Chapter 2

The revelation that Willow Hayes was now part of her family, thanks to her father's second marriage, hit Scarlett with the force of a physical blow. She had returned to her father' s house after the shopping spree, not out of a desire for reconciliation, but to collect her mother' s remaining belongings. She found Willow settled in, her sickly sweet presence infesting every corner of the home that was once hers.

"Scarlett, darling, you're back," her stepmother, Eleanor, chirped, wrapping an arm around Willow' s frail shoulders. "Willow was just telling us how wonderful it is that you and Ethan know each other. Such a small world!"

Scarlett' s eyes narrowed. She walked over to a vase of fresh lilies-Willow' s favorite-and swept them off the table. The crystal shattered on the marble floor, water and petals scattering everywhere.

"Get her things out of my mother's room," Scarlett said, her voice dangerously low.

"Now, Scarlett, that's Willow' s room now," her father, Senator Hayes, said, his tone placating. "Be reasonable. Willow needs the extra sunlight for her condition."

"I don't care about her condition," Scarlett shot back, her gaze fixed on the cowering figure of her stepsister. "That room belonged to my mother. You will not erase her memory with this... this parasite."

"How dare you!" Eleanor shrieked, her face contorting with rage. "Willow is your sister now! And Ethan seems to think the world of her. You should be careful not to alienate him."

The mention of Ethan' s name was like gasoline on a fire. The insinuation that he preferred Willow, spoken so casually by the people who were supposed to be her family, solidified her resolve. They were all in on it. They were all her enemies.

"I' m leaving," Scarlett announced, turning on her heel. "And I' m taking what' s mine."

She didn't want to be in that house a second longer. The air was thick with betrayal. She decided to move her departure for the South up. The sooner she was married to the ailing Sterling heir, the sooner she could be free of this toxic web.

Before she left, she took one last tour of the house, not for sentimental reasons, but for tactical ones. She located her father' s primary credit card, the one with no conceivable limit, and memorized the number. It was a small act of defiance, a down payment on the revenge she planned to exact.

She checked into the most expensive suite at the Four Seasons, ordering champagne and caviar to a room she had no intention of paying for. Then, she started shopping. She went on a rampage through the luxury boutiques of Rodeo Drive. Chanel, Dior, Valentino. She bought extravagant gowns for a wedding that felt more like a funeral, antique jewelry that cost more than a house, and shoes she would never wear.

With every swipe of the virtual card, she felt a grim satisfaction. She was draining her father' s accounts, hitting him where it hurt the most: his wallet and his pride. She imagined his face, red with fury, as the alerts from his bank flooded his phone. It was a reckless, childish act, but it was the only power she had left.

The spree lasted for thirty-six hours. She filled her hotel suite with designer boxes and bags until there was barely room to walk. It was a monument to her rage.

Then, the inevitable happened. A text from her father, blunt and cold: "The card has been cancelled. You are cut off."

Almost simultaneously, a message popped up on her phone from a number she knew all too well. Ethan.

"I heard what you did. Are you trying to bankrupt your father? This isn't like you, Scarlett. What' s going on?"

His feigned concern was insulting. She ignored the message, her thumb hovering over the block button. She was done with him. She was done with all of them.

The hotel phone rang. It was the front desk. "Ms. Hayes, there seems to be an issue with the credit card on file. We're going to have to ask you to vacate the suite."

Panic, cold and sharp, finally pierced through her anger. She was out of money. She had nowhere to go. She packed a single suitcase with the most valuable items and walked out of the hotel, leaving the mountain of her revenge shopping behind for the hotel to deal with.

She found herself on the street, the California sun feeling harsh and unforgiving. The city that had once felt like her kingdom now seemed alien and hostile. She tried calling a few friends, but the news of her father disowning her had apparently traveled fast. No one answered.

As evening fell, the streets grew more menacing. She clutched her suitcase, her designer dress feeling like a costume. A group of men catcalled her from across the street. One of them broke away from the group and started walking towards her, a predatory grin on his face.

Fear, raw and primal, seized her. She was alone, vulnerable, a perfect target. She stood up, ready to run, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Suddenly, a black car screeched to a halt beside her. The door flew open. It was Ethan.

His face was a mask of cold fury. He got out, grabbed the man who was approaching her by the collar, and threw him back with an ease that was terrifying.

"Get lost," Ethan snarled, his voice low and dangerous. The man and his friends scattered like rats.

Ethan turned to her, his eyes blazing. He grabbed her arm, his grip like steel.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he bit out, his anger palpable. "Walking around like this? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He practically threw her into the passenger seat of his car, tossed her suitcase in the back, and slammed the door. He got in and sped away, the tires squealing in protest. Scarlett stared straight ahead, her body trembling, caught between the fear of the streets and the suffocating presence of the man who had just "rescued" her, the man who was the source of all her pain.