Chapter 1

Ellie Vance was supposed to marry Governor Will Harrison III.

The wedding plans filled a thick binder, every detail perfect.

Their families, old money New England Vances and the powerful Harrison political dynasty, celebrated the match.

It was a union of legacy and ambition.

Ellie, polished and Ivy League-educated, was groomed for this role, to be the perfect partner for a man like Will.

She valued dignity, loyalty, her family's name.

Then came the Kentucky Derby.

The air buzzed with money and horses.

Will, usually so focused on his image, saw Tiffany Rourke.

Tiff, daughter of a brash Texas oil tycoon, was everything Ellie was not.

Loud, unrestrained, dripping new money.

Will watched Tiff, a strange light in his eyes.

Ellie saw it.

A knot tightened in her stomach.

He was charmed by Tiff's wild energy, a stark, loud contrast to Ellie' s quiet elegance.

He barely spoke to Ellie for the rest of the event, his attention fixed on Tiff' s laughter, her dramatic gestures.

Ellie watched him, a chill creeping into her heart.

Will, who always praised her composure, now seemed captivated by someone so openly chaotic.

She saw the shift in him, the way his eyes followed Tiff, a hunger that was new and unsettling.

He was drawn to the novelty, the excitement Tiff represented.

Ellie knew, with a dreadful certainty, that something had broken.

A week later, Will sat across from Ellie in her family's Georgetown home.

"Ellie," he began, his voice lacking its usual confidence.

"I've fallen for Tiff."

He said Tiff excited him.

He said Ellie was perfect, on paper.

The words hung in the air, cold and sharp.

He asked her to "be understanding."

He suggested a quiet end to their engagement.

Or, perhaps, she could accept a "lesser role" if Tiff wanted to be the main partner.

A public demotion.

Ellie stared at him. Vance women were not "options." They were not "second best."

The engagement was over.

The heirloom diamond on her finger felt heavy, tainted.

Later, alone in her room, she picked up the wedding binder.

Months of planning, notes in her careful script.

It felt like a monument to a lie.

She closed the cover.

A small pin, left carelessly inside, pricked her finger.

A single drop of red blood bloomed on the pristine white.

A final, painful mark.

Her path was clear now, a cold resolve settling in her.