Chapter 1

"I'll marry Julian Hamilton."

The words left my mouth, flat and final, cutting through the stale air of my father's penthouse office.

Marcus Monroe, real estate tycoon, master of moral bankruptcy, actually paused, his pen hovering over a stack of undoubtedly ruinous documents.

His head snapped up. "You'll what?"

A flicker of something – surprise, then raw, unadulterated relief – crossed his face.

"You will?" he repeated, a hopeful tremor in his voice. "Ava, do you mean it?"

Julian Hamilton III. Heir to a Boston fortune, lying in a coma. My mother's best friend's son. A convenient, breathing, or rather, not-so-breathing, solution.

"I mean it," I said, my voice like chipped ice. "The Hamiltons get their merger, you get your bailout. Your empire doesn't publicly implode."

I leaned against the polished mahogany doorframe, arms crossed. "But there's a condition."

His eyes narrowed. "What condition?"

"Chloe," I said, the name a bitter taste. "She gets out of that disgusting arranged marriage you cooked up for her. The one with that ancient lecher."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "Chloe is my daughter. I know what's best for her."

"Your mistress's daughter," I corrected, each word precise. "The one whose existence, and your decades-long affair, killed my mother when she found out."

His face flushed a dull red. He started to bluster, but I cut him off.

"Save it. You want the Hamilton deal? Chloe walks away from your medieval bargaining chip. Free and clear."

He knew he was cornered. The Hamiltons wouldn't budge without my agreement to marry their comatose son. This was their way of protecting me, of honoring my mother, Eleanor Preston. A way to get me my maternal inheritance, safe from his greedy hands.

"Fine," he spat, the word grudging. "She's out."

"Good," I said. "Next. My Preston trust fund. Released in full upon the marriage. No arguments, no delays. Catherine Hamilton will oversee it."

He nodded, already calculating. "Acceptable."

"And," I added, pushing off the doorframe, taking a step into the room, "I want controlling interest in Monroe Holdings. What's left of it after the Hamiltons salvage your mess."

His eyes widened. "Controlling interest? Ava, that's-"

"That's the price," I said. "For my life. For your salvation." I paused. "And one more thing. My bodyguard, Ethan Knight. He's to be reassigned. Effective immediately."

Marcus looked genuinely perplexed now. "Knight? Why?"

"He's to protect Chloe," I said, the words a physical effort. "She'll need good protection, starting her new, unencumbered life."

He stared at me, a flicker of his usual cunning returning. "You want your bodyguard, the best in the business, assigned to Chloe?"

"She's your favored child, isn't she?" I said, a thin, cruel smile playing on my lips. "She deserves the best. And I'm sure Ethan won't mind. He seems quite taken with her."

Marcus grunted, waving a dismissive hand. "Whatever you want with the staff. As long as the Hamilton deal goes through." He was already turning back to his papers, the crisis averted, his legacy, however tarnished, secured. He probably thought Chloe, sweet, innocent Chloe, would be easier to manage, easier to influence, even with Ethan Knight by her side. He never understood anything.

I turned and walked out, the click of my heels on the marble floor the only sound.

He didn't ask why I was pushing Ethan away. He wouldn't care.

I went back to my suite, the one part of this gilded cage that felt remotely mine.

The door was slightly ajar.

I heard a low murmur of voices.

Chloe's saccharine laugh, then Ethan's deeper tone.

My hand froze on the doorknob.

I pushed the door open silently, just a crack.

Ethan stood near the window, his back mostly to me. Chloe was facing him, animated, her hands gesturing.

But it wasn't their conversation that stopped my breath.

It was what Ethan held.

A small, framed photograph.

He was looking down at it, a softness in his usually stoic expression, a subtle curve to his lips that I'd rarely seen directed at anything, certainly not at me.

Chloe giggled, then leaned in, pointing at the photo. "That was at the animal shelter gala, remember? I looked so windswept, but it was for a good cause."

Ethan nodded, his gaze still on the picture.

It was a candid shot of Chloe, her hair artfully messy, a beatific smile on her face as she supposedly helped at some charity event. The picture of innocence.

My heart, already a bruised and battered thing, seemed to splinter.

There it was. The confirmation. The subtle tenderness I'd only ever imagined, now laid bare, and not for me.

Ethan Knight. He'd been assigned to me three years ago, shortly after my mother's... decline.

He was a silent, imposing presence. Tall, built, with eyes that saw everything and revealed nothing.

Initially, I'd found him intriguing purely on a physical level. The sharp cut of his jaw, the way he moved with lethal grace.

