Chapter 1 Chapter 1

Olivia Hayes, Liv, traced the rim of her coffee cup.

Twenty years old, an art history student at NYU.

She was also an intern at her father's real estate firm.

Mostly, she was just a girl with a crush.

A huge, all-consuming crush on Marcus Thorne.

Marcus was thirty-eight.

An architect, brilliant, successful.

Her father's business partner, his friend.

He'd always been kind to her, a warm smile, a gentle word.

Liv kept a small, smooth stone he'd once given her from a construction site, a piece of old New York granite.

She thought it symbolized his strength, his grounded nature.

She was naive.

The charity gala was a blur of glitter and fake smiles.

Marcus co-hosted it. He looked like a movie star.

Liv watched him from a distance, her heart doing stupid flips.

Isabelle "Izzy" Vance, his "childhood friend" and business associate, was always near him.

Izzy, thirty-seven, an interior designer with a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

Liv saw Izzy subtly guide champagne flutes into Marcus's hand, one after another.

He was drinking too much, too fast.

His laughter became too loud, his balance a little off.

Concern tightened Liv's chest.

She approached him as the crowd thinned.

"Marcus, are you okay?"

He blinked, trying to focus on her. "Liv. Little Liv. I'm... I'm fine."

He wasn't.

"Let me help you to your suite," she offered, her voice small. "You can rest there."

He leaned on her, heavier than she expected.

The private suite was quiet, away from the noise. She helped him to a sofa.

Izzy found them minutes later.

Her gasp was perfectly timed, perfectly pitched.

"Marcus! Olivia? What is going on here?"

Marcus was slumped on the sofa, his eyes closed. Liv was just tucking a blanket over him.

Nothing had happened. Nothing would have.

But Izzy's phone was already out, a quick, discreet flash.

Liv's stomach dropped. "Izzy, it's not what you think. He was just drunk."

Izzy's expression was a masterclass in feigned shock and concern.

"Oh, you poor thing, Marcus," Izzy cooed, ignoring Liv.

Marcus stirred, groaning. "What... what happened?"

Izzy's voice was smooth poison. "Olivia was... helping you. You were very vulnerable."

The implication hung heavy in the air.

The next morning, a sleazy gossip column had the story.

"Young NYU intern Olivia Hayes, daughter of real estate mogul David Hayes, caught in a compromising position with older, intoxicated architect Marcus Thorne."

Photos, blurry but damning, accompanied it. Liv, leaning over Marcus on the sofa.

Her face burned with shame.

Marcus was furious. Humiliated.

He called Liv, his voice ice. "What did you do?"

"Marcus, I didn't do anything! Izzy is twisting it!"

"Izzy found you taking advantage of me!" he snarled. "My reputation is in shreds because of your... childish stunt."

He believed Izzy. Completely.

Liv tried to explain to her father, to Marcus, to anyone who would listen.

No one listened.

Marcus was cold, distant, his eyes full of contempt whenever he was forced to see her at her father's office.

Her internship became a nightmare of whispers and hostile stares.

The public shaming was relentless. Online comments were brutal.

Liv felt like a bug under a microscope.

Her carefully constructed world, her dreams of Marcus, all shattered.

The Marcus she idolized, the kind, sophisticated man, was gone.

In his place was a cruel stranger who looked at her with disgust.

This was her first taste of his true nature, hidden beneath the charm.

The pain was a sharp, physical ache in her chest.

The city lights outside her window seemed harsh, mocking.

A part of Liv died that week.

The naive girl who believed in fairy tales and worshiped Marcus Thorne.

She was gone.

In her place, a new, colder awareness began to form.

The world was not kind. People were not what they seemed.

She looked at the granite stone he'd given her. It felt like a lie in her hand.

A heavy, cold lie.

This was a rebirth, but not one she wanted.

It was a plunge into a cold, dark reality.

She regretted every moment of her blind adoration, every silly fantasy.

A tiny, hard knot of something – not hope, but a refusal to completely break – formed deep inside her.

She thought about Marcus, his easy charm.

How easily she'd been fooled. How eager she'd been to see only good in him.

And Izzy.

Liv replayed countless small moments in her mind.

Izzy's possessive hand on Marcus's arm.

Her subtle digs at any woman who got too close to him.

Her laser focus on Marcus, always.

The hidden truth was Izzy's ruthless ambition, her jealousy.

Izzy wanted Marcus, and Liv had been a naive, artless threat.

Easily neutralized.

Liv tried to talk to Marcus again at a family dinner a week later. Her father and Marcus still had business.

It was unavoidable.

"Marcus, please, you have to believe me," she whispered, cornering him near the patio.

He looked down at her, his face a mask of indifference.

"Olivia, your attempts to manipulate this situation further are pathetic."

Izzy glided to his side, slipping her arm through his.

"Darling, don't let her upset you," Izzy said, her voice dripping with false sympathy for him. "She's just young and doesn't understand consequences."

Marcus nodded, his eyes fixed on Liv with cold disdain.

Liv was alone. Isolated. Izzy had won him completely to her side.

They were a united front.

Izzy even spoke to a society reporter, her voice full of "sadness."

"It's so disappointing when young women try to use their connections inappropriately. Marcus is such a gentleman, he was completely taken advantage of."

The words were like tiny, sharp stones pelting Liv.

Liv stayed in her room for days.

She replayed her interactions with Marcus, her open admiration, her hopeful smiles.

She cringed. She had been so obvious, so vulnerable.

A fool.

Her heart, which had once fluttered for him, now felt like a heavy, bruised thing.

Another encounter, at her father's office, was the final blow to her illusions.

She needed Marcus to sign off on some intern paperwork, a formality.

He made her wait for an hour.

When she finally entered his temporary office, he didn't look up.

"Just leave it," he said, his voice flat.

"Marcus, can we just talk for one minute?"

He finally looked at her, his eyes empty. "About what, Olivia? Your delusions? Or your lack of judgment?"

Gaslighting. Cold indifference.

The image of her hero shattered into a million pieces.

There was a painful finality to it.

The whispers of the scandal followed her everywhere. The "intimacy" of Marcus and Izzy's united front was a public spectacle.

This was her release – the death of a foolish dream.

Liv stopped going to her internship. She stopped going to classes.

She stayed in her apartment, the curtains drawn.

The city outside was too loud, too bright, too full of judgment.

This was her escape, an escape into darkness.

It wasn't a new beginning she wanted, but it was the start of something.

An ordeal.

Marcus and Izzy were seen everywhere together, the picture of a supportive friend helping a wronged man.

Their narrative was set in stone.

Her father, David Hayes, came to her apartment.

His face was etched with worry and a quiet anger she hadn't seen before.

"Liv, honey, you can't go on like this."

He knew she was in pain. He didn't understand the depth of it, not yet.

But he saw the injustice.

"Take some time off," he said gently. "From the internship, from school if you need to. We can... we can go somewhere. Get away from all this."

Liv looked at him, her eyes dull.

She thought of all the time she'd wasted.

All those hours dreaming of Marcus, sketching his profile in her notebooks.

Time she could have spent on her photography, her studies, her life.

Regret was a bitter taste in her mouth.

David held her hand. It was trembling.

"I'm here, Liv. Whatever you need."

He didn't offer solutions, just support.

He was angry at Marcus, at Izzy, at the unfairness of it all.

But his first concern was his daughter.

"Maybe a trip?" he suggested. "Europe? Or just... away from New York for a while."

The prospect wasn't exciting. It was just a blur.

But it was a hand reaching for her in the darkness.

Survival. That was the only future she could see.

A gray, bleak landscape of just getting through the next day.