Chapter 1

The chandeliers at the Bancroft Foundation Gala dripped crystals, light scattering across the ballroom like tiny, cold stars.

I smoothed down the silk of my gown, a Davenport blue, the color of expectation.

Tonight, Ethan Bancroft was supposed to slide the historic Bancroft signet ring onto my finger.

A joining of dynasties, everyone called it.

My father wasn't here, he passed years ago, but Grandfather, Senator Harrison Davenport Sr., watched from his table, a rare smile on his lips. He knew what this night meant, or what it was supposed to mean.

He was one of the few who understood the weight of the Davenport Covenant, the quiet truth that a woman of my specific lineage, my birth, was the real power, the kingmaker.

Ethan, golden boy Ethan, stood on the small, elevated stage, a microphone in his hand.

The Bancroft family ring, a heavy gold piece I' d seen only in pictures, glinted under the lights.

He smiled, that famous Bancroft smile that had won his father the presidency.

"Thank you all for being here," he began, his voice smooth, practiced.

A hush fell. I felt my own smile ready, the one I' d practiced for the cameras.

"Tonight is about partnership," Ethan continued, "about finding that one person who truly understands your soul, your path."

He paused, his eyes scanning the room, and they didn't land on me.

They found Daisy Miller.

Daisy, daughter of their estate manager, a girl who always hovered at the edges of our glittering world.

My heart didn't stop, it just went very, very still.

Ethan beckoned her forward. She looked small, overwhelmed in a borrowed dress, her hands clasped tight.

"I' ve spent a long time searching," Ethan said, his gaze fixed on Daisy now, "and I' ve found my true partner."

He took her hand, and with a flourish, he slid the Bancroft signet ring onto Daisy Miller' s finger.

A gasp rippled through the room, a collective intake of breath that sucked the air out.

I stood frozen, my practiced smile feeling like a grotesque mask.

"Daisy is the one," Ethan declared, his voice ringing with false sincerity. "And as for Scarlett..."

He finally looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"A discreetly obtained psychological compatibility report," he announced, his tone regretful, "indicates that Ms. Davenport, while a remarkable woman, is perhaps unsuited for the intense public life I envision, the kind of partnership I need."

The words hung there, a public branding. Unsuited.

Murmurs erupted, a wave of whispers and shocked glances.

I could feel Grandfather' s eyes on me, sharp, assessing.

Ethan was a fool, a monumental one.

He held up a piece of paper, the supposed report, fabricated by some PR firm, no doubt.

He thought he was choosing a simpler, more malleable partner.

He had no idea he' d just discarded the master key to the kingdom he so desperately wanted.

The Davenport Covenant wasn't just some quaint family story, it was power, real and waiting.

And I was its vessel.

He' d chosen a pawn when he could have had the queen.