CHAPTER 1

FREYA BROOKS POV

The velvet box in my coat pocket felt like a block of ice against my ribs.

I had spent three months’ salary on a vintage watch for Tristan. Tonight was our engagement party, the official merger of our futures, and I wanted everything to be perfect. As the head architectural designer for our family’s boutique firm, I had practically killed myself the past six months drafting the blueprints for the Vance Plaza pitch—a multi-million dollar commercial contract that could put us on the global map. Tristan kept telling me that once we bagged the deal, we’d finally get married and buy that house by the bay.

I smiled to myself, pushing past the heavy double doors of the VIP lounge at The Obsidian Hotel. The party wasn’t supposed to start for another hour, but I wanted to make sure the catering staff hadn’t messed up the vegan options Tristan’s mother insisted on.

The hallway leading to the private suite was quiet, the thick carpet muffling my heels. But as I drew closer to the door, a sound cut through the silence.

A laugh. High-pitched, breathless, and entirely too familiar.

 Sienna?

My steps slowed. My sister was supposed to be at the salon. Then came a deeper voice—a low, rumbling groan that made my stomach do a sudden, violent flip.

"God, Sienna, slow down. Someone might come in."

Tristan.

I froze, my hand hovering inches from the brass doorknob. My brain, usually so quick to calculate spatial dimensions and structural integrity, completely short-circuited. No. I’m mishearing this. The stress is making me hallucinate.

"Let them," Sienna whispered, her voice dripping with that sticky, sweet arrogance I had put up with our entire lives. "Freya is probably still obsessing over her stupid sketches. She has no idea what a real man actually needs."

The door wasn’t fully latched. It was open a fraction of an inch. Through the gap, the world I had meticulously built crashed down in a matter of seconds.

Tristan was pressed against the mahogany desk, his tailored suit jacket discarded on the floor. And wrapped around his waist was Sienna, her fingers tangled in his hair. The very desk where my hard copies of the Vance Plaza blueprints were laid out.

My breath hitched, a sharp, ragged sound catching in my throat. The tiny velvet box slipped from my fingers, landing silently on the plush carpet.

 Three years. I had given this man three years of my life. I supported him when his startup failed, stayed up until 3:00 AM editing his business proposals, and loved him with everything I had. And my sister—the one my father always told me to protect, the one who took everything of mine and always demanded more—was tearing my life apart with a smile on her face.

I didn’t cry. The betrayal was so hot, so sudden, it felt like it seared my tear ducts shut. Instead, a cold, hard numbness washed over me.

I pushed the door wide open. It hit the wall with a loud, resounding thud.

They both jumped, scrambling apart like rats caught in a searchlight. Sienna didn't even look guilty; she just smoothed down her silk dress and offered me a smug, venomous smile. Tristan, however, turned as white as a sheet.

"Freya," Tristan stammered, pulling his shirt together. "It’s—it’s not what it looks like. We were just—"

"Save it, Tristan," I said. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. It was entirely flat. Too calm. "Don't insult whatever tiny shred of intelligence you think I have left."

"Look, Freya, don't make a scene," Sienna chimed in, crossing her arms. "The board members from Brooks & Associates are already downstairs. Dad is downstairs. You’re going to ruin the firm’s biggest night over a little misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" I laughed, a dry, bitter sound. I walked over to the desk, intending to grab my flash drive and the blueprint folders. I needed to get out of here before I lost my dignity. "You two are disgusting."

But as I reached for the documents, Tristan stepped in front of me, blocking the desk.

"You can’t take those, Freya," he said, his tone suddenly shifting from panicked to chillingly clinical.

"They're my designs, Tristan. My layout. I spent six months on this."

Sienna chuckled from behind him. "Correction. They *were* your designs. But since you’re a salaried employee of Brooks & Associates, everything you create under our roof belongs to the company. And as of ten minutes ago, Dad signed the lead designer rights over to me. Tristan and I are presenting it to Cross Industries tomorrow as a joint venture."

The room seemed to tilt. "What?"

"You're done here, Freya," Tristan said, refusing to meet my eyes but standing his ground. "Your father thinks it's best if you take a leave of absence. Permanent leave. We’ve already had your things packed and sent to a storage unit. Your company card has been deactivated."

They hadn't just cheated. They had planned this. It was a calculated coup to strip me of my work, my position, and my home, all in one swift blow. My own father had chosen his trophy stepdaughter and her ambitious boyfriend over his own flesh and blood.

"You're throwing me out?" I whispered, the weight of it finally crushing my chest. "Of my own family's company?"

"You don't have the vision to take us global, Freya. You're too cautious. Sienna has the flair for it," Tristan said, his voice hardening. "Just leave. Don't make us call hotel security."

I looked at the man I was supposed to marry, then at the sister who shared my blood. I realized then that any argument, any scream or tear, would just give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken. They wanted a breakdown. They wanted me to act crazy so they could justify their cruelty.

I wasn't going to give them that.

I turned around, picked up the vintage watch box from the floor, and dropped it into a nearby trash can. "Keep the designs," I said softly, looking straight at Tristan. "But remember one thing, Tristan. A blueprint is just paper. You don't have the brains to build it without me. Let's see how long you last when Cross Industries asks you to explain the structural load calculations."

I walked out of the room, keeping my spine perfectly straight until I reached the elevator. The doors closed, and as the elevator descended to the lobby, the silence inside the car felt heavy, suffocating, and absolute.

I had exactly forty-two dollars left in my personal checking account, a suitcase waiting for me at a cheap storage facility across town, and absolutely nowhere to go. My life was completely demolished.

I walked out into the pouring rain, the cold drops soaking through my thin coat, realizing I had to start from absolute zero.