Chapter 2

Emily White.

Ethan's college flame. His secret, not-so-secret, lover.

The woman he'd whispered sweet nothings to while I, his fiancée, lay drugged and forgotten in the next room.

"Ethan, darling, are you sure she won't wake up? What if she sees us?" Emily's breathy voice, a phantom from my past.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, Em. She's out cold. That 'special cookie' I gave her would knock out a horse. Besides, even if she did walk in, the little fool would probably think we were just playing a game."

His cruel laughter.

They'd called me the fool, the one who didn't understand.

But I understood now.

He loved Emily. He craved her ambition, her sharp edges that matched his own.

Fine. He could have her.

My father, still reeling from my recovery, looked at me, his eyes shining with pride and a dawning understanding.

"Well, Bella. If that's what you wish." He turned to the stunned crowd. "Ethan Carter! And Miss White! Come forward. It seems my daughter wishes to play matchmaker!"

The birthday party, originally meant to find me a husband, was now taking a very different turn.

The women, including Emily, had been sequestered in the conservatory, a polite distance from the "business" of matchmaking.

A footman scurried off.

Moments later, Emily White appeared, flushed and flustered.

She practically tripped over her own feet, her eyes wide, a deer in headlights.

She'd clearly expected a proposal from Ethan tonight, but not like this. Not at my hand.

Her cheap dress, a size too small, looked even more garish under the ballroom chandeliers.

She forgot to curtsy, fumbling until a nearby matron hissed a reminder.

A wave of disdain rippled through the assembled guests.

"Look at her. No breeding at all. Can't even manage a simple curtsy."

"Her mother was a cocktail waitress, you know. What can you expect?"

Emily's face burned crimson. She shot a desperate, pleading look at Ethan.

He didn't even glance her way.

His eyes were fixed on me, a maelstrom of confusion, anger, and something I couldn't quite decipher.

My father, sensing the awkwardness, clapped his hands. "Well! That's settled then! A toast! To my daughter, Isabella, and her remarkable wisdom!"

The crowd roared its approval, eager to move past the uncomfortable moment.

Soon, my father excused himself, and the guests began to mingle, the music swelling to fill the room.

I was immediately surrounded.

The vultures, I thought, but I smiled graciously, accepting their fawning compliments.

This was power. A different kind than before.

And I intended to wield it.

Sometime later, a shadow fell over me.

Ethan.

He held out a single, perfect white rose, its thorns carefully removed. His hand trembled slightly.

His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he'd been rubbing them.

"Princess," he began, his voice low, almost a caress. It used to make me melt. Now, it just made my skin crawl.

"When... when did you recover? Why didn't you tell me?"

His voice cracked. "Why... why would you do this? For me and Emily?"

He took a hesitant step closer. "All those times... you said you loved only me. Was that... was that all a lie, Bella?"

Before I could answer, a young man, bolder than the rest, stepped forward.

"Mr. Carter, I believe the princess just did you an enormous favor. Shouldn't you be off celebrating with your... intended? Offering flowers to Princess Isabella now seems a bit... inappropriate, wouldn't you say?"

Another voice chimed in, "Indeed. The princess made her feelings quite clear. She has no romantic interest in you. Perhaps you should respect her wishes. After all, you were her mentor. There are ethics to consider."

Ethan ignored them, his gaze locked on mine, searching, desperate.

I didn't understand.

In my past life, he'd only had eyes for Emily. He'd risked scandal, his reputation, everything, to be with her.

Now I was giving him what he supposedly wanted, and he looked... broken.