Chapter 8

I hung up the phone and walked to my closet.

I chose a dress I would never have worn before. It was a deep, blood-red silk that clung to my body. The old Brooklyn loved pastels, soft fabrics, things that made her look innocent and sweet.

That Brooklyn was dead.

Tonight was the most important day of my life. Not my first life, but this one. The one that mattered.

When I descended the grand staircase, they were all waiting in the foyer. Jackson, Brett, and Andrew, all in perfectly tailored tuxedos. And Keira, of course, in a pale pink dress that matched theirs. They looked like a matching set.

"Wow, Brook," Brett said, his eyes widening. "You look... amazing."

Their compliments felt like ash in my mouth.

"Red is your color," Jackson said, his eyes lingering on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "Are you finally going to tell us? Who's the lucky guy? Is it me?"

He was so arrogant, so sure of himself.

I smiled, a slow, mysterious curve of my lips. "You'll find out soon enough."

Jackson went to open the door of his Rolls-Royce for me, but then Keira tugged on his arm.

"Jackson, there isn't much room in the back," she said with a little pout. "My dress will get crushed."

Without a second thought, Jackson scooped her up into his arms, cradling her as if she were made of spun glass.

"Don't worry, I've got you," he murmured.

"She's used to riding with Jackson," Andrew explained to me, not meeting my eyes. "You can come with us."

I said nothing. I climbed into the back of Brett and Andrew's car, my face a mask of indifference. My heart was a stone in my chest.

The venue for my twenty-first birthday party was breathtaking. A grand ballroom overlooking the city, decorated with my favorite flowers, stargazer lilies. A towering champagne fountain glittered in the center of the room, and a nine-tier cake, flown in from Paris, stood on a pedestal.

All the most important people in the city were there, their eyes following me, buzzing with speculation. They were all here to see who would win the ultimate prize: the Stanton heiress.

I was standing by the champagne fountain when Keira appeared at my side.

"Happy birthday, Brooklyn," she said, her smile as sweet as poison. She held out a small, beautifully wrapped gift box.

I glanced at it, having no intention of opening it.

"Please," she urged. "Open it. I picked it out just for you."

She pushed the box into my hands and then, with a flick of her wrist, lifted the lid herself.

A large, black beetle flew out of the box, straight towards my face.

I cried out in shock, stumbling backward and dropping the box.

On the floor, amidst a pile of shattered jade, lay the pieces of a priceless antique bracelet.

Keira gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, Brooklyn! I know you didn't like my gift, but you didn't have to smash it!"

Every head in the ballroom turned towards us.

In a flash, my three brothers were there, surrounding Keira, shielding her.

"What happened?" Jackson demanded, his eyes fixed on Keira's distressed face.

"I... I just gave Brooklyn her gift," Keira sobbed, "and she... she threw it on the floor."

I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. It was her word against mine, and I knew whose side they would take.

Jackson's head whipped around, and he glared at me. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You just wanted to embarrass her in front of everyone."

My fingers clenched at my side. They didn't even ask for my side of the story. They just condemned me.

"It wasn't me," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Then who was it?" Brett challenged. "It's always something with you, Brooklyn. Always some drama."

"Just apologize, and we can move on," Andrew sighed, as if I were the one being unreasonable.

I looked at their faces, at the three men I had once loved more than life itself. They saw me as a villain, a nuisance, an obstacle to their happiness with her.

"I am not wrong," I said, my voice gaining strength. "And I will not apologize."

Jackson let out a humorless laugh. "You're still playing games. You love me, Brooklyn. You've always loved me. Just admit it, apologize to Keira, and I'll forget this whole thing."

His arrogance was staggering.

"The person I am choosing is not you," I said, the words sharp and clear.

"And it's not you either," I added, looking at Brett and Andrew, who were trying to coax me into submission with soft words and promises.

I pushed their hands away from me. Their touch was disgusting.

Jackson's face turned a dangerous shade of red. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.

"Enough!" he roared, his voice low and furious. "If you won't do this the easy way, we'll do it the hard way."

He smirked, a cruel, terrifying expression.

"Butler, bring me the family crop."

A collective gasp went through the crowd.

The family crop. A riding whip that our father had used on the boys when they were young and disobedient. It was a symbol of ultimate punishment, of utter humiliation.

The old butler, who had been with the family for forty years, looked horrified. "Mr. Jackson, sir, it's Ms. Brooklyn's birthday. The lawyer is about to arrive..."

"I don't care," Jackson snarled, snatching the whip from the butler's trembling hands. "She's had her chance. She chose to defy me."

He advanced on me, the whip held menacingly in his hand.

"I'm your older brother," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "And soon, I'll be your husband. It's time you learned some respect."

He raised the whip.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the blow.

The whip cracked against my back.

The pain was sharp, electric, and it stole my breath. I fell to my knees, the silk of my dress no protection against the vicious sting.

Blood bloomed on the red fabric, a darker shade of crimson. I had never been hit in my life. I had been their princess, their treasure.

Now I was just a disobedient dog to be punished.

Tears of pain and fury streamed down my face.

"Dream on," I spat through gritted teeth.

He raised the whip again.

"Mr. Davison is here!" a voice called out from the entrance.

The whip paused in mid-air.

I looked up, my vision swimming.

Mr. Davison was walking into the ballroom.

And right behind him, tall and imposing in a perfectly cut dark suit, was Grayson Stanton.

My savior.

My heart leaped in my chest.

Jackson stared, momentarily stunned.

I used that moment. I pushed myself up from the floor, my back screaming in protest, and walked on trembling legs towards the two men.

I stopped beside Grayson, feeling a sense of safety I hadn't felt in years.

I ignored the lawyer. I looked directly at the shocked crowd, at the furious faces of my brothers.

"I don't need the lawyer to make the announcement," I said, my voice ringing with newfound power.

I reached out and took Grayson's hand.

"I, Brooklyn Schultz, choose my husband. I choose him. Grayson Stanton."