Chapter 1

Ethan Hayes leaned against the cold marble of the doorway, the chill seeping into his expensive suit. His father, Marcus Hayes, sat behind a massive mahogany desk in his Upper East Side townhouse office, a monument to his real estate empire, a place Ethan always felt like an intruder.

The air was thick with unspoken things, the usual state between them.

"Victoria Davenport," Marcus said, his voice devoid of warmth, all business. "The Boston heiress. Still in that coma."

Ethan nodded, his face a careful mask. "I know who she is."

"The Davenports are old money, influential. An alliance benefits us. Benefits you, eventually." Marcus gestured vaguely. "You marry her."

It wasn't a question. With Marcus, it rarely was.

Ethan had anticipated this, or something like it. His father always had a plan, and Ethan was usually a piece to be moved.

"Alright," Ethan said, his voice surprisingly steady. He' d rehearsed this.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise. He' d expected a fight.

"My terms," Ethan continued, pushing himself off the doorway, stepping further into the lion's den. "Ten billion dollars. Liquid. Transferred to an account of my choosing before any papers are signed."

Marcus' s eyes narrowed. "Ten billion? Are you insane?"

"That's the price for my life, apparently," Ethan said, a bitter edge to his tone. "And one more thing. Sarah Bell, my bodyguard. She's to be reassigned. To Liam."

Marcus leaned back, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. Liam, his favored son, the product of a long-standing affair, the golden boy. Protecting Liam was always a priority. And the Davenport connection, Marcus had originally wanted that for Liam before Tori's accident. This played right into his hands, or so he thought.

"Sarah Bell for Liam? An interesting trade," Marcus mused. "She's capable. Very capable. You're sure you want to give her up?"

Ethan' s chest tightened. "I'm sure. He needs the best, doesn't he? Your precious Liam."

The words were acid, but his expression remained unreadable. He needed Marcus to believe this was about punishing Sarah, or currying favor, or anything but the truth. The truth was a raw, aching wound: Ethan was in love with Sarah Bell. He thought she was just a highly skilled professional, maybe with a soft spot for Liam' s superficial charm. Giving her up was like tearing out a part of himself, a desperate, self-destructive act.

"Done," Marcus said, the smile widening. "The money will be arranged. The girl will be reassigned once the marriage contract with the Davenports is finalized. You' ll go to Boston, handle things. Don't disappoint me, Ethan."

"I rarely do, when the price is right," Ethan said, turning to leave, the weight of the deal settling on him. He was selling himself to escape one prison, only to walk into another, albeit a gilded one. And he was pushing away the one person who, in her own stoic way, had made his life bearable.

Later that night, unable to sleep, Ethan walked the silent, opulent halls of the Hayes mansion. He passed the gallery where portraits of Hayes ancestors stared down with cold, appraising eyes. His mother' s portrait was there too, a small, sad smile on her face. She' d died giving birth to a second child, a child that never drew breath. He remembered the hushed whispers, the suspicious timing. Marcus had brought Liam, then a young boy, into their home mere months after his mother' s funeral. Liam, born of Marcus's affair with a woman Ethan suspected had a hand in his mother' s "medical complications."

His childhood had been a landscape of emotional and financial neglect. Marcus saw him as a disappointment, a reminder of a marriage he' d clearly grown tired of. Liam got the attention, the praise, the new toys, the easy path. Ethan got the scraps, the criticism, the constant pressure to be something he wasn't, or couldn't be in his father's eyes.

He remembered Sarah Bell' s arrival a year ago. Quiet, efficient, always present. She was the first person in years to offer a consistent, albeit professional, presence. He' d found himself talking to her, small things at first, then more. He' d tried to flirt, clumsy attempts that she' d parried with cool professionalism, but sometimes, he thought he saw a flicker of something else in her eyes. A shared glance, a moment of understanding. He' d clung to those moments.

He found himself near the staff quarters. A sliver of light escaped from under Sarah' s door. He shouldn' t, but he paused. He heard a faint rustling. Curiosity, or perhaps a masochistic need for confirmation, made him lean closer.

Through the slight gap, he saw her. Sarah Bell, his Sarah, was sitting on her bed. She wasn't in her usual severe uniform but in soft civilian clothes. In her hands, she held a small, framed photograph. She was gazing at it, and the expression on her face was one he' d never seen directed at him. It was tender, soft, almost reverent.

His heart sank. He knew, even before she angled the photo slightly, catching the light. It was Liam. Liam, smiling his easy, charming smile.

Ethan recoiled as if struck. So, it was true. His worst fears, confirmed. She wasn' t just professional with him; she was indifferent because her affections lay elsewhere. With his perfect, favored half-brother. The demand to transfer her to Liam, a desperate gamble to see if she' d protest, to see if she cared even a little, now felt like the act of a fool. He' d just handed her over.

He stumbled back, the image burned into his mind. The pain was a physical thing, sharp and deep.

As he retreated, a low murmur of her voice reached him. She was on the phone.

"...Finch, yes, it's progressing. Liam is everything I hoped. He's the one." A pause. "Ethan? Oh, he's... tolerable. A means to an end. Honestly, not even in the same league as Liam. A disappointment, really. But it gets me closer."

Ethan froze. Finch? That name sounded familiar. And her tone... it wasn' t just tenderness for Liam; it was a chilling dismissal of him. Then, the final blow.

"Seraphina Vance has her target," she said, her voice now crisp, businesslike, utterly unfamiliar. "And it isn't Ethan Hayes."

Seraphina Vance.

The name hit Ethan like a physical blow. The Vances. Tech, private security, one of the wealthiest, most influential families on the East Coast. Untouchable. Sarah Bell was Seraphina Vance? An heiress of that magnitude, playing bodyguard?

He felt sick. She wasn't just in love with Liam. She was a predator, and Liam was her prize. And Ethan? He was nothing. Less than nothing. A stepping stone. A "disappointment" she tolerated.

The carefully constructed walls around his heart didn't just crack; they shattered.