Chapter 1

Five years after Isaac Goodwin and Wade Cafferty banished me to the slums, they finally came looking for me.

I was crouching beside a public faucet in a narrow alley, scrubbing an old bedsheet when a pair of polished dress shoes stepped into a puddle and stopped in front of me.

I looked up and recognized the face immediately.

It was my older brother, Wade Cafferty.

Five years had done little to change his appearance, though his features looked sharper now.

"Have you learned your lesson?"

I lowered my head and looked at my red, swollen fingers. "Yes," I said softly. "I have."

The knot between his brows eased, and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "Come home with me."

I nodded and started gathering my things. As I turned, another figure emerged from the shadows around the corner.

It was my fiance, Isaac Goodwin. So he had come, too.

I hadn't seen him in five years. He seemed a little taller now, his features more defined and his jawline sharper.

His gaze settled on my face. "Olivia, since you've admitted your mistake, you'll remain my fiancee from now on," he said, a complicated look in his eyes. "Our engagement still stands."

I watched his lips move as his words slowly sank in. What he said sounded like something from another lifetime, but I simply nodded.

"Okay."

After all, there was nothing else I could say.

After five years in the slums, I'd lost track of time.

During the day, I wandered through the noisy, filthy streets, taking whatever odd jobs I could find in exchange for a meal.

At night, I curled up in a drafty shack, listening to rats scurrying in the corners and drunkards howling in the distance. More often than not, I lay awake until dawn.

Every last bit of life had been drained out of me, and whatever sharp edges I'd once had had long since been worn smooth.

Wade's Rolls-Royce was parked at the entrance to the alley, its glossy black exterior gleaming in the light.

Once we were on our way, the dilapidated houses and the stench of rotting garbage that seemed to hang in the air quickly faded into the distance.

Outside the window, the scenery grew greener and more orderly as we left the slums behind.

Eventually, the car stopped in front of the mansion I'd left five years ago. The iron gates swung open, revealing a lawn trimmed as neatly as a carpet.

Almost everything looked just as I remembered it, yet somehow, nothing felt quite the same.

When we entered the living room, the crystal chandelier bathed everything in brilliant light, and a faint floral fragrance lingered in the air.

We'd barely stepped inside when a maid hurried over to greet us.

"Sir, dinner is ready. Would you like it served now?"

Wade nodded. Then, as though something had just occurred to him, he turned to me. "Olivia, we made all your favorite dishes tonight."

He'd said it so casually, as if the past five years had been nothing more than a short walk around the block.

One dish after another was brought to the table, each arranged so beautifully it looked like a work of art.

Lobster, steak, truffles, caviar, and other delicacies filled the table. They reminded me of the food advertisements I'd occasionally come across near the garbage dumps during my five years in the slums. Even then, such luxuries had seemed to belong to a world I could never be part of.

I sat down in silence.

Isaac took the seat beside me. He picked up a napkin and spread it neatly across my lap, the gesture as familiar and effortless as it had once been.

"Thank you," I sputtered, overwhelmed by the unexpected kindness. "Thank you so much."

Then I hastily reached for the fork he offered me.

The moment our fingertips touched, memories of the past came rushing back.

When was the last time someone had placed a napkin on my lap and handed me my cutlery like this? Was it five years ago, or even longer?

I fell into a daze, and the fork slipped from my hand. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter and rolled twice before stopping beside Wade's polished shoes.

The room fell silent.

I froze. Then, almost instinctively, I crouched down to retrieve it as quickly as possible. In my haste, my knee struck the table leg with a dull thud, but I barely noticed the pain.

All I felt was panic. I was terrified they'd send me back to the slums again.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, picking up the fork and clutching it tightly. "I didn't mean to."

Both Wade and Isaac were staring at me. Their gazes lingered on my tightly clenched hand for several seconds, then Isaac finally spoke.

"It's fine," he said, his voice giving nothing away.

A maid silently brought me another fork.

Throughout dinner, Isaac occasionally cut food into smaller pieces and placed them on my plate, just as easily and naturally as before.

Each time, I quietly thanked him and did my best to finish everything on my plate.