I spiked the drink of Daniel Falkner, Belcaster's big shot, three years ago.

After that night of madness, he doesn't punish me. Instead, he takes my waist in his hands and drives into me until my legs go weak, calling me "princess", again and again.

But just as I'm about to confess, Serena Jarman, the woman he never gets over, returns.

For her sake, he lets me get hit by a car, makes me watch Mom's keepsake get left to a stray, and even throws me into jail with his own hands.

By the time I'm shattered and boarding a flight to Velport to marry someone else, Daniel is tearing Belcaster apart just to find me.

To outsiders, I was the bright and brazen heiress of the Seymours. Daniel Falkner was Belcaster's big shot—disciplined, aloof, almost ascetic.

Night after night, he took my waist in his hands and drove into me until my legs went weak, calling me "princess", again and again.

He didn't know I'd be marrying someone else in just two weeks.

The sheet was still damp. As I lay catching my breath, Daniel was already up, pulling on his clothes.

I turned onto my side and watched him button his shirt. "You're not staying tonight?"

"I have a meeting at the office. Be sweet," he said without looking back.

There it was again.

I sat up. The sheet slipped off me.

His hands stilled for a heartbeat, then resumed at his tie.

"Daniel."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

He turned, brushed a kiss across my forehead, and murmured, "I'm leaving."

When the door clicked shut, I reached for my phone and punched in a number I knew by heart.

"Dad, I'll go through with the arranged marriage. I'll marry the dying Gaskell heir in Velport in two weeks, but I have one condition."

His voice lifted at once. "Great! Name it. Whatever it is, I'll grant it!"

"We'll speak in person."

After I ended the call, Daniel's spare tablet on the nightstand lit, the screen flashing a new message from Serena Jarman.

"Danny, thanks for coming with me to the hospital today. The doctor says I'm doing better. It's all because you've been taking such good care of me. Let's catch a movie tomorrow, like old times."

A kiss emoji capped it off.

I stared at the text, my fingers shaking. Daniel had never once gone with me to the hospital, not even when I broke a rib at riding practice.

I threw on my clothes and slipped out, tailing his car. He stepped out in front of one of the city's finest restaurants.

From a distance, I watched him walk to Serena in her white dress. She looked frailer than in the photos.

He lifted a hand to smooth her hair, so gentle it seemed she might splinter at his touch. I'd only ever seen that tenderness on his face in bed.

It was three years ago when Dad handed me to Daniel. One glance at that austere, handsome face and my knees betrayed me.

Dad told him, "Freya needs to learn the family rules. She's too wild. Only you can keep her in line."

I was then just back from boarding school—rebellious, untamed, unwilling to yield. Plenty of men had tried to tame me. I thought Daniel would be just another, but I was going to tame him first.

The first time we met, I made sure to show up at his office in a microskirt.

Daniel sat behind his desk, not even glancing up.

"Close your knees, Freya."

"Why?"

"Because right now, you look like the Seymours forgot to teach you manners."

I hitched my skirt higher. "How about now?"

His eyes, icy behind gold-rimmed glasses, finally lifted to me. "Get out."

I spent months throwing every provocation I could dream up at him. I slid notes into his files, sabotaged projects he'd set up, and even dosed his whiskey with a laxative.

He'd just restore order, calm as ever, and say in that schoolmaster tone, "Freya, you're bright. Put that mind to better use."

One night, I spiked Daniel's drink, wanting to see him without the reins. I hadn't expected it to kick in before I was out the door.

He caught my wrists, breath uneven. "What did you put in my drink?"

I held his gaze. "You've already guessed. Want to test it?"

That night changed everything.

When morning came, Daniel was already dressed. I braced for him to lose it, to send me back to Dad.

"Daniel, I—"

"Princess." He brushed my cheek. "This stays between us."

That single word undid me.

We kept up this strange relationship for the next two years. By day, he was the cold CEO. By night, he breathed "princess" in my ear and drove me weak at the knees.

I believed Daniel loved me until my birthday that year.

I spent hours getting ready, slipped into my best dress, and reserved the restaurant where we'd first dated. I meant to tell him I loved him, that I'd stand by him, whatever the price.

But he never came. I waited three hours, alone, until even the waiters began watching me with pity.

The next day, the internet lit up with photos of Daniel at the airport, picking up another woman. Serena leaned into his arm in the shots, the two of them looking every bit the couple.

It turned out he'd forgotten my birthday because he was busy picking up another woman. I let out a bitter laugh and drank myself senseless.

I wanted to ask him what I was to him. A bedmate? A prop? But I didn't dare. I was too lonely, too addicted to his warmth, too afraid that saying it out loud would drive him away.

That night, I found Serena's photographs in his study and shattered every frame.

Daniel came home to ruins but didn't so much as frown. He told the maids to clean the mess up and take care of me, then walked right by.

I saw it then, plain as day. Daniel was the Falkner heir—distant, composed, untouchable. His patience was just his pride keeping him from arguing with me.

After that, he still called me "princess" in bed as if nothing had changed, except that I'd already gone cold.

At the restaurant, Daniel held the door for Serena. They spoke with an easy warmth.

