Everyone knew I’d do anything for Lucius Falcone. I was his shadow, his most devoted follower… or, to be blunt, his lapdog.

For three years, I trailed after him, indulging his every mafia-heir whim.

When he went street racing at midnight, I was in the passenger seat, even when I was burning up with a 104-degree fever.

When he was screwing some other woman, he’d call me to bring toys, and I’d show up, no questions asked.

Finally, Lucius started to soften.

Just when everyone thought I was about to finally get what I’d been working for…

At the party celebrating his taking over as Don of the Falcone family, he showed up with some bombshell on his arm. He gave me a bored look and said, "You're dull in bed. Tina, on the other hand, knows how to get me off."

The whole room was waiting for me to break down. Instead, I just gave a small smile. "Then congratulations to you both."

Then I turned, walked out, and got on a plane to Paris.

Lucius was already making bets that I’d come crawling back within three days.

What he didn't know was that his mother had paid me five million dollars to do it all.

The contract was up. The money was in my account. I was finally free to leave him and to finally chase my own dream in Paris.

At the party celebrating Lucius’s new title as Don of the Falcone family, he walked in with a bombshell on his arm.

Every eye in the room snapped to me.

After all, it was no secret I’d been chasing Lucius for three years.

Even he had started to soften up, a huge change from the outright disgust he’d shown me at the beginning.

I knew they were all taking bets on whether I’d be the next official girlfriend.

"Everyone, this is Tina. My new date," Lucius announced.

The woman, Tina, clung to his arm, the diamond necklace on her chest practically blinding. She saw me and covered her mouth with a giggle. "You must be Eleanor. Lucius has told me all about you."

Told her about me? I could guess what kind of things he’d said.

I just took a calm sip of my champagne. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. I’d heard worse over the last three years.

I just considered it part of the job.

Right on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I glanced down at the screen: [Bank Transfer Received: $5,000,000.00]

The money was in.

My salary for the last three years, down to the penny.

I looked up and smiled at Lucius.

For the first time in three years, it was a real smile.

"Congratulations to you both, Lucius."

Lucius just stared, stunned.

This wasn't in his script. I was supposed to cry, to beg, to make a fool of myself. Then he could play the hero and let me stay, keeping me around as his favorite plaything.

I set my champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray and walked away.

The whispers behind me grew louder.

"Did she just say 'congratulations'?!"

"She's probably just hiding in a corner to cry."

"I don't know, she looked way too calm. Almost like she'd been waiting to get dumped."

"Eleanor has been obsessed with the Don for years. We all saw it. There's no way she's not heartbroken. She's just putting on a brave face."

"I bet you a grand she comes crawling back within three days, begging him not to leave her."

The last thing I heard was Lucius’s arrogant voice. "If she comes back and begs, I might consider forgiving her for being so rude tonight."

But I blocked all of that out.

If my father hadn't signed away two million dollars at a casino—a debt that put not just his life, but mine, on the line—I never would have taken Mrs. Falcone's deal.

She paid me to stay by Lucius's side. My job was to be her eyes on him, to make sure he didn't go too far off the rails. And at the same time, I had to be his glorified nanny, taking care of his life and cleaning up his messes.

The first thing I did was wire two million dollars to the biggest underground casino in New York.

Then, I called the owner.

"This is Eleanor Vance. The two million your father owed you just hit your account," I said. "That’s the last dollar I’ll ever pay for him. From this second on, that old gambling addict’s life is not my problem. If he borrows from you again, you can chop him up and dump him in the Hudson for all I care. Don't come looking for me."

I hung up before he could answer.

That bloodsucking parasite I was forced to call a father had pushed me to the brink, forcing me to sign that deal that sold my life away.

This money severed the last of our family ties.

I was finally free.

I walked into my closet, ignoring the mountain of designer bags and jewelry Lucius had tossed my way like scraps for a dog.

I only took one thing: my acceptance letter to the école Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris.

For three years, I had spent my nights secretly painting. This was my key. My escape.

I bought a ticket for the next flight out. Just as I was about to board, a text from Lucius came through.

