Chapter 1 Disowned Heir

The clink of crystal glasses, the hum of violins, and the endless chatter of the city's elite-it was just another Friday night at the Grand Regent Hotel.

Julia Bailey balanced a silver tray of champagne flutes against her hip, weaving through the crowd of tuxedos and glittering gowns. Her feet ached from twelve hours of double shifts, but she forced her lips into a polite smile. Tips were good tonight. Rent was due tomorrow. Survival didn't wait for exhaustion.

"Careful, sweetheart," a banker sneered as she passed, his hand brushing too close to her waist. Julia shifted away, masking her disgust. Same story, different night.

She was just about to duck behind the velvet curtain toward the staff area when raised voices split the air.

"Enough, Brandon!"

Julia turned her head instinctively. The source was hard to miss: a man in his late twenties, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an undone tuxedo like he'd just crawled out of a whiskey bottle. His dark hair fell across his forehead in careless waves, and a crooked grin tugged his lips-arrogant, careless.

Across from him stood a man twice his age, cold in his immaculate tailored suit. His voice carried like a gavel in court.

"You're finished. From this moment, you are no longer my son."

The crowd gasped.

Cameras flashed. Phones shot up. In a room full of predators, blood had just been spilled.

Julia froze, champagne glasses trembling on her tray.

The younger man-Brandon Hughes, if the whispers were correct-let out a laugh so bitter it cut through the music. "You've been waiting for this moment, haven't you, old man? Tossing me out like trash so you can polish your precious company image."

Mr. Hughes's glare could have frozen fire. "Trash doesn't belong in the Hughes family. Consider this your last night as a Hughes."

He turned sharply, leaving Brandon surrounded by flashing bulbs and murmuring sharks in designer heels.

Julia's brows furrowed. Hughes. Of course. The family that owned half the city. Corporate royalty. She'd heard enough horror stories from her father, who'd lost his job years ago in one of their ruthless cutbacks.

So this was the youngest son-the "playboy heir" the tabloids loved to mock.

Her lips tightened. Another spoiled brat getting a taste of reality. Good for him.

Brandon raised a glass from the nearest table, downing it in one swallow, then slammed it down with a reckless grin. "Ladies and gentlemen, drink up! Hughes money doesn't pay for me anymore. Consider this my last round on the house!"

Laughter erupted. Some sneered, others clapped, most just filmed the spectacle.

Julia shook her head. Pathetic. She slipped back toward the staff area. It wasn't her circus. Rich people destroyed themselves every day. She had her own battles-rent, debt, and a landlord with zero patience.

By midnight, the ballroom was almost empty. Julia stacked trays in the kitchen, exhaustion dragging at her shoulders. Just one more shift tomorrow, and maybe she'd scrape enough together to cover rent.

"Bailey!" her manager barked. "Clean up the mess at the bar before you leave."

Julia sighed, pulling her apron tighter.

The bar was a disaster-spilled whiskey, broken glass, napkins scattered like confetti. At the center sat Brandon Hughes, slumped against the counter, a bottle dangling from his hand.

Julia stiffened. Just her luck.

"Bar's closed," she muttered, grabbing a cloth.

Brandon blinked up at her, his eyes bloodshot but startlingly sharp. A lazy grin spread across his face. "Angel. Finally."

She arched a brow. "Do I look like an angel to you?"

"You saved me," he slurred. "Back there...you didn't laugh. Everyone else did."

Julia snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't have time to laugh at spoiled heirs."

He laughed, but it cracked halfway, turning into something raw. "Spoiled heir. That's me. Or...was me."

Julia scrubbed the counter harder, ignoring him.

Suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. "What's your name?"

She jerked free, glaring. "None of your business."

"Everything about you is my business," he murmured, leaning closer. "Because right now...you're the only person left in this city who's looked at me like I'm human."

Julia's breath caught-only for irritation to snap it away. Smooth talk. She'd heard it all before.

"Go sleep it off, Hughes. And stay out of my way. Some of us actually work for a living."

She turned to leave.

The crash came first-the bottle hitting the floor. Then her manager's furious voice: "Julia! You're fired! Do you know who that is?!"

Her blood went cold. Fired? Because of him?

She spun back to find Brandon Hughes grinning sheepishly, spreading his arms as if to say oops.

Julia's hands curled into fists.

This man had just cost her the one paycheck she desperately needed.

===

An hour later, Julia stomped down the rain-slicked streets toward her shabby apartment. Her uniform clung to her skin, ruined by whiskey stains.

Behind her, uneven footsteps echoed.

She glanced back-and nearly groaned.

Brandon Hughes, the disgraced heir himself, staggered after her like a lost puppy. His tuxedo jacket hung open, hair plastered to his forehead.

"You," Julia snapped. "Why are you following me?"

He offered a crooked grin. "Because you're...interesting."

"Try annoying," she shot back.

He swayed, pointing dramatically. "Annoying angel. My savior." Then, as if the night had finally caught him, his knees buckled.

Julia cursed, darting forward just in time to catch him before he hit the ground. His weight nearly dragged her down.

She wanted to let go. To leave him there, in the gutter where he belonged.

But when she looked at his face-tired, broken, stripped of arrogance-something in her chest hesitated.

"Damn it," she muttered, hauling him upright. "You're not my problem."

Still, she half-dragged, half-carried him toward her building.

Her arms trembled, her back screamed, and she hated herself for every step.

By the time she shoved him onto her couch, she was panting, soaked to the bone.

Brandon stirred, mumbling her name though she'd never given it. "Julia..."

Her heart jolted.

"How the hell do you know my-"

But his eyes were already closed, his breathing deep, face finally peaceful.

Julia stood there, dripping rain onto the floor, fists clenched at her sides.

This man had gotten her fired, humiliated her, and now collapsed in her apartment like he owned the place.

She wanted him gone.

She needed him gone.

And yet...

Her gaze lingered on him, the faintest frown tugging at her lips.

Spoiled heir or not, he looked like a man with nothing left.