Chapter 002

The silence that followed was deafening. I stood completely still. The pain on my cheek didn’t matter anymore. All I could do was process my mom’s awful words.

"Am I even your biological daughter?" I snapped.

The question just rolled out before I could stop it.

She took a step back from me.

Dad let out a long, tired sigh. "Do you need a DNA test, Maisie?" he asked calmly. “Will a piece of paper convince you that you’re our only child?”

That was all they had to say.

There was no angry denial telling me I was wrong. No reassurance, just talk about documents. The truth was in the way they avoided my eyes. They were deciding my future right in front of me, and they couldn’t even look at me while doing it.

A crushing feeling of guilt settled over me. This whole situation was my fault. I was the one who first saw Alistair Grimshaw at a party. I was the one who came home, my heart in my throat, to tell my parents about this charming, powerful man I had fallen in love with.

For years, they had rejected every man I liked. “He’s not serious,” they’d say. Or, “His family is a problem.” Always telling me to do better. So when they instantly approved of Alistair, it felt like a miracle. Like I had finally done something right.

"The Grimshaws!" my mom had gushed. "Oh, Maisie, that’s wonderful! You must stick to him. With a man like that… you should be thinking about marriage."

I had been so in love. I had been so happy. I truly believed I was special. I believed he had chosen me.

Now, I felt like an item that had finally been sold.

Is love really something you can’t walk away from? Is my life now nothing more than a list of duties I have to follow?

One last, fragile thread of hope pulled me toward my dad. He was always the softer one, the one who understood.

I knelt down on the floor in front of his armchair. My vision was blurry with tears as I took his hands in mine.

“Dad, please,” I begged, my voice breaking. “I’m your daughter. Your only child. If I talk to Alistair… if I can convince him that we’re not right for each other… if he agrees to end the engagement… can I walk away? Please?”

He looked at me, and his expression on his face shattered me. It was worse than anger. It was unbearable pity. He gently wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb.

"Maisie, my girl," he started gently. "Alistair loves you. You know that. Don’t you feel a little sorry for him?" He paused. "Think of all the pressure he’s under. He is good to you, isn’t he? He explained everything to me after you were upset two weeks ago. It’s just business, Maisie. A performance for the investors. He promised me… he promised us… that once he gets what his father wants, he will be all yours. Can’t you be strong? Can’t you wait for him? Isn’t that what a good fiancée does? She stands by her future husband no matter what."

Each word felt like a heavy brick, stacking higher and higher around me, building my prison.

He was asking me to accept being denied in public, all for the promise of a private future that I didn’t even believe in anymore. I let go of his hands and stood up. All the warmth I remembered from my childhood was gone.

"If I had never come home and told you about him…" I started...

But my mom quickly stepped forward and held my face, cutting me off. She looked straight into my eyes. “You were always meant to be with him, Maisie. Whether you told us or not. This was always your path.”

There was something frighteningly certain in her gaze. “I’m your mother. Do you really think I don’t know what’s best for you?” she said. “Don’t you want the respect of the Grimshaw name? The security it brings?”

That was the moment the last bit of my hope died. The marriage was going to happen. My family was not my safe place. They were just the delivery service, handing me over.

A cold numbness spread through me. It was easier than feeling all that pain. I pulled my face away from my mother’s hand and staggered back.

“I hate you!” I screamed. “I hate you both!”

Then I turned and stormed out of the house, disappearing into the night.

***

The bar felt like a grave, but with lights. I preferred the silence because I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. I just wanted the quiet darkness I knew I’d find at the bottom of a bottle. I sat in a corner booth and ordered a bottle of whiskey. I drank until the room felt softer, until the sharp thoughts in my head began to fade.

I was drowning in it when he appeared.

He simply slid into the booth across from me without asking. He was like a shadow in the dim light. He wore a black mask that covered his eyes and the bridge of his nose. All I could see was his sharp, angled jaw and his mouth. His black shirt clung to his body, the top buttons undone, showing part of his chest.

He reached across the table without a word. He took the bottle from my weak grip and poured a careful amount into my empty glass.

I just stared, my drunk mind too slow to understand. I finally looked from the glass to his face.

"Who are you?"

A low, dark chuckle escaped from him. It sounded familiar, but also wrong. It was like hearing my favorite song played in a sad, minor key.

"You look like you’re carrying the world’s burden, Maisie," he said.

Hearing him say my name sent a jolt through the alcohol haze. Did I know him from somewhere? I was too drunk to think straight.

Instead of answering, I snatched the bottle back. My fingers were clumsy. "Mind your own business," I tipped the bottle to my lips. The liquor burned a hot path down my throat.

He was utterly still as he watched me. “It became my business,” he said calmly, “the moment you chose a place like this to throw away your future.”

‘Throw away my future.’

That did it.

A reckless, self-destructive fury took hold of me. Chloe’s old advice echoed in my foggy mind: 'If a man ruins you, the quickest fix is a little distraction… preferably a sexy one.”

I pushed myself up. I was swaying. The world tilted as I closed the small distance between us. I planted my hands on the table to steady myself. I leaned into his space. He didn’t move an inch. He smelled expensive. It was a hauntingly familiar scent, but my muddled brain couldn’t place it.

"Are you for hire?" I breathed out as I swung my credit card in front of him. "For one night. I need… I want you to sleep with me. I want you to make me forget it all.”

He said nothing.

"Name your price," I said, my voice barely a whisper.