Chapter 1

The plus sign on the pregnancy test was a slap in the face.

A blurry, unbelievable, two-pink-lines kind of slap.

My period was late, sure, but I' d chalked it up to stress from that chaotic masquerade party a few weeks back.

The one where the lights went out and the champagne tasted funny.

The one where I woke up in a very fancy, unfamiliar room with a killer headache and a vague memory of a man with a dragon cufflink.

Now, this.

My name is Sarah Miller, I make a decent latte, and I was, apparently, pregnant.

The unbelievable part wasn't just the pregnancy.

It was the letter that arrived the next day, on thick, creamy paper, sealed with a wax stamp of a dragon.

It said Mr. Alexander Blackwood acknowledged his... responsibility.

Alexander Blackwood. The recluse. The billionaire. The guy rumored to be shooting blanks, the last of his ancient, dying line.

The Blackwood family, it turned out, was desperate.

Desperate enough to send a sleek black car for me.

Desperate enough to install me, a barista from a working-class neighborhood, in their sprawling, isolated mansion.

Suddenly, I wasn't just Sarah Miller anymore.

I was Sarah Miller, carrier of the Blackwood heir.

The mansion was huge, all cold marble and echoing hallways.

Alexander Blackwood himself was nowhere to be seen, which was fine by me.

His family, however, was very present.

Especially his cousin, or whatever he was, Julian Thorne. Tall, dark, and perpetually scowling.

He looked at me like I was a science experiment.

Then there was Veronica Sterling, a socialite with blonde hair so perfect it looked fake, and eyes that could freeze fire.

She' d been sniffing around the Blackwoods for years, apparently.

She looked at me like I was something she' d scraped off her five-hundred-dollar shoe.

The family lawyer, a stiff man named Mr. Albright, explained the situation.

The Blackwoods would "take care of everything."

My parents, when they were eventually summoned, looked like they' d won the lottery and been told they had to spend it all on Mars.

My dad kept muttering about property taxes.

Alexander Blackwood, the supposed father, finally made an appearance a week later.

He was... intense. Quiet, with eyes that seemed to see right through you.

He didn' t say much. Just looked at my stomach with a strange, unreadable expression.

"The family is pleased," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Pleased? I was carrying his kid after one hazy night, and he was "pleased"?

This whole thing was insane.

But they wanted an heir. And I, apparently, was providing one.

This gave me a weird kind of power.

The snooty relatives, the whispers, Veronica' s sneers – they all had to tiptoe around the pregnant girl.

I learned to use it.