Chapter 2

The next morning, the grand sitting room felt cold despite the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. My father sat in his usual armchair, a throne from which he ruled our family. He held a newspaper, the front page adorned with a large, smiling photo of Clara and Julian. He didn' t look at me as I entered.

"I hope you' re satisfied," he said, his voice low and heavy with disapproval. "You made a spectacle of yourself last night."

"I congratulated my sister," I said, standing before him. "Isn' t that what families do?"

He finally lowered the paper, his eyes hard. "Don' t play games with me, Ava. I know what you were doing. You' ve always been jealous of Clara."

"She has everything," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "What is there for me to be jealous of now?"

My father sighed, a sound of deep frustration. "This engagement is important. It' s a merger of two powerful families. Julian' s family is old money, prestige. This secures our future. Your little stunt could have jeopardized everything."

"My stunt," I repeated, a bitter taste in my mouth. "Her happiness is a business deal. My feelings are a stunt."

"Feelings don' t run a business," he shot back. "You need to understand your place. You are part of this family, and you will act accordingly. That means you will support Clara, you will smile at the wedding, and you will not cause any more trouble. Is that clear?"

I looked at my father, at the man who had chosen his new family over his old one, who had traded his daughter for a better balance sheet. The love I once had for him had long since curdled into a hollow ache. Now, even that was gone, replaced by a cold clarity. He was not my protector. He was my warden.

"And what if I don' t?" I asked, the words surprising even myself.

His eyes narrowed. "Then you will find that life can become very, very difficult for you."

The threat was clear. He controlled my trust fund, my home, my entire existence. But for the first time, the threat felt empty. What more could he take from me?

"I have a question, Father," I said, changing my approach. My mind was racing, connecting dots I hadn' t seen before. "Just before my mother got sick, you signed over a significant portion of her company shares to Clara' s mother. Why?"

He flinched, a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. "That is none of your business. It was a private matter."

"My mother' s health failed right after that. She lost her will to live. It was her company, built by her father. You gave it away. You gave her legacy away." My voice shook with a rage I had suppressed for years. "And now you' re selling me off for a title. No, not even me. You' re selling off Clara, using Julian, a man who clearly doesn' t love her."

"Enough!" he roared, slamming his hand on the table beside him. "You are hysterical."

"Am I?" I shot back, my voice rising to match his. "Or am I the only one seeing the truth? You stood by while Clara and her mother tormented me for years. You ignored my mother' s pain. And last night, you celebrated as Clara took the one person who showed me any kindness. This isn' t a family. It' s a viper pit, and you' re the one who let all the snakes in."

The accusation hung in the air, raw and ugly. My father stared at me, his face a mask of fury. He was cornered, and he knew it. He couldn't deny the truth of my words, so he resorted to the only weapon he had left.

"You are ungrateful," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet level. "After everything I have provided for you."

"You provided me with a cage," I replied. "A very pretty cage, I' ll admit. But the door is open now."

I turned and walked out of the room, leaving him speechless. I didn' t know where I was going or what I would do, but I knew I couldn' t stay in that house a moment longer. As I walked down the long hallway, I felt a strange sense of lightness. The fear was gone.

My defiance, however, had consequences. Later that day, my father's lawyer called. My access to my trust fund was frozen, effective immediately. I was cut off. Clara, of course, was the one to deliver the final blow. She found me in my room, packing a small bag.

She leaned against the doorframe, a smug, pitying look on her face. "Leaving so soon? I thought you' d at least stay for the engagement party."

I ignored her, continuing to fold a sweater into my bag.

"Father is very disappointed in you," she said, her voice a purr. "He tried so hard to make you part of the family."

"Don' t," I said, my voice low. "Just don' t, Clara. I' m not in the mood for your games today."

"Oh, but this isn' t a game," she said, walking into the room. She picked up a small framed photo from my nightstand. It was of my mother and me. "It' s a shame, really. You could have had a comfortable life. All you had to do was behave."

She was trying to provoke me, to get a reaction she could report back to our father. I refused to give her the satisfaction.

"And Julian?" I asked, my voice even. "Is he behaving too? Does he know he' s just a pawn in your little power play?"

Her smile tightened. "Julian knows what' s good for him. And for his family. Unlike you."

Suddenly, a new player entered the game. A man appeared behind Clara in the doorway. It was him, the man from the balcony. Damien. His presence immediately shifted the power dynamic in the room.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his dark eyes moving from a startled Clara to me.

Clara' s composure shattered for a moment. "Mr. Thorne? What are you doing here?" She quickly regained her poise. "This is a private family matter."

So his name was Thorne. Damien Thorne. He ignored her, his attention focused solely on me. "I heard you were in need of a new arrangement. I have a proposition for you, Ava."

The use of my first name was bold, intimate. Clara' s eyes widened, a mixture of shock and jealousy flashing across her face. How did this powerful, mysterious man know me?

Damien' s gaze was intense, almost predatory. "Your father's actions have created an opportunity. He thinks he has you trapped, but he's mistaken."

He was speaking in riddles, but I understood the underlying message. He was offering an escape. A dangerous one, perhaps, but an escape nonetheless. The media, which Clara had so expertly manipulated, was about to become a battleground. Damien Thorne, it seemed, was a master of that particular kind of warfare. He held out a hand, not to me, but as a gesture to the room at large.

"The world loves a story of an underdog," he said, his voice a low murmur that was both a promise and a threat. "And right now, you're the most compelling underdog in this city."

My heart pounded. He was right. My father and Clara had cast me as the villain, the hysterical, jealous sister. But what if I could change the narrative? What if I could be the wronged heiress, fighting for her mother's legacy against a greedy stepmother and a weak-willed father? The idea was terrifying, but also exhilarating.

Clara, recovering from her shock, stepped forward. "You have no business here, Mr. Thorne. This has nothing to do with you."

Damien finally turned his cool gaze to her. "Everything has to do with me, Miss Vance," he said, the polite title a subtle insult. "Especially when it involves a story this interesting. Now, if you'll excuse us, Ava and I have things to discuss."

He had sided with me, openly and decisively. The look on Clara's face, a perfect storm of fury and confusion, was more satisfying than I could have imagined. I had been stripped of my money and my home, but in that moment, I felt richer than I ever had before. I had an ally. And the war had just become a whole lot more interesting.