CHAPTER 1

Anya’s POV

Five Years Ago

“I don’t want you seeing that boy anymore,” my father warned, his voice cold and firm. “He’s nothing but a poor rat who’s after the Russell fortune.”

We were in his office upstairs while my graduation party was still going on downstairs. I could hear the faint sound of laughter and music through the walls. Everyone was probably dancing and celebrating, but I stood there in my father’s office, my heart pounding and my eyes burning.

“Dad, you’re wrong,” I said softly, trying to hold back tears. “Chase isn’t like that. He loves me, and I love him too.”

My father gave a short, cruel laugh. “Love?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “There is no love in our world, Anya. You’ll see soon enough.”

The words hit me like a slap. I didn’t understand what he meant, but the look in his eyes told me he believed it completely.

He waved his hand toward the door, dismissing me like one of his employees. “Go back down. Your guests are waiting.”

I walked out, my chest tight and my mind spinning. I could still hear his words echoing in my head as I reached the top of the staircase. The lights from the chandeliers shimmered across the hall, the music swelling again, but I felt strangely far away from all of it.

Why couldn’t my father see what I saw in Chase? Sure, he didn’t come from money. He lived with his grandma and studied hard to earn that scholarship. But he had a kind heart, gentle eyes, and a smile that made everything feel right. I didn’t care about the fortune or the rules of my father’s world.

I just wanted love. And I knew, deep down, Chase loved me too.

I got back to the party, trying to steady my breathing. The ballroom was glowing with golden light, filled with laughter, music, and the smell of champagne. Everyone was celebrating like it was their victory, not mine. Waiters moved between the crowd carrying trays of drinks, and the sound of clinking glasses mixed with the low hum of conversation.

I tried to smile, but my heart wasn’t in it. My father’s words still echoed in my head—He’s nothing but a poor rat after the Russell fortune. It made me sick because Chase wasn’t like that. He didn’t care that I was a Russell. He cared about me. But my father would never understand that. To him, everything was a transaction, a deal, a power move.

I was about to step outside for air when my father walked into the room. The noise instantly softened, almost like people knew better than to keep talking when he was around. He had that commanding presence—tall, broad, with a sharp expression that could silence anyone. He clinked his glass with a spoon, and the crowd turned to face him.

He smiled his usual polished smile, the one he saved for events like this. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” he said. “I’m proud of my daughter, Anya. She’s grown into a fine young woman, and I’m honored to celebrate her success with all of you.”

There were cheers and polite applause. For a second, my heart softened. Maybe this was one of those rare moments where he actually meant it—where he saw me, not as a project or an heir, but as his daughter. I wanted to believe that.

But then he continued, and everything shifted.

“I also have another announcement to make,” he said, pausing long enough for the room to fall completely silent. “It brings me great joy to announce the engagement of my daughter, Anya Russell, to Kennedy Davenport, the son of my longtime friend, Charles Davenport.”

The words didn’t register at first. I just stared at him, my mind struggling to process what he’d said. Engagement? I looked around, searching for someone to tell me I’d heard wrong. But the guests were already clapping, smiling, whispering excitedly.

And then Kennedy stepped forward.

He was tall, dressed in an expensive black suit, with neatly combed blond hair and a smug smile that made my skin crawl. His blue eyes glinted under the chandelier lights, cold and full of something I couldn’t name. He walked straight toward me, unhurried, confident—like this had been planned all along.

I wanted to back away, but my feet wouldn’t move. He took my hand before I could stop him, lifted it, and pressed his lips against my skin. His breath reeked of whiskey. The touch made my stomach turn. I opened my mouth to protest, to say no, to tell my father I loved someone else—but before I could get a word out, his hand gripped my arm hard enough to make me flinch.

“Smile and look happy,” he murmured lowly, his tone full of warning. “Don’t embarrass me.”

I froze. My heart hammered painfully in my chest. I forced a weak smile, but it felt like my face was breaking apart. Kennedy’s arm slid around my waist, and before I could react, he pulled me in and kissed me. His lips were rough, his mouth bitter. I wanted to shove him away, to scream—but everyone around us was cheering, clapping, congratulating us.

I stood there, trapped, pretending this was something worth celebrating. My vision blurred as I stared out into the crowd. Somewhere deep down, I wished my mother were still alive. She would’ve never let this happen. She would’ve protected me, told me to run, to fight back.

But she wasn’t here. I was completely alone.

After what felt like hours of fake smiles and meaningless congratulations, I couldn’t stand it anymore. My face hurt from pretending, and my throat burned from forcing out polite “thank yous.” Everyone around me was laughing, drinking, celebrating this so-called engagement, while I was dying inside. The lights felt too bright, the music too loud. My chest was tight like I couldn’t breathe.

I needed air. I needed Chase.

I slipped away when no one was watching, weaving between waiters carrying trays of champagne and guests who were too busy gossiping to notice me disappearing. The moment I stepped into the empty hallway, I finally exhaled. It was quieter there—dimly lit, the noise from the ballroom muffled behind thick doors. I leaned against the cool wall, pressing my palm to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

I took out my phone and scrolled to Chase’s number. My fingers shook as I pressed “call.”

He didn’t pick up.

That was strange. Chase always answered my calls. Always. I bit my lip and tried again. Still nothing. A lump started forming in my throat. I tried a third time, pacing now, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

“Come on, Chase,” I whispered under my breath. “Please answer.”

But the call went to voicemail again. Panic began to creep up my spine. My mind jumped to terrible possibilities—what if something happened to him? Was he okay?

“Who the f—k are you calling at our engagement party?”

The voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.