girls," Mandy replied, smoothing out a floral skirt.

I looked down at the neat stacks of clothing. Bright pinks, pastel yellows, tiny waistlines.

"None of these fit me," I pointed out.

Mandy stopped folding. She finally glanced at my face. "Oh. Well, I just grabbed what was in the east wing closets."

Zoe's wing.

"I can pack my own things," I said.

"Good. Make sure you don't bring anything too dark or gloomy. We want this trip to be uplifting for your sister."

Footsteps sounded on the hardwood stairs.

Zoe paused halfway down, her hand gripping the mahogany banister. She wore a silk robe, her pale face void of makeup.

She stared at me. Her lower lip trembled.

"Zoe?" Mandy asked, dropping a swimsuit into the nearest suitcase. "Honey, what’s wrong?"

Zoe’s face crumpled. A loud, jagged sob tore from her throat as she sank onto the carpeted steps.

"It’s my fault!" she wailed, burying her face in her hands.

"What is?" I asked, taking a step forward.

"I made my sister sad!" Zoe screamed. She pointed a shaking finger at me. "I saw the way you looked at those clothes! I saw the ticket Dad gave you!"

John rushed into the room, his coffee mug abandoned. "What’s going on?"

"She should be the one taking the private jet with you!" Zoe cried, her voice cracking loudly. "I occupied her place for eighteen years! I’m a thief! Just let me leave!"

"No one is calling you a thief," I said.

"You hate me!" Zoe shrieked, pulling at her own hair. "Just let me go! I’ll stay behind! I’ll disappear forever!"

"Zoe, stop it!" Mandy rushed to the stairs, reaching for her.

Before Mandy could touch her, a tall figure pushed past me from the hallway.

Dean.

My husband.

He didn't even glance in my direction. He took the stairs two at a time and dropped to his knees beside Zoe.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," Dean commanded, his tone softer than I had ever heard it.

Zoe threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest.

"I ruin everything, Dean," she sobbed into his shirt.

"You didn't ruin anything," he whispered. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He rocked her gently back and forth. "It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"She hates me."

"She doesn't," Dean replied. He stroked the back of her head, untangling her hair with his fingers. "We all want you there. I want you there."

My stomach dropped. I watched Dean’s hand trace circles on her back. This was the man who had slid a wedding ring onto my finger. This was the man who shared my bed.

"Dean," I said.

He didn't turn around.

"Dean," I repeated, my voice rising.

He finally shifted his gaze over his shoulder. His eyes were cold, completely devoid of the warmth he had just poured over Zoe.

"Can't you see she's having a panic attack?" he demanded.

"She's my sister. You're my husband."

"And you're being incredibly selfish right now, Fairy."

John stepped between me and the stairs, blocking my view. "Go to your room. You're upsetting her further."

"I didn't say a single word to her!"

"Your presence is enough," John retorted.

Mandy stood behind Dean, patting Zoe's shoulder. "Shh, baby. Mommy's here. Dean is here. You're safe."

Zoe peeked out from Dean’s embrace. Her tear-streaked eyes met mine through the gap between my father's shoulder and the banister.

For a split second, the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

A smile.

Then she buried her face back into my husband's neck and wailed even louder.

"I'll just cancel my flight," I said, my nails digging into my palms until the skin stung.

Dean stood up, lifting Zoe into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing.

"No," Dean stated, his jaw locked tight. "You're going to Hawaii. But you're staying in a different hotel. I won't let you ruin this vacation for her."

He carried her up the stairs. My parents followed right behind him, murmuring endless words of comfort to the girl who had stolen my life.

I stood alone in the living room among the open suitcases. My family was gone. My husband was gone.

"Please fasten your seatbelts," the flight attendant announced over the jet's intercom.

I ignored her, pressing my cell phone tight against my ear. "Mom? Are you there?"

"Fairy, we are very busy settling into the villa," Mandy's voice crackled through the speaker.

"I just landed in Honolulu," I said, gripping my carry-on bag. "Did Dean say anything about me?"

"Dean is taking care of your sister. Just take a taxi from the airport. We will see you when you get here."

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen. Maybe I was just being too sensitive. Dean pitied her illness. Mom and Dad just wanted to protect the girl they raised. Once I arrived at the beach, we would sit down. We would talk. We would be a family again.

