Chapter 1 1

Aurora stared at the white plastic stick in her hand. The bathroom of the Pierre Hotel was silent, save for the distant hum of the ventilation system and the blood rushing in her ears.

Two lines.

Pink. Unmistakable. Damning.

Her breath hitched, catching in her throat like a jagged stone. She gripped the edge of the marble sink, her knuckles turning white. She did the math in her head, counting backward. Four weeks. The dates didn't line up with the casual, sterile dates her family had arranged. They lined up with Davos. They lined up with a blizzard, a fireplace, and a man whose name she had tried to scrub from her memory with scalding showers.

The heavy oak door creaked open.

Aurora jumped. She fumbled with the test, wrapping it frantically in a paper towel. There was nowhere to hide it. Her clutch was too small, too exposed. With trembling fingers, she shoved it deep into the sanitary disposal bin under the sink, burying it beneath other discarded items.

Kendall Hansen walked in. Her heels clicked against the tile, a sharp, rhythmic staccato. She paused at the mirror, smoothing her already perfect blonde hair, catching Aurora's reflection with a gaze that was too sharp, too knowing. Kendall wasn't her sister, not by blood or bond. She was the daughter of the Senator her mother had married, a polished viper in the high-stakes ecosystem of New York society.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Aurora," Kendall said. Her voice was light, sweet, and entirely fake.

"Just nerves," Aurora managed to say. Her voice sounded thin. "Big night."

Kendall turned, her silk dress rustling. She stepped closer, invading Aurora's personal space. Her eyes, however, weren't on Aurora's face. They flicked down to the small, silver sanitary bin for a fraction of a second before meeting Aurora's again. A tiny, triumphant smile played on her lips. "Don't worry. It's going to be a night to remember."

Kendall turned and walked out, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and dread in her wake.

Aurora splashed cold water on her face. She dabbed it dry, reapplied her lipstick with a trembling hand, and forced her lungs to expand. She had to survive the next hour. That was all.

She walked back into the ballroom. The chandeliers were blinding. Hundreds of people-New York's elite-were a sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns.

On the stage, Preston Sterling was speaking into a microphone. He looked the part of the perfect business heir: handsome, polished, rich. He was talking about synergy. About the merger of the Sterling and Hansen families. Aurora stood near the edge of the room, a decorative piece of the Hansen contingent, required to be present but not central.

Her assigned seat had been moved. She found her name card placed at a table in the back, next to the catering entrance-a clear, cold signal of her irrelevance. A social execution.

Then Kendall walked onto the stage.

She took the microphone from the stand. "Sorry to interrupt," Kendall said, her voice bubbling with excitement. "But I have a little surprise. A clarification, really."

Aurora's stomach dropped. The air in the room seemed to vanish. She tried to catch Kendall's eye, to plead silently, but Kendall was looking at the crowd.

A waiter pushed a cart onto the stage. It was covered by a velvet cloth.

The room went quiet. Cameras flashed, a strobe light of anticipation.

Kendall grabbed the corner of the velvet. "To new beginnings," she said.

She ripped the cloth away.

On the silver tray sat the pregnancy test Aurora had just discarded, retrieved from the trash like a trophy. Next to it was a crumpled paper-a hospital appointment confirmation from three weeks ago.

The image on the giant screen behind them changed. A camera zoomed in on the tray. Two pink lines, projected ten feet tall.

A gasp rippled through the room. It started low and swelled into a roar of whispers.

Preston's smile didn't fade; it shattered. He froze, looking at Kendall in confusion, then at the screen in horror.

"Sister," Kendall said into the mic, her voice dripping with mock innocence, using a familial term that was pure performance. "I thought we should celebrate the double blessing. I found this... misplaced."

Preston turned to Aurora, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found her shrinking into the shadows. His eyes were no longer the eyes of a potential ally. They were the eyes of an investor looking at a crashed stock. Cold. Calculating. Dead.

"Aurora," Preston said. His voice was amplified by the microphone he forgot he was holding. "Is this true?"

Aurora opened her mouth, but no sound came. She looked at the crowd. She saw her stepfather, Senator Hansen, near the front. His face was a mask of purple rage. He signaled to the security team.

Reporters surged forward, breaking the rope line.

"Who is the father?" someone shouted.

"Is it a Sterling?"

"How far along are you?"

The questions were barbs, each one finding its mark. This wasn't just a scandal; it was a meticulously planned character assassination.

Preston raised the microphone. "The Sterling family does not engage with fraudulent assets," he said. His tone was flat, business-like. "Any association is hereby terminated. Effective immediately."

Kendall stood to the side. She wasn't looking at the crowd anymore. She was looking at Aurora, and she was smiling. A real smile.

Aurora realized then. The flicker of Kendall's eyes in the bathroom. The impossible speed of it all. This wasn't an accident. This was an ambush.

Preston turned and walked off the stage. He didn't look back.

The crowd's shock turned to laughter. Open, mocking laughter. Aurora stood alone in the back of the room, the heat of a hundred judgmental stares making her sweat, making her dizzy.

Senator Hansen stormed through the crowd toward her. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't offer a coat to cover her.

He walked up to her, his voice a low, vicious hiss. "You are a liability. Get out of my sight." There was no slap, only the brutal, public dismissal that felt a thousand times worse.