Chapter 1 : The Girl Who Always Says Yes

Kaia

The first sign that my life was about to implode was a velvet garment bag hitting me square in the chest.

"Catch, Kaia!"

I caught it. Barely. Then three more hit me in quick succession, silk, satin, something with a price tag that cost more than my rent, I stumbled backward into a pillar, drowning in thousand dollars of fabric that wasn't mine.

Sophia didn't even look back.

"Emerald or ruby?" she called over her shoulder, already three racks ahead of me in the Beverly Hills boutique, holding two gowns against her body. "I need something that screams I belong in the Carrington family."

I shifted the clothes in my arms. "Emerald. It brings out your eyes."

"Obviously." She dropped the ruby back on the rack without a second glance. "Roman Carrington is going to be at the gala on Friday. I saw him at the Whitmore benefit in March and I swear to God, Kaia, he looked right at me. Through me. Like he could see my soul."

Roman Carrington. Thirty. Billionaire. The kind of man who got written about in magazines that used words like tycoon and notoriously unavailable. Sophia had been obsessed with him since March, and she'd been strategizing for the gala like it was a military campaign. She was convinced she'd be Mrs. Carrington by Christmas.

I was convinced she'd lose interest the moment someone shinier walked past.

"He's a playboy, Soph," I said carefully, because someone had to be the voice of reason. "The tabloids call him—"

"The tabloids are jealous." She tossed her hair. "He just hasn't met the right woman yet. Which is where I come in."

She was dreaming about Roman Carrington.

I was dreaming about her brother.

I'd been dreaming about Liam Ashford since I was fourteen years old, a full year before he pulled me out of that pool. That was the part nobody knew. Not Sophia. Not my mother. Not even Liam.

At fourteen, I was the housekeeper's daughter, invisible in a mansion full of people who never looked down. But Liam looked. Not in a romantic way, i wasn't stupid enough to think that, but he saw me. He'd say good morning when his father ignored me. He'd ask what I was reading. Once, when I was crying behind the garden shed over something I can't even remember now, he sat down on the grass next to me and didn't say a word. Just sat there. Until I stopped crying. Then he handed me his handkerchief and went inside.

I still have that handkerchief. It's in a box under my bed. I'm not proud of that.

The summer I turned fifteen, he pulled me out of the pool and breathed air back into my lungs, and I've been paying for it ever since. Because that was the moment I stopped being the girl who had a crush and became the girl who was certain. Certain that one day he'd look at me the way I looked at him. Certain that I just had to wait. Be patient. Be good. Be here.

"Are you even listening?" Sophia snapped her fingers in my face.

"I said it'll look great. Everyone will notice you."

"Obviously they will." She plucked a diamond clutch off a display and handed it to me without looking. "Hold this too."

My arms were shaking. I didn't ask her to hold anything. I never did.

____

"I met Roman Carrington once," Sophia announced, three racks later, loud enough for the whole boutique to hear. "At the Whitmore thing. I was wearing the blue Valentino and he definitely noticed."

"You said he looked through you like he could see your soul."

"Same thing."

I bit back a smile. This was the Sophia I loved, the ridiculous, dramatic, harmless version of her. She was spoiled. She was self-absorbed. But she was also the girl who'd sat with me at my father's funeral, who'd let me sleep in her bed for a week afterward, who'd told me I'd always have her. She was my best friend. She was the closest thing I had to a sister.

I built a decade of friendship on that belief.

And I'd never once let myself question it.

"Are you sure you don't want to come on Friday?" Sophia asked, examining a diamond-encrusted clutch. "As my guest? I mean, you'd have to find something to wear, but we could—"

"I'm fine, Soph. It's really not my scene."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged, dropping the clutch into my pile. "Liam's coming, though."

My chest tightened. "Liam?"

"With Isabella, obviously." Sophia rolled her eyes. "They got back together. Again. I swear, those two are exhausting."

Isabella. That name made my stomach turn, Liam's girlfriend. On and off since high school, mostly on, lately. She was beautiful in the way of things that are expensive and hard. She made a hobby out of treating anyone with a smaller bank account like a stain on the carpet.

"They broke up last month," I said, too quickly. "You told me he—"

"Babe, it's Liam and Isabella. They don't break up. They just refresh." Sophia tossed a shoe box on top of my pile. "Hold these. I need to sign for my things."

I stood there, arms trembling, a glorified coat rack in a store where a single dress could pay my mother's rent for a year.

It won't last, I told myself. He'll get bored. He'll see her for what she is. And then he'll see me.

I'd been saying that for ten years.

My phone buzzed inside my purse. I balanced the pile with one arm and fished it out.

> Liam: Kaia, are you with Sophia right now? I need a favor.

My heart did the thing. That traitorous, idiotic thump.

> Me: Yeah, we're at the boutique. What's up?

> Liam: I need help picking out a gift for Isabella for Friday. You know what she likes. Can we meet this week?

I should have felt the sting of that. I did feel it. But beneath the sting was something else, a small, stupid spark of hope. He needs me. He trusts me. He comes to me.

> Me: Sure, Liam.

I put the phone back in my pocket and looked over at Sophia, who was busy approving her receipt.

He comes to me when he needs someone real, I thought to myself. He's just confused about Isabella. He'll see the truth soon.

I was about to find out how wrong I was.