Chapter 2

I didn't go see my biological parents right away.

The assistant who called himself Zayn Lincoln got me settled in a massive penthouse downtown.

"Your parents know you've been through a lot. They want you to take your time. No pressure."

Then Zayn handed me a black card. "This is your allowance, Ms. Harding. No password, no limit."

I stared at the card, remembering Braeden's text about me not being greedy.

The irony was so thick you could taste it.

Zayn seemed to read my mind. He added, "Some people have no idea what's coming. They'll get what's theirs."

That evening, Zayn sent me an e-invite.

"There's a charity gala and auction tomorrow night. The Harding family and Braeden will be there. Your mother thought you might want to go, just to get out."

I knew better. It wasn't about getting out. It was about scoping out the enemy.

I typed a quick "Got it."

Scrolling through the Facebook, I saw Yolanda's latest post.

She was in a fancy evening gown, with a dazzling sapphire necklace around her neck. The caption read, "Thanks, Mom, for the necklace. I love it."

I recognized that necklace. It was my adoptive mother's most treasured piece. She'd shown it to me on my eighteenth birthday, promising it would be my wedding gift when I got married.

Now, it was draped around Yolanda's neck.

The pain was so sharp it just went numb, leaving nothing but cold emptiness.

I laughed. The sound was echoing in the empty penthouse.

The perfect bride? Marrying Braeden?

It all seemed like a meticulously crafted lie, a decade-long joke.

And I was the punchline, the most pathetic clown on that stage.

They'd not only stolen my life but were now flaunting the last tangible memory of my mother like some war trophy.

Fine. If they loved the spotlight so much, I'd give them an even bigger stage and let them have at it.

Just then, an old high school friend, someone I hadn't heard from in ages, sent me a few screenshots.

It was Braeden's crew, their group chat.

"Braeden, man, you finally dumped that dead weight!"

"Seriously, an adopted kid acting like she's a princess? Yolanda's the real deal!"

"When are you and Yolanda getting engaged, Braeden? We're ready for the wedding!"

Braeden had replied below. "Soon. Once I deal with some trash, I'll send out the invites."

Then a string of "congrats" and ass-kissing.

I shut off my phone, deleting those crappy chat logs for good.

The screen went dark, reflecting my blank face, my eyes glinting with a cold, hard resolve.

The next afternoon, the styling team Zayn sent showed up right on time.

Leading them was an elegant woman who introduced herself as Amy Warren, my mother's personal stylist.

"Ms. Harding, your mother picked out a few gowns for you. See which one you like," Amy said.

A whole rack of couture dresses rolled in, each shimmering with a unique glow. It was the kind of luxury I'd only ever glimpsed in magazines.

I ended up choosing a seemingly understated black velvet gown, adorned only with delicate scattered diamonds at the waist.

Amy styled my hair, then opened a velvet box.