A yellow taxi dropped me off at the beachfront villa my parents rented. No one waited on the porch. No welcome banner hung from the railing. The heavy oak front door stood ajar, letting in the salty ocean breeze.

I hauled my suitcase over the threshold.

"Hello?" I called out.

Silence answered from the ground floor. Then, a muffled groan drifted from the second story. A woman's high-pitched whimper.

I left my luggage in the foyer and climbed the carpeted stairs. The sounds grew louder. Wet slaps of skin against skin. A deep, masculine grunt.

I stopped at the master bedroom. The door was wide open.

Dean had Zoe pinned against the mahogany headboard. His jeans were shoved down to his knees. Her silk robe pooled around her waist, exposing her bare breasts and pale thighs.

"Fuck, Zoe, spread your legs wider," Dean growled. His hips drove forward, burying his thick cock deep inside her.

Zoe threw her head back, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders. "Ah! Dean, yes. Fuck me harder."

"You like my cock, don't you?" he rasped. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into her wet pussy. "Fucking perfect. Take all of it."

Zoe wrapped her ankles around his lower back. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, but she smiled, her chest heaving. "Will you really marry me, Dean? You won't abandon me for Fairy later, will you?"

Dean leaned down, kissing her neck, biting the soft flesh. "Fucking hell, you feel too good. Marrying Fairy was just for the business alliance."

"So you don't love her?" Zoe whined, arching her back to meet his thrusts.

"She's just a placeholder," Dean answered, his voice devoid of any warmth. "The title of Mrs. Aston means nothing. I'm fucking you, aren't I?"

He thrust harder, the bedframe banging against the wall.

"When the time is right, I'll give you a real wedding," Dean promised. "Just you and me."

My hand slipped off the doorframe. I knocked over a heavy bronze vase resting on a pedestal in the hallway.

It crashed onto the hardwood floor, shattering into a dozen jagged pieces.

Dean froze. He yanked his cock out of Zoe and spun around.

His cold eyes locked onto mine.

I didn't wait for him to speak. I turned and sprinted down the stairs. My chest burned. Five years of trying to fit in, two years of marriage, all reduced to a transaction. A fucking placeholder.

I grabbed my suitcase handle in the foyer, but it slipped from my sweaty palms. I left it. I burst through the front door and ran straight into the courtyard.

"Fairy?"

I skidded to a halt. John and Mandy stood by the front gates. John held a leather leash attached to a golden retriever. Mandy casually sipped from a paper coffee cup.

"Mom, Dad," I gasped, pointing a shaking finger toward the villa. "Dean is up there. He's sleeping with Zoe. They're—"

"We know," John interrupted, his voice completely flat.

I stopped breathing. "You know?" I choked out. "And you're just walking the dog?"

"Lower your voice," John ordered, glancing up and down the empty street.

Mandy refused to meet my gaze. She stared at the manicured lawn. "Fairy, it's time you start a new life."

"A new life? I'm married to him!"

"Not for much longer," John said. He pulled a folded envelope from his jacket pocket and held it out to me. "I contacted an art academy in Paris. Your tuition is paid in full for the next four years."

I stared at the white envelope, my hands trembling. "You're sending me away?"

"Your flight leaves tomorrow morning," John stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Pack your things tonight. Don't come back."

"I'm your biological daughter!" I screamed. "She stole my life, and now she's fucking my husband in your house, and you're kicking me out?"

"Watch your language," Mandy snapped, finally looking up. Her expression hardened into a glare. "Zoe needs this family. She’s more fragile than you."

"Fragile? She's destroying my marriage!"

"You survived in foster care for eighteen years," Mandy argued, stepping closer. "You know how to be independent. Zoe doesn't. You can survive Paris."

A harsh laugh tore from my throat. I looked at the two of them—the united front. I never belonged here. From the day they brought me back, I was just an intruder in their perfect world. My marriage was a lie. My family was a lie.

"Keep your money," I spat.

I turned my back on them.

"Fairy, be reasonable!" John shouted.

I ignored him. I ran past the iron gates, my feet pounding against the asphalt. Tears blinded me, blurring the streetlights into streaks of yellow and white. The ocean breeze felt like ice against my wet cheeks. I didn't know where I was going. I just needed to escape the suffocating grip of the Kensington family.

I veered off the sidewalk, darting across the dark coastal highway.

Headlights flared in my peripheral vision.

