Chapter 3

In the bottom drawer of my desk, under a stack of old Vance family letters, I kept the only thing that mattered now: clearance papers for the Raven Wharf auction.

Raven Wharf was where old families sold secrets without admitting they were broke. Land deeds, offshore accounts, black ledgers, stolen art, favors written in blood. One vault there held documents my father had hidden before the Vance family fell. If I could get them, I could rebuild without Lucien Moretti's name.

The auction opened in seven days.

Seven days, and I would be out.

Someone knocked.

"Grace," Lucien said through the door. "We need to talk."

I slid the papers beneath a scarf. "Come in."

He entered without waiting, his eyes moving over the half-open suitcase. "Going somewhere?"

"Sorting things."

"You were strange today."

"Was I?"

"You gave Isabella the ruby. You gave her your dress. You are either furious or trying very hard to look like you aren't."

I folded a blouse and placed it in the suitcase. "Isn't this what you wanted? A woman who doesn't argue with you about Isabella?"

For once, he had no clean answer.

After a moment, he said, "I came to ask you for something."

Of course he did.

"What?"

"The Vance signet."

My fingers stopped. The signet ring was the last real heirloom my family owned. It opened our old vaults, verified our accounts, and proved that the Vance name still had weight in certain rooms.

"Why?"

Lucien's jaw flexed. "Isabella's name is still tied to the convoy shooting. I need leverage with a judge who owes your family. The signet will get him to listen."

In my last life, I would have handed it over just to hear him call me generous. I would have told myself love meant helping him protect the woman he kept choosing over me.

This life, I looked him in the eye. "You can have it."

Suspicion flickered across his face. "Just like that?"

"No. I want a signed release removing every Vance holding from Moretti custody, and a sponsor letter for Raven Wharf under my own name. No Moretti escort. No Moretti oversight."

His stare went cold. "That is a lot of paperwork for one ring."

"Then don't pay it."

Something changed in his expression. The anger faded, replaced by a slow, almost arrogant smile. "So that is what this is. You want to prove you can walk away. You want me to stop you."

"Call it whatever helps you sleep."

He stepped closer. "You still care. If you didn't, you wouldn't be making such a show of independence."

I let him believe it. A man like Lucien trusted his own ego more than the truth, and right now, his ego was useful.

"Do we have a deal?" I asked.

"We do." He looked too pleased with himself. "You can have your little release. And you will come with me to the Ravencrest gala tomorrow night. The families expect to see my future wife."

Before I could answer, the door opened.

Isabella stood there in the Paris dress. The ivory silk hugged her perfectly, and the Moretti ruby burned at her throat.

"Lucien," she said, turning once with a shy smile. "How do I look?"

His eyes softened before he could stop them. "Beautiful."

Isabella glanced at me as if she had won something. "I heard you mention the gala. Grace, you're going? I just don't want people to think I pushed you out."

The trap was obvious. If I refused, I was bitter. If I went, I watched them perform.

I closed my suitcase. "I'll be there."