I looked away and drove to the Seymour residence.

In the living room, Dad and my stepmother, Rowena Blanchard, were watching TV. He switched it off as I walked in.

"Well? Name your terms. What will it take for you to accept the arrangement?" he asked.

I sank onto the couch. "I'm cutting ties with you."

Dad froze. "What did you say?"

Rowena's eyes gleamed.

"I'll marry the dying Gaskell heir. But in exchange, we're finished. I'm no longer a Seymour. Bring your mistress and your illegitimate daughter back if you want.

"The day you staged that crash and killed Mom, you stopped being my father."

His face darkened. "I told you. It was an accident!"

I met his eyes and let out a humorless laugh. "Accident or not, Mom died while catching you with Rowena, right there on the road. So stop acting like the doting father.

"You've spent five months plotting to sell me to the Gaskells, just so your mistress could waltz in and your illegitimate daughter could wear the Seymours' name. Isn't that the bargain?"

Dad lurched to his feet. "You want to cut ties? Fine! From tomorrow, you're no daughter of mine!"

"Deal." I turned toward the stairs. "And make sure the Gaskells hear it. Their bride won't be the Seymour heiress anymore. She'll be nothing but an orphan. Let's see if they will still pay your price."

Once in my room, I shut the door and dropped the act. Curled on the bed, I let my tears spill, small and helpless as a wounded animal.

Would Daniel even know? To leave him for good, I cut the last thread that bound me to the world.

…

Early the next morning, I woke to the sound of things being moved downstairs. I rose and moved to the landing. At the foot of the stairs stood a figure I knew all too well.

Serena.

My blood ran cold.

Serena stood at the foot of the stairs in a simple white dress, so fragile it hurt to look at her.

When her eyes found me, she smiled sweetly. "You must be Freya Seymour. I'm Serena Jarman. Nice to meet you."

I didn't answer. I just stared.

Alfred Seymour emerged from the living room. At the sight of her, his expression melted in a way I rarely saw. "Rena, you must be exhausted. Let Freya show you to your room."

"Thank you, Mr. Seymour," Serena said demurely.

Alfred added, "Use Freya's room. It gets the best light and will be perfect for your recovery."

I turned to him. "My room?"

"Starting today, that's Rena's room. You'll move to the third floor. There's a vacant one up there."

I gave a mirthless laugh. "I'll pass."

I went upstairs and started packing. Half an hour later, I came down, suitcase in tow.

Alfred saw it and frowned. "Where do you think you're going?"

Without looking back, I said, "I'm leaving. I'm not a Seymour anymore. There's no reason for me to stay here."

"Freya! The wedding's in two weeks. Don't be absurd!"

"I know." I pulled the door open. "I'll show up on time in two weeks and keep my end of the deal."

I slammed the door behind me and drove off from the Seymour residence. My destination was the most luxurious hotel in Belcaster.

"I want your most expensive suite," I told the receptionist.

"How many nights?"

"Two weeks."

I paid with the Seymours' secondary card, which had a 30 million dollar limit and had been barely touched until now. Today, I intended to burn through it.

After checking into the suite, I unleashed a spree of revenge spending.

I reached out to the consultant from the world's top wedding-dress label and ordered three gowns, all over a million a piece. Then came ten sets of jewelry and two limited-edition watches.

By nightfall, I had blown nearly 25 million dollars.

Alfred called not long after.

"Freya! Are you insane? You burned through nearly 30 million dollars in a single day!"

I stretched out on the hotel's leather couch. "What's the problem? I'm marrying into a family far away. I need to spend a little to look the part."

"You need that much just to look the part?"

I sipped my champagne. "Of course. I'm marrying the Gaskell heir. Do you expect me to show up looking cheap? Besides, they're putting three billion dollars on the table. Tens of millions doesn't even register."

"You…"

Alfred choked on his fury, unable to speak.

I laughed. "Dad—no, I should say Mr. Seymour. Didn't we already cut ties? Technically, I shouldn't even be spending your money. Relax. Once the funds land, you'll be the first I pay back."

I hung up and went straight back to my spending spree. Before the marriage funds landed, I'd bleed the Seymours' cash flow dry.

Once those three billion dollars hit my account, Alfred would have to beg if he wanted even a crumb back. We'd see if he still dared to stand with Rowena and Serena then.

I was about to launch into the final round of indulgence when my phone buzzed. Daniel's name lit up the screen.

"You've not gone to the office for three days. What's going on?"

I stared at the words. My pulse spiked, but I smothered it at once.

He didn't care about me. He only cared when I strayed from his script. That was all.

I texted back, "Family stuff. I'll be fine in a few days."

He never replied.

…

The next morning, just as I was heading out for another round of shopping, the hotel receptionist stopped me.

"Ms. Seymour, I'm sorry, but the card you've been using has been frozen. We can't process any more payments for your stay."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll need to settle the bill immediately, or…" He hesitated. "We'll have to ask you to leave the hotel."

An hour later, I was outside, suitcase in hand—penniless and homeless. I couldn't bring myself to sell the luxury pieces I'd bought. They were meant for the wedding.

