Chapter 1

The heavy scent of lilies filled the living room, a smell Michael Davies said he loved. He had them brought in fresh every morning. I sat on the plush white sofa, my hands clenched in my lap, watching him walk down the grand staircase. He moved with an easy grace, a confidence that made every head turn when he entered a room. For six years, since my parents died in that fire, he had been my world. My uncle. The man who saved me.

He stopped in front of me, his shadow falling over my small frame.

"You' re up early, Sarah," he said, his voice smooth and low. It was the voice that always calmed my nightmares.

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. His fingers were cool against my skin, and my heart jumped, just like it always did. I looked up at him, my eyes trying to tell him everything I couldn' t say out loud. I loved him. I thought he loved me too, in his own way. He was my uncle by adoption, but the lines had blurred so much over the years.

"I couldn' t sleep," I whispered.

"Thinking about your birthday tomorrow?" He smiled, but it didn' t quite reach his eyes. "Don' t worry. I have a big surprise planned for you. Something you' ll never forget."

A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. His surprises were always extravagant, but lately, they felt different, possessive. He chose my clothes, my friends, my entire life. I thought it was because he cared, because he wanted to protect me. Now, I wasn't so sure. The look in his eyes was tense, a string pulled too tight. It made me want to look away.

He left me on the sofa and walked to his study, the heavy oak door closing behind him with a soft click. The silence he left behind was worse than the tension when he was here. I waited for a few minutes, the lilies making me feel sick, then I walked quietly to his study door. I didn' t know why. I just needed to feel close to him.

The door was slightly ajar. I peeked through the crack. He wasn't working. He was standing by his desk, holding a silver picture frame. I had never seen it before. In the frame was a woman with bright, laughing eyes and a sharp, beautiful face. Emily White. His ex-fiancée.

He stared at the photograph with an expression I had never once seen him direct at me. It was raw, desperate, and full of a love so deep it was painful to watch. He traced the glass over her face with his thumb, his lips moving silently. "Emily," he mouthed. It was a prayer. A curse.

My whole body went cold. All the sweet words he had ever said to me, all the gentle touches, they all turned to ash in my memory. I was a substitute. A stand-in for the woman he truly loved. The realization was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I felt my heart break, a clean, sharp snap. It was a quiet sound that no one else could hear.

Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk. He put the photo down, his face instantly changing back to the cool, controlled mask I knew. He answered, putting the call on speaker.

"Michael, is everything ready for tomorrow?" The voice was female, sharp and impatient. It was her. Emily White.

"Of course, Emily. Just like we planned," Michael said, his tone eager to please, like a dog waiting for a treat. "The invitations are sent. Everyone who matters will be there."

"And the main event? The special gift for me?" she pressed.

Michael laughed, a low, cruel sound that made my blood run cold. "Don't worry. Sarah will be the star of the show. I' m going to auction her off. A birthday gift for her, and a little bit of fun for you. We' ll see how much the men of this city are willing to pay for the innocent little niece of the Davies family. It will be the ultimate humiliation. After that, she' ll be broken, and you' ll have nothing to be jealous of ever again."

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop the gasp from escaping. My legs gave out and I slid down the wall, my back pressed against the cold wood. Auction me off. The words echoed in my head, nonsensical and monstrous. He was talking about me. He was going to sell me like an object to appease his jealous ex-fiancée.

But the horror wasn' t over. Emily' s voice dripped with poison. "Good. And what about the other thing? The little scare you promised?"

"It' s arranged," Michael said, his voice dropping lower. "A small, controlled fire. Nothing dangerous, just enough to trigger her trauma. She' s so pathetic when she' s scared of fire. It will be the perfect end to the night. A reminder of how she ended up here in the first place."

"A reminder of that fire I set six years ago," Emily said, her voice laced with a dark satisfaction. "The one that got rid of her parents and made room for me. It' s a shame you couldn' t let them go, Michael. But this is the next best thing."

The world stopped. The air in my lungs turned to poison. The fire I set six years ago. The fire that killed my mother and father. The fire that had given me nightmares for 2,190 days. It wasn' t an accident. It was her. And Michael... Michael knew. He knew all along.

He had taken me in, the orphan created by the woman he loved. He had raised me under his roof, fed me lies, and made me love him, all while knowing this soul-crushing secret. The kindness, the protection, it was all a cage. A very beautiful, very expensive cage built on the ashes of my family.

A bitter, hysterical laugh tried to bubble up from my chest. How funny. How utterly, devastatingly funny. I was a joke. A replacement. A tool for his revenge and a pawn in his sick game with Emily. My love for him was a pathetic, naive dream. I had spent six years loving the man who protected my parents' murderer.

He called me his little bird. He had kept me in a golden cage, and I had sung for him, thinking it was love. I thought his possessiveness was a sign of his affection. I thought his control was for my own good. I was so stupid. I was so hopelessly, blindly in love that I couldn' t see the truth. He wasn't my savior. He was my jailer.

And tomorrow, on my birthday, he was going to burn my world down all over again.

No. I wouldn't let him. The girl who loved Michael Davies died in that hallway, listening to that phone call. A new person was born in her place, someone cold and hard and desperate. I had to get out. I had to escape. I pushed myself up from the floor, my legs shaking but steady. I looked at my reflection in the dark polished wood of the hallway floor. My face was pale, my eyes wide with a terror that was quickly turning into a cold, hard resolve. I would not be his victim. I would not be their entertainment. I would survive this. I had to.