Chapter 1

When I pushed open the door to my father Algernon's study, Cecilia was sitting by the fireplace, looking perfectly docile.

Father looked up. His gaze landed on my ears first.

I'd swapped in new studs today—a row of gleaming silver pins climbing from my lobe all the way up to the cartilage.

A crease formed between his brows. "Eleanor, you've gone and—"

"I'm here to discuss the engagement." I cut him off, sliding the betrothal documents across the desk. "I'm not marrying him."

Cecilia shot to her feet. "What are you talking about?"

I pulled out a pen and, right in front of them, crossed out my name in the bride column and wrote in Cecilia Graham.

When I set the pen down, I heard Cecilia's sharp intake of breath. "Have you lost your mind? You think this engagement is some kind of game? We can't afford to cross the Pembroke family!"

"I know." I capped the pen and looked up at her. "But aren't you the one who's in love with Cameron?"

Cecilia's face went scarlet. Her mouth opened and closed, words stumbling out: "I—I just never thought you'd actually—"

"Never thought I'd hand over something I fought tooth and nail for, just like that?" I smiled. "Relax. I'm not running a charity."

Father's expression was hard to read. "Eleanor, you've spent the last two years working toward this. Why the sudden change of heart?"

I paused.

He was right. For two years, I'd treated becoming Cameron Pembroke's wife like some kind of divine gift.

A blended family. A family in decline. Father had always favored Cecilia—I'd always known. And yet somehow, I was the one chosen to be the Pembroke bride.

Father acted proud of me on the surface, but deep down he'd always wished it were Cecilia marrying Cameron.

I took a deep breath.

"Because I can't breathe anymore." The truth, plain and simple.

Father froze.

I did love Cameron—deeply. But I couldn't sell my soul for it.

"The closer the wedding gets, the more nightmares I have. It's always the same scene—Cameron turning into a cold stone statue the moment we say our vows."

"Just the thought of spending my life with someone that rigid is more than I can take."

I pushed the documents toward Father. "He wants a refined, virtuous lady for a wife. That was never me."

Cecilia bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the papers.

My dear sister, Cecilia—the very model of a proper young lady in high society.

She was the perfect substitute bride.

Father's gaze moved between us. "What do you want?"

"Ten million. I'm going to Paris to study design. I need the money in my account by the end of this week."

Father, terrified I'd change my mind, nodded immediately. "Done."

Cecilia tugged at his sleeve. "Dad, we don't have that kind of money."

"I'll figure it out." He exhaled slowly.

Cecilia's face reddened even further. "Eleanor, I..."

"Save it." I stood and pushed the chair back into place. "You got what you wanted. Hold on to it."

I walked out of the study feeling lighter than I had in years.

Back in my room, I immediately stripped off the haute couture gown Cameron had personally selected for me and changed into my favorite piece—a sexy leopard-print mini skirt. I did my makeup heavy, painted my lips black.

The girl in the mirror was bursting with personality.

A lady? Cameron's wife?

No. I refused to be a doll broken in by someone else's rules. I refused to be another polished mannequin off the assembly line.

I grabbed a cab straight to the hottest bar in New York.

The place was already in full swing. I pushed into the dance floor, the silver studs along my ear catching the light.

A young guy with curly hair pulled me closer.

Sweat and menthol cigarettes. He leaned in to my ear: "You don't look like you're here to drink."

I tilted my head up, my lips nearly brushing his earlobe. "Then what do I look like I'm here for?"

His palm settled on the curve of my waist. "Trouble."

"Want to make some with me?" I draped my hand over the back of his neck, my body finding the beat, hips rolling to the rhythm.

His breathing hitched. He leaned closer. "What's your name?"

"Asking for names makes it too serious."

I reached up and tugged at the button on his collar, then let go—an open, shameless tease.

Right at the heaviest drop of the beat, the music cut out.

The dance floor froze mid-pulse.

The laughter and cheering vanished instantly.

Then a familiar voice came from behind me—

"Eleanor."