For a moment, I thought of calling a friend. But then I remembered that I didn't have any.

No one had ever cared for me. They'd only cared for the Seymour name. And now that I'd been cast out, who would even bother with me?

Night pressed in as I dragged my suitcase through the streets.

At last, I found a park bench and sank onto it. The silence was heavy, disturbed only by the low hiss of traffic far off.

I hugged my knees, counting the days. Twelve left until the wedding. I couldn't survive on the streets that long. As I sat brooding, a group of drunks lurched into the park.

One of them staggered closer, reeking of cheap alcohol. "Hey, gorgeous. All alone?"

I shot upright, muscles taut. "Stay back."

"Don't be like that." He reached for me. "Why don't you have a drink with us?"

I stepped back, only to bump into the bench.

Just then, a low voice cut through the night. "She's not alone."

I turned and saw Daniel step out of the shadows, his expression so dark it was almost frightening. The weight of his presence sent the drunks slinking away.

He stopped in front of me, his gaze flicking from my suitcase to the bench.

"Homeless, and still you won't turn to me?"

Daniel drove me back to Falkner Estate in North Belcaster.

I sat in the passenger seat, watching neon streaking past the window. I felt hollow inside.

"We're here," Daniel said.

After parking the car, he came around to open my door.

Why did he always do this? He didn't love me, but he wanted me in his bed and treated me with such gentleness.

My nose prickled as I climbed out, suitcase trailing behind. The house was too familiar, every corner steeped in memories of when we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

Daniel reached for my suitcase, intending to take it to the room that was mine.

"No, it's fine," I said, moving toward the guest room. "I'm only here for a few days. The guest room will do."

He stopped mid-step. "You can stay as long as you want."

I set my suitcase in the guest room and closed the door.

Perched on the bed's edge, I stared at my phone. 12 more days, and I'd leave Belcaster, the city I'd grown up in, for good.

…

The next morning, I went downstairs to find Daniel already having breakfast in the dining room. He looked up and gestured to the seat across from him.

A maid brought milk and toast as soon as I sat.

"Daniel," I said.

He glanced up, eyes calm behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Did you know Serena is Rowena's daughter?"

"I only learned yesterday," he answered evenly, without the faintest flicker of guilt.

I let out a bitter laugh. "What is Serena to you?"

Daniel set his coffee down. "A high school classmate. She once took a knife for me and saved my life. She's been recovering in Norvane ever since."

"Really? Just a classmate? The one who saved your life? That's all?"

His brow tightened. "Freya, I don't want you targeting her just because she's moved into the Seymour residence."

I laughed, bitterness edging my voice. "Is that a warning?"

His tone cut like ice. "It's a reminder. Rena's not well. She can't take any strain."

I simply nodded.

His blunt defense of her was more than I'd expected. What else was there to ask?

"I understand," I said finally, standing. "I'm going upstairs."

I spent the whole day in the guest room. The maids brought lunch and dinner up, and I didn't go downstairs.

That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. This was usually when Daniel would push the door open and pin me beneath him without a word. He'd grip my waist and call me "princess".

But tonight, the hallway stayed quiet.

Of course, Serena was back at his side. Why would he think of me now?

…

The next day fell on the weekend, so Daniel didn't go to the office.

At around 10:00 am, he knocked on my door. "Freya, there's a gathering tonight. Come with me."

I opened the door to find he had already changed into a black suit.

"What kind of gathering?"

"A gathering with our circle."

I really didn't want to be alone in this house full of memories, so I nodded.

…

At 7:00 pm, Daniel's car pulled up outside a private club.

I followed him in and found the place warmly decorated, with flowers and ribbons everywhere. It was nothing like the business-circle gatherings I'd been to before.

Before I could ask, a familiar voice rang out. "Danny! You finally made it!"

Serena glided over in a white evening gown, light as a butterfly. When she saw me, her expression froze for a beat, then she lit up with a sweet smile.

"Freya, you're here too! That's wonderful!"

I glanced around and spotted a banner that read, "Welcome back, Serena."

So this was what Daniel had brought me to—a party to celebrate her return to the country.

I turned to leave, but Serena stepped in front of me. She looked at me with concern.

"Freya, what's wrong? Are you not feeling well? I heard you moved out of the house. Was it because of me? I'm so sorry. I didn't know Mr. Seymour would put me in your room."

Her voice was soft and gentle, yet loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. A few guests looked over at me with a hint of curiosity.

"It's fine. It's just a room," I said.

Serena's eyes filled with tears. "But Mr. Seymour said you'd even severed ties with him. It's all because of me. If I hadn't come back—"

"Serena," I cut her off. "Whatever happened between Alfred and me has nothing to do with you. You're an outsider."

Her tears spilled over, and she looked up at Daniel, tearful and fragile.

He came over, shot me a warning glance, then said gently to her, "Don't cry. Your eyes will puff up."

Then he took out a handkerchief and gently wiped her tears.

She broke into a small, tearful laugh. "You're so sweet to me, Danny."

I stood there watching the cozy little scene, my chest aching like it was sitting in an ice bath.

I turned for the drinks table, picked up a glass of champagne, and downed half in one go.