I'd tried, in my own clumsy, "bad girl" way, to get a reaction from him. Flirtatious comments. Lingering touches. Deliberate provocations.

Nothing.

He was a wall of professionalism. Polite, distant, his gaze always watchful but impersonal.

"Miss Monroe," he'd say, his voice a low rumble, deflecting every attempt.

My mother, Eleanor Preston, had been the heart of my world. Her discovery of Marcus's affair, of Chloe's existence, had shattered her. She faded, a beautiful flower wilting before my eyes, until she was gone.

The official story was a tragic accident. I knew better. It was a broken heart, a spirit crushed by betrayal.

I was sixteen, lost, and raging against a world that had stolen her from me.

Then Ethan arrived.

He wasn't a friend, not a confidante. He was just... there. A constant. The first stable presence in my life after the chaos.

His quiet competence was a strange sort of comfort. He never judged my outbursts, my defensive barbs. He simply did his job, protecting me from external threats, while I slowly drowned in my internal ones.

Over time, my appreciation for his skill morphed into something deeper.

A dangerous, unrequited affection.

He was the only person who saw the real Ava, the one hidden beneath layers of cynicism and bravado. Or so I'd foolishly believed.

I'd catch myself watching him, the way his eyes scanned a room, the subtle tension in his shoulders when he sensed a threat.

I loved his quiet strength, his unwavering focus.

I loved him.

And now, this. This casual, intimate moment with Chloe, centered around a photograph that screamed of a connection I'd never had with him.

A few weeks ago, I'd overheard a snippet of a phone call. Ethan, in his small security office off the main foyer. His voice was low, but the door was ajar.

"...yes, Father. The situation with Monroe is... volatile. But it presents opportunities."

A pause.

"Chloe Vance... she's different. There's a purity there. Untouched by all this... filth."

My blood ran cold.

He continued, "The old man is considering a more... permanent arrangement for her. I might be able to influence that, guide it. She deserves better. Someone who understands her value."

Then the words that had truly ripped through me.

"Knight family resources can ensure her future is secure, away from Marcus's manipulations. It's a long game, but she's worth it. Unlike some."

Knight family?

A quick, frantic search later that night, cross-referencing his few known details with reclusive billionaires, had yielded the unthinkable.

Ethan Knight was no ordinary bodyguard.

He was Ethan Alexander Knight. Son of Alexander Knight, the tech visionary, a man whose wealth made my father look like a street peddler.

He, an heir to a colossal fortune, had been playing the role of my protector, all while assessing, judging... and desiring my half-sister.

His talk of Chloe's "purity." His dismissal of "some" – clearly me.

The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity. His distance wasn't just professionalism. It was disdain. Or worse, indifference to me, coupled with a focused, manipulative interest in Chloe.

The pain of that discovery had been a fresh hell.

Now, seeing him with that photograph, his tender gaze fixed on Chloe's innocent facade... it was the final, brutal confirmation.

My carefully constructed defenses, the ones I'd built after my mother's death, the ones Ethan himself had unknowingly helped reinforce by simply being there, crumbled.

But something new rose from the ashes.

A cold, hard resolve.

If he wanted Chloe, he could have her.

I would make sure of it.

I pulled back from the door, my face a mask of indifference.

The deal with Marcus was done. My escape route was secured.

It was time to inform Ethan Knight of his new assignment.

And to sever the last, foolish tie to a love that had only ever existed in my own broken heart.

I took a deep breath, the air feeling thin and sharp in my lungs.

Then, I pushed the door open fully and stepped into the room.

"Ethan," I said, my voice devoid of all warmth. "I have a new assignment for you."

He turned, the soft expression vanishing instantly, replaced by his usual guarded professionalism. Chloe looked up, a flicker of surprise, then her usual sweet smile.

"Miss Monroe," Ethan acknowledged, his eyes unreadable.

The photograph was no longer in his hand. Slipped away, hidden.

But I had seen it. And I would not forget.

"You're being reassigned," I stated, not a request, but a fact. "To Chloe. You'll be her personal security detail from now on."

His eyebrows rose, just a fraction. "Is that your father's decision, Miss Monroe?"

"It's my decision," I said, meeting his gaze directly. "And my father has agreed. You start immediately."

Chloe gasped, her eyes wide. "Oh, Ava! For me? But... what about you?"

"I'll manage," I said, my tone clipped. "You're the one who needs protection, Chloe. All that innocence is a magnet for trouble."

Ethan's expression didn't change, but I saw a flicker deep in his eyes. Interest? Or was it something else?

It didn't matter.

He would protect Chloe. He would be near her. He would get what he so clearly desired.

And I would be free.

Or so I told myself.