[Are you done with your tantrum? My patience has a limit. I'll forgive your disrespect last night, but don't force me to send my men to drag you back.]

He was so sure I couldn't live without him. That I was still his little maid, his lapdog, always at his beck and call.

I laughed out loud.

Drag me back? Good luck finding me in Paris.

I didn't reply. I just popped the back off my phone, pulled out the SIM card that held three years of humiliation, and snapped it in half.

Crack.

I tossed the pieces into a nearby trash can.

The old, pathetic Eleanor was thrown out with them, buried forever in the New York night.

Three Years Later

A high-end gallery on the Champs-élysées, Paris.

My painting, Breaking Free, had just sold at Sotheby's for a staggering eight million euros. Reporters were swarming, desperate for an interview.

I had zero interest in their prying questions. I let my agent handle the circus.

My agent smiled brightly for the cameras and made the announcement.

"And now, as the art world's newest and most celebrated international painter, Ms. E.V. has been invited to hold her next solo exhibition in New York City."

I’d just landed, and before I could even drop my luggage, my agent was already pushing me to attend a business gala.

"Eleanor, every influential gallery owner and collector in New York will be there. You have to make an appearance."

I glanced down at my outfit.

A simple white shirt I wore for a comfortable flight, a pair of slightly faded straight-leg jeans, and plain white canvas sneakers. I had no makeup on, just a thin layer of tinted moisturizer to hide the jet lag.

Hardly gala attire.

But I didn't care. My talent and my market value had earned me the right to not kiss anyone's ass.

I took a cab to the venue. As I was about to walk up the steps, a thick arm blocked my path.

"Sorry, ma'am. This is a private event tonight," the bouncer said, his eyes scanning my jeans and sneakers with a sneer.

I was about to pull out my invitation when a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Eleanor? Is that really you?"

It was Leo, Lucius's suck-up of a lieutenant, the one who loved to kiss ass and run his mouth. He strode toward me in a tailored suit and polished leather shoes.

His eyes raked over me with exaggerated surprise. "Well, well, if it isn't the Don's most loyal little puppy. Three years, and you end up looking like this? Rough."

I ignored his taunt and reached for my invitation.

"Don't even try it!" Leo snapped, slamming his hand down on my purse. "You found out the Don was here and came camping out, hoping to get back with him, didn't you? Playing the pity card by dressing like a charity case? That's a new low, even for you."

I lifted my head and stared at him. My voice was ice. "Get your hand off me."

Leo froze, clearly not expecting that tone from the meek girl he remembered. He recovered with a sneer. "Alright, drop the act. Everyone knows you can't survive without Lucius."

He turned to the bouncer and jerked his chin up arrogantly. "She's with me."

The bouncer’s attitude flipped instantly. "Of course, Mr. Leo. Right this way, sir," he said, bowing.

"Go on in," Leo said, winking at me. "The Don's in a great mood. Just closed a deal on the South Side turf. If you get on your knees and beg him now, he might even toss you a few bucks for some new clothes."

He pushed open the heavy, ornate doors and swaggered inside.

I watched him go, a scornful smirk playing on my lips.

I put my invitation back in my bag and followed him in, my face a mask of indifference.

The moment I stepped inside, I saw him: Lucius Falcone, surrounded by his cronies. Three years had smoothed the sharp edges of his youth, replacing them with a colder, more commanding presence.

A beautiful young woman was draped on his arm. She wore a fire-red, low-cut gown, her expression as bold as her black hair and red lips. It wasn't Tina.

Looks like his taste—and the speed at which he replaced women—hadn't changed.

I gave them a single, detached glance and turned toward the bar.

But Leo’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Don! Look who's here!"

"It's Eleanor! Your old groupie you couldn't get rid of!"

A brief silence fell over the ballroom.

The next second, a hundred pairs of eyes were on me like spotlights. A mix of mockery, curiosity, disdain, and pure glee at my misfortune. A web of malice.

"Is that really her? How does she have the nerve to come back to New York?"

"God, look at what she's wearing. Did she run out of money and come back to beg?"

"She left in such a huff, I almost thought she had a backbone. Guess it was all just a game."