Tires shrieked against the pavement. The deafening sound of burning rubber filled the night air.

I turned my head just in time to see the massive chrome grille of a black Rolls-Royce.

The bumper clipped my hip. I flew backward, slamming hard onto the asphalt. Pain exploded in my shoulder, radiating down my spine. I curled into a ball, gasping for air, the rough ground scraping my palms raw.

The engine idled with a low, menacing purr.

A heavy car door swung open. Leather shoes stepped onto the pavement.

I forced my eyes open, blinking through the tears and dirt.

A man towered over me. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, the expensive fabric catching the dim streetlights. His sharp jawline and piercing gray eyes projected absolute authority. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't ask if I was hurt.

He simply stared down at my pathetic, crying form.

"Miss," he said, his voice cold and smooth as polished steel. "If you want to die, don't block my car."

"I wasn't trying to die," I rasped, clutching my bleeding elbow.

"Then you have terrible situational awareness," he replied, adjusting his cuffs.

I recognized that face. I had seen it on the cover of Forbes, dominating the financial pages of every New York newspaper.

Ryan Cavendish.

The ruthless, untouchable heir to the Cavendish empire.

And he was staring at me like I was nothing more than a stain on his tires.

I had the ticket to Paris printed and tucked in my pocket. I could have gone to the airport. I could have walked away.

But I stayed.

One last day. One final attempt to pretend I had a family, to pretend my husband hadn't shattered my heart the night before. I told myself maybe John and Mandy were just blinded by their guilt over Zoe. Maybe Dean had made a single, unforgivable mistake, and I needed to see him one last time to truly accept it.

The Hawaiian sun beat down on the white sand.

John set up a striped umbrella. Mandy laid out colorful towels. Dean stood near the water's edge, holding a bottle of sunscreen.

Zoe posed by the surf in a bright yellow bikini.

"Fairy, take a picture of me!" Zoe called out, waving her arms.

I held up my phone and snapped the photo. "Got it," I said.

"Make sure the lighting is good," Mandy instructed, not looking up from her magazine. "Zoe needs a nice profile picture."

I handed the phone back to Zoe. She smiled, her eyes darting to Dean.

"Let's go swimming!" Zoe cheered, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling him toward the waves.

I followed them into the water, the cool ocean offering a brief relief from the heat. I waded in until the water reached my chest. Dean and Zoe swam a few yards ahead of me, laughing.

I treaded water, watching my husband playfully splash my sister. I was a ghost haunting my own life.

Suddenly, the ocean floor vanished beneath my feet.

A strong riptide grabbed my legs, yanking me backward. I swallowed a mouthful of saltwater, choking.

"Dean!" I shouted, my head bobbing under the surface.

Before I could call out again, a wave crashed over me. I fought my way back up, gasping for air.

A sharp scream pierced the roar of the ocean.

"Dean! I'm scared!" Zoe wailed.

She was thrashing in the water, caught in the same current, but closer to the shore.

I stretched my arm toward Dean. He was right between us. He turned his head, his eyes scanning the water.

Our gazes locked.

He saw me. He saw my hand reaching for him. He saw me struggling to keep my head above the churning waves.

Then he turned his back on me.

He swam furiously toward Zoe.

"I've got you!" Dean yelled, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Hold on to me!"

Another wave slammed into me. The undertow dragged me down into the freezing darkness. Salt burned my eyes and throat. I kicked, but my limbs felt like lead.

Through the distorted, bubbling water, I saw Dean carrying Zoe to the beach. John and Mandy rushed to the shoreline, wrapping towels around her shivering shoulders.

None of them looked back at the ocean.

None of them noticed I was gone.

My lungs screamed for oxygen. The fight drained out of my body. They had made their choice. I was finally, completely alone.

I stopped kicking. I closed my eyes and let the ocean take me.

***

A steady, rhythmic beeping pulled me from the void.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a massive, ultra-modern bedroom. The sheets beneath me were soft, expensive silk.

I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through my chest. I fell back against the pillows, coughing.

"Don't move."

The voice was cold, sharp, and familiar.

I turned my head. Ryan Cavendish stood by the window, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit.

"You," I rasped, my throat raw.

"Me," Ryan confirmed, walking toward the bed. "You have a habit of almost dying in front of me."

"Where am I?"

"New York," he answered, checking his watch. "My private medical facility. You've been unconscious for three days."

