CHAPTER 1: Breaking News

Maya

The toast knife slips from my fingers, clattering against the ceramic plate hard enough to leave a white chip in the glaze. My thumb finds the crack before my brain processes why I’m staring at my phone like I’ve just been slapped.

BILLIONAIRE CEO PHILIP DAVENPORT TO WED SOCIETY DESIGNER MONICA WILSON – TWO MONTHS AFTER HER DIVORCE.

The photo below is my mom. Head tilted back, laughing like she hasn’t shed a tear in her life. Standing next to a man with silver-streaked black hair and shoulders broad enough to block out half the skyline behind them. I’ve never seen him before.

My chest tightens… hot sharp, like I’ve swallowed broken glass. The screen blurs at the edges as I scroll down, reading how they’d “been planning this for months,” how he’s “the rock she needed after a difficult split.”

Difficult split. That’s what they’re calling it? My dad spent three weeks sleeping on our old couch after she moved out. I found him there one morning, staring at a photo of her in her wedding dress, his hands shaking so bad he couldn’t pour his coffee.

Buzz.

A text from Chloe pops up at the bottom of the screen: U up? Just saw the news OMG r u ok??? Did she tell u or did u find out like the rest of us???

I type back with one hand, the other still pressed to my chest like that’ll keep the anger from spilling over: No. She didn’t tell me. Found out from a damn tabloid. I can’t believe she’d do this. Three months ago she was crying about how much she missed Dad.

Chloe: Come over. Right now. I’ll pick up bagels and mimosas. We’ll get drunk before noon and forget all about it.

I glance at the clock, it's 7:47 AM. Too early for liquor, but too late for pretending this isn’t happening. I punch in my mom’s number without thinking. It rings twice before she picks up, background noise loud enough to make me pull the phone from my ear—clinking glasses, distant music, someone laughing.

“Maya! Perfect timing… I was just picking out linens for the reception with my planner. You remember Janet? She did your cousin’s wedding last year—”

“Are you serious?” My voice cracks on the last word. “You’re engaged and you didn’t call me? I had to see it on T*****r, some random account with two hundred thousand followers broke the story before my own mother thought to text me.”

A pause on her end. The noise fades, like she’s stepped into another room. “I was going to tell you. I swear I was. I just… wanted to make sure it was real first. Things move fast sometimes, baby.”

“Real? Mom, you’ve been divorced for two months. How is this real?” My hands are shaking now, gripping the phone so tight my knuckles ache. “Who even is he? Philip Davenport… like something out of a bad romance novel.”

“He’s CEO of Apex Innovations, you’ve probably seen their buildings downtown. The glass one on Third Avenue? He built that from scratch.” She sounds proud, almost giddy. “He’s wonderful, Maya. Kind. Stable. He makes me feel like I can breathe again.”

Stable. The word lands like a slap. She’d used the same word to describe my dad twenty-five years ago, when they’d bought their first house together.

“I don’t care if he’s the king of England. You owed me a phone call. You owed Dad a phone call, wait, did you even tell him, or is he going to find out from the news too?”

“I’ll tell Robert when the time is right. He needs to move on too.” Her voice softens, the way it always does when she’s trying to get her way. “That’s why I’m calling now, we’re having a small engagement party this weekend. At the Plaza. I want you there. Please.”

The Plaza. Where she and my dad had their wedding reception. Where I’d danced with them on the same ballroom floor when I was seven years old, wearing a tiny white dress she’d made just for me. The anger in my chest twists into something colder, sharper.

“I’m not coming. I can’t be in that place, watching you celebrate with some man who probably doesn’t even know your favorite flower is peonies.”

“He knows,” she says quickly. “I told him. Maya, please… he wants to meet you. He knows how important family is to you. To us.”

Important family. The words taste like ash. “I said no, Mom. I’m not going to pretend this is okay.”

I hang up before she can say more, throwing the phone onto the couch hard enough to make the cushions bounce. It lands face up, the photo of her and Philip staring back at me.

Chloe texts again: I’m outside. Let’s go. We’re not moping in here all day. I already got the bagels, everything you like, plus cream cheese with lox.

Twenty minutes later, we’re in her beat-up Prius, windows down, music loud enough to rattle the dashboard. She glances over at me every few seconds, her bright pink lipstick a stark contrast to her worried eyes.

“Okay, let’s make a plan,” she says, switching lanes without looking—something she knows drives me crazy. “We go to that boutique in SoHo, the one with the leather dresses and the crazy prices. I just got paid for that campaign, so my treat. Then we hit up that new rooftop bar in Brooklyn… you know, the one with the fire pits and the signature cocktails. By the end of the night, you’ll have forgotten all about Mr. Silver Fox and his stupid engagement.”

I stare out the window at the city rushing by, buildings climbing higher and higher like they’re trying to escape the ground. The image of my mom’s face in the photo won’t leave me—happy, glowing, like she’d never loved anyone else but him.

“He ruined my family,” I say, quiet enough the music almost swallows it.

Chloe cuts the volume, glancing at me again. “You don’t even know him, Maya. You can’t just assume…”

“I can assume whatever I want. She left Dad for him. That’s all I need to know.” I cross my arms over my chest, pressing my palms against my ribs to steady the shaking. “I know how she gets, she sees someone who can give her things, make her feel important, and she forgets about everyone else.”

We pull up to the boutique. Black walls, spotlights, dresses that cost more than my rent hanging on velvet racks. Chloe marches straight to the back, weaving between racks until she pulls out something that makes my breath catch. It’s deep red, slung low at the front with lace trim, high at the thigh, with straps thin enough to snap if you look at them wrong.

“Try this,” she says, pushing it into my hands.

I hold it up against myself, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I look smaller than usual—angry and sharp-edged, like I could cut something if I tried. The dress is dangerous. It makes me feel dangerous.

“Why this one?” I ask.

“Because if you’re going to face him, you need to look like you could take him apart with just one look.” She grins, adjusting the dress on the hanger. “Trust me on this.”

I think about him— Philip Davenport standing next to my mom in that photo, looking like he owns everything he touches. I think about the way she laughed, like she’d never been hurt a day in her life.

“If he ruined my family,” I say, my voice low and steady this time, “I’ll ruin him first.”

Chloe’s eyes widen for a second before she grins—slow, dangerous, matching my own. “Now that’s the Maya I know. Let’s go get you fitted.”