"I told you. A gutter rat like her could never truly leave the power of the Falcone family. See? Not even three years, and she's back, starving and crawling for scraps."

The ugly whispers were everywhere.

I just stood there, my spine ramrod straight.

No shame. No retreat.

I let them stare, my gaze cutting through the crowd until it locked with Lucius's.

He looked up sharply. The moment he saw me standing in the doorway, his pupils contracted. The lazy confidence on his face froze, replaced by shock and something else… something I couldn't read.

I didn’t even flinch at the wave of mockery and venom.

With everyone watching, I walked calmly to an empty seat in the corner. I pulled out the chair gracefully and sat down. When a waiter passed by, I took a glass of champagne from his tray and took a small sip. My movements were fluid, as if I hadn't noticed Lucius staring at me from the head table, his eyes burning holes into my back.

My composure was clearly a disappointment to those hoping for a show.

"Who does she think she is, acting like some kind of princess?"

A woman in a deep-V, magenta dress slinked over. It was Mia, a Falcone family hanger-on. I remembered her trying desperately to get into Lucius’s bed, only to be kicked to the curb harder than even a plaything like Tina. Seeing me looking "pathetic" was the highlight of her year.

She looked down at me, holding her wine glass. "You disappeared for three years. I thought you'd landed some rich old man. Turns out you were just rotting in a slum somewhere. What's the matter? The dumpsters outside aren't as full as they used to be?"

The crowd roared with laughter.

A man with a beer gut was next. He stroked his chin, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Hey now, Mia, don't be so harsh. The poor girl must have had a rough time overseas. Who knows what kind of 'services' she had to perform to survive."

He spat out the word "services," his eyes crawling over my faded jeans.

"Tell you what, my nightclub needs someone to clean the toilets. Out of respect for the Don, I'll even pay you double. A thousand bucks a month. Better than begging on the street, right?"

The laughter grew louder. Someone even whistled.

Through it all, Lucius said nothing. He sat like a stone statue, his eyes occasionally flicking toward me.

The girl in red by his side, however, was clearly annoyed. I’d overheard her name. Isabella Ricci. Of the Ricci art dynasty.

She scoffed, leaning forward with a look of pity and undisguised contempt. "Eleanor, is it? I've heard about you. How you used to follow Lucius around like a pathetic puppy."

"I have to admire your nerve. You have the thickest skin I've ever seen," she said, pausing to let the audience enjoy the show. "But at least you knew your place. You knew you and Lucius were worlds apart and had no future, so you ran. Too bad it looks like you failed out there, huh?"

"Now, Lucius is the Don. And me? I run my family's art business. I'm busy negotiating collaborations with top international artists. If you're in a tough spot, we can help you out."

"No, thank you," I said calmly.

Isabella sneered, her tone shifting to boastful. "Don't be proud. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

She raised her voice for everyone to hear. "I've already used the Ricci family's most powerful connections to get in touch with the hottest, most mysterious artist on the international scene—E.V.!"

At that name, my hand holding the champagne flute paused for a fraction of a second.

The room filled with gasps.

"E.V.? The genius whose painting just sold for eight million euros in Paris?"

"My God! I heard she never appears in public. Billionaires have offered fortunes just to meet her, and she turns them all down!"

"Ms. Ricci can get her? If she pulls this off—hosting E.V.'s New York debut—the Ricci family's value will skyrocket!"

The blatant shock and flattery from the crowd was exactly what Isabella wanted. She puffed up like a proud peacock, turning her head to look down on me.

Her gaze was like she was tossing a coin to a beggar.

"You hear that, Eleanor? This is how the real world works. Once I lock down this exclusive deal with E.V., the scraps from my table will be enough to feed a pathetic stray like you for a lifetime."

Isabella laughed contemptuously. "Out of respect for Lucius, once the deal is done, I could consider 'giving' you a job. How about… a janitor at the gallery I'm preparing for E.V.?"

Just as she finished, the ballroom doors opened. A woman poked her head in, looking anxious. "Ms. Ricci, my apologies. I've gathered all the research on the artist, E.V. And about the artist herself..."