Chapter 1

I was once a New York socialite. Now, I was a ghost eating garbage from a dumpster behind the building that still bore my family's name.

Then I heard his voice. Brigham. My former lover, my step-brother, the man I had come back for.

He was on the phone with Eve, the woman who had stolen my life, my family, and my face.

He saw me, a disfigured heap of rags, and his face filled with disgust. He told his assistant to give me money and "get this filth off company property."

For a fleeting moment, he saw the infinity tattoo on my wrist-our secret promise of forever. He even whispered my name, "Eloise?"

But then he shook his head, dismissing the impossible. He turned his back on me, walking away without a second glance. That final rejection broke the last piece of my soul.

I walked to the Brooklyn Bridge and let go.

Just as my body hit the cold water, a doctor was on the phone with Brigham, his voice trembling with the results of a new DNA test. The original test, the one that had destroyed my life, was a fake. I was the true heiress all along.

Chapter 1

The stench of rotting food and wet cardboard filled Eloise Conway's nostrils. It was the smell of her life now. She plunged her good hand deeper into the dumpster, her fingers searching past slimy bags and broken glass. This particular dumpster, behind the gleaming Conway Tower, was often a goldmine. The upscale restaurant on the ground floor threw out food that was barely a day old.

A former New York City socialite, she knew quality. Now, she was just another homeless woman, a ghost haunting the edges of her own past. The city lights blurred in her vision. Hunger was a constant, gnawing ache in her stomach.

She pulled out a sealed plastic container. Inside was a half-eaten slice of expensive-looking cheesecake. A small victory. She sat on the cold pavement, her back against the brick wall of the alley, and used her fingers to scoop the creamy dessert into her mouth. It tasted like heaven. It tasted like a life she no longer had.

Her face, once on the cover of magazines, was now a roadmap of scars. A thick, puckered line ran from her temple down to her jaw, pulling her lip into a permanent sneer. Acid. Her left hand was a mangled claw, the bones crushed beyond repair. She couldn't speak, not a single word. Her vocal cords were gone.

Was it better to starve with dignity or to live like this? The question was a dull, repetitive drum in her head. But every time the hunger became unbearable, the answer was the same. She chose to live. She chose the dumpster.

A car door slammed nearby. The sound was sharp, expensive. She ignored it, focusing on the last bite of cheesecake. Suddenly, a man's voice cut through the air, crisp and familiar.

"Just leave it on the seat, Mark. I'll take it from here."

Eloise froze. She knew that voice. She would know it anywhere. She slowly looked up.

Brigham Conway stood under the alley light, his tailored suit perfect, his face hard and handsome. Her step-brother. Her former lover. The CEO of the company whose garbage she was eating. He was talking on his phone, his back to her.

"Eve, honey, I'm just leaving the office. Yes, I'll be home soon."

Eve. The name was a physical blow. The woman who had taken everything from her. The new heiress. Brigham's fiancée.

A wave of nausea washed over Eloise, stronger than the hunger. She wanted to run, to hide, but her body was frozen. This was why she had come back. After months of walking, of hitching rides, of starving her way from that desolate town back to New York, it was for this. To see him one last time.

She had held onto a foolish hope, a tiny flicker in the vast darkness of her life. Maybe he would see her. Maybe he would recognize her. Maybe, just maybe, he still cared.

Now, hearing him speak to Eve with such tenderness, that hope died. It was a fool's dream. He was happy. He had moved on. Her existence was an inconvenience he wasn't even aware of.

He laughed at something Eve said, a low, intimate sound that tore Eloise apart. The cheesecake churned in her stomach. She felt the bile rise in her throat and turned her head, vomiting onto the dirty pavement.

The sound made Brigham turn. He saw her then, a wretched heap of rags on the ground. His face tightened with disgust.

"Mark, get over here," he snapped.

His assistant, Mark, a young man in a sharp suit, hurried over.

"Sir?"

"Give her some money. Get her out of here. I don't want to see this filth on company property."

Mark approached Eloise cautiously, pulling a crisp twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. He held it out, his nose wrinkled.

"Here. Now you need to leave."

Eloise didn't look at the money. She didn't look at Mark. She looked at Brigham. Her eyes, the only part of her face that was still hers, pleaded with him. Look at me. Please, just look at me.

She had heard that tone from him before. He had always hated weakness, messiness. He demanded perfection. She was no longer perfect.

She wanted to scream, to rage, to claw at him. But all she could do was make a choked, guttural sound in her throat. She instinctively clutched the half-eaten cheesecake container with her good hand, a pathetic defense of her only possession.

"What is she doing? Is she trying to attack you?" Brigham asked, his voice cold.

"No, sir. She's just... holding onto a piece of garbage."

"Get her out of here now. I don't have time for this."

Brigham started to turn away, but something stopped him. A flash of ink on her wrist, visible as she clutched the container. He squinted.

It was a tattoo. A small, elegant infinity symbol intertwined with a single letter 'B'. He had one just like it on his own wrist, hidden under his expensive watch. They had gotten them together, a secret promise of forever.

He took a step closer, his eyes fixed on the tattoo. A flicker of confusion crossed his face.

"Eloise?"

The name hung in the air, a ghost. He said it so softly, almost a question to himself.

His mind raced. Eloise was in Europe. She had fled in disgrace after stealing from the company, after attacking Eve. That's what his father had told him. That's what they all believed.

He looked from the tattoo to her ruined face. The scars, the dirt, the matted hair. It couldn't be. The woman he knew was beautiful, powerful, defiant. This creature was broken.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's not possible."

He looked at her one last time, his face a mask of dismissal. The moment of recognition was gone, buried under years of lies and a new, more convenient reality.

"Get rid of her," he said to Mark, his voice final.

He turned and walked away without a second glance. Eloise watched him go, the twenty-dollar bill fluttering to the ground beside her. The phone was back to his ear.

"Sorry about that, Eve. Just a minor disruption. I'm on my way."

The sound of his voice, filled with love for another woman, was the final cut. His dismissal was her death sentence.

She sat in the alley for a long time, the cold seeping into her bones. The city hummed around her, indifferent. She had waited for this moment, planned for it, survived for it. And it had meant nothing.

She was nothing.

Slowly, she got to her feet. Her body felt impossibly heavy. She didn't pick up the money. She left the cheesecake on the ground.

She started walking, her movements slow and deliberate. She knew where she was going. The city lights guided her, pulling her toward the dark water.

There was a security guard at the building's main entrance, watching her with suspicion. He moved to intercept her, to tell her to move along.

Brigham's assistant stopped him. "The boss said to let her go. Just make sure she doesn't come back."

The guard nodded, stepping back.

Eloise closed her eyes, a single tear tracing a clean path through the grime on her cheek. She heard Brigham's voice in her head, not the cold one from the alley, but the one from long ago, whispering promises in the dark.

Forever, El. You and me.

Forever had turned out to be a lie.

She felt a strange sense of calm settle over her. The pain in her body, the gnawing hunger, the deep ache in her soul-it all began to fade.

She was just a ghost now, and it was time to disappear.

Brigham paused at the curb, waiting for his car. He glanced down at his wrist, pulling back his cuff to look at the tattoo. The infinity symbol. A stupid, youthful mistake.

He shook his head again, trying to clear the image of the homeless woman's eyes. It was a coincidence. That's all. A cruel, strange coincidence. He got into the car, the door closing with a solid, reassuring thud, shutting out the city and its ghosts.