"Three days?" I repeated, my mind spinning. "How did you find me?"

"I was driving along the coast. I saw a body wash up on the rocks. My security team pulled you out." Ryan crossed his arms, staring down at me with those piercing gray eyes. "The doctor said you swallowed half the Pacific Ocean. You're lucky to be breathing."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Because leaving you to rot on a beach seemed like a waste," Ryan said flatly. He picked up a tablet from the bedside table and tossed it onto the mattress. "And because I thought you might want to see this."

I picked up the tablet with shaking hands.

The screen displayed a news article from the New York Times.

*Tragedy in Hawaii: Fairy Kensington, Wife of Dean Aston, Presumed Dead in Drowning Accident.*

I stared at the headline. Below it was a photo of John, Mandy, and Dean standing on the beach, looking somber. Zoe leaned against Dean, her face buried in a handkerchief.

"They couldn't find your body," Ryan stated, pulling a chair to the side of the bed and sitting down. "The current carried you too far down the coast. The authorities called off the search yesterday. Your family held a memorial service this morning."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "A memorial service. How efficient."

"Your husband gave a very moving eulogy," Ryan added, his tone mocking. "He called you his guiding light."

"He let me drown," I whispered, staring at the photo of Dean holding Zoe. "He looked right at me, and he chose her."

Ryan didn't offer pity. He didn't offer comfort. He just watched me, assessing my reaction.

"So, what now?" Ryan asked. "Do I call your grieving husband and tell him his guiding light is currently bleeding on my silk sheets?"

I looked away from the tablet and met Ryan's gaze.

The girl who desperately wanted John and Mandy's approval was dead. The wife who begged for Dean's loyalty had drowned in that ocean.

I reached for my left hand. The diamond wedding ring felt heavy, a cold shackle I had worn for two years. I slid it off my finger.

I placed the ring on the bedside table.

"No," I said, my voice steadying. "Don't call anyone."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "You're going to stay dead?"

"They wanted me gone," I said, the remaining tears drying on my cheeks. "They replaced me. They threw me away. If I go back now, I'm just the inconvenient mistake they have to deal with."

"And if you stay dead?"

"Then I get a clean slate," I answered, gripping the edge of the blanket. "I can take back everything they stole from me. I can make them pay."

Ryan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A dangerous smirk played on his lips. "Revenge. How cliché. And how exactly do you plan to destroy the Kensington and Aston empires from a hospital bed?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I know their secrets. I know how their businesses connect. I know where they are vulnerable."

"Knowledge is useless without power," Ryan pointed out.

"Then give me power," I challenged, holding his gaze.

Ryan laughed, a low, harsh sound. "You want my help? I don't run a charity, Miss Kensington."

"It's not Kensington anymore," I said. "And I'm not asking for charity. Dean's family is trying to acquire the Southside Development Project. I know you want that land."

Ryan's smirk vanished. His eyes narrowed. "How do you know about that?"

"Dean leaves his laptop open," I replied. "I know his bidding strategy. I know his absolute limit. I can give you the Aston family on a silver platter."

Ryan stood up, pacing slowly to the end of the bed. He studied me, his expression unreadable.

"You'd destroy your own husband's company?" he asked.

"He's not my husband anymore," I said. "He's a target."

Ryan stopped pacing. He looked at the discarded wedding ring on the table, then back at me.

"Get some rest," Ryan ordered, turning toward the door. "My doctor will check on you in an hour."

"Do we have a deal?" I called out.

Ryan paused with his hand on the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder.

"We'll talk when you can stand up without fainting," he said.

He walked out, shutting the door behind him.

I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The pain in my chest was still there, but the suffocating weight of my past was gone. I was dead to the world.

And the dead have nothing left to lose.

The bedroom door clicked open again.

I turned my head, expecting the doctor.

Instead, a tall woman in a sleek black dress stepped into the room. She held a manila folder.

"Mr. Cavendish sent me," she said, tossing the folder onto the bed. "He said you might need some reading material."

I opened the folder. Inside was a stack of photographs.

Dean and Zoe. Walking into a jewelry store. Looking at engagement rings.

The date stamp on the photos was yesterday. The day they called off the search for my body.

"He moves fast," the woman noted.

I stared at the photos, a cold fury settling deep in my bones.

"Not fast enough," I whispered.