RECKLESS VOWS

CHAPTER 1: THE PROPOSITION Lyra Winson's phone buzzed for the third time in five minutes. She glanced at the screen, surprised to see Jane McCormick's name flashing again. They hadn't spoken in weeks. "What's so urgent?" Lyra answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she continued typing her latest rejection email to a literary agent. "I need to see you. Now." Jane's voice had an edge Lyra hadn't heard before. "Meet me at Bellini's in an hour." "Bellini's? That place costs more than my monthly rent." "I'm paying. And Lyra?" Jane paused. "Wear something nice. Not those jeans with the hole in the knee." Before Lyra could protest, the line went dead. She stared at her laptop screen, the half-written email to yet another agent who'd rejected her manuscript. Six months ago, she'd quit her steady job at Horizon Publishing to focus on her writing. Six months of dwindling savings and growing desperation. Jane McCormick, on the other hand, had never worried about mone

CHAPTER 3: THE PLAN The black town car Jane sent pulled up to a gleaming high-rise in Manhattan's Upper East Side. Lyra stepped out, squeezing her worn shoulder bag against the light rain that had followed yesterday's downpour. The driver nodded toward the entrance without a word. Inside, the lobby smelled of money, polished marble, fresh flowers, and whatever perfume the cleanly dressed receptionist wore. "I'm here to see Jane McCormick," Lyra said, trying to ignore how out of place her thrift store clothes looked. The receptionist glanced at Lyra's dripping umbrella. "Your name?" "Lyra Winson." The woman made a brief call, then pointed to the elevators. "Penthouse." Lyra's stomach wobbled as the elevator shot upward. The mirrored walls mirrored her pale face, dark circles under her eyes from a sleepless night spent staring at her bank balance and approved check. The doors opened directly into Jane's apartment. "Finally!" Jane appeared from somewhere within the massive spac

CHAPTER 5: WEDDING DAY Rain pelted the windows of the black town car as it pulled up to the Manhattan courthouse. Lyra stared at the imposing stone building, her stomach twisting into knots. "This is it," the driver announced, opening an umbrella and coming around to her door. Lyra clutched her designer handbag, knuckles white. Inside was a New York driver's license with Jane's name and her face—another piece of the detailed fraud that had consumed the past ten days of her life. "Miss McCormick?" the driver prompted when she didn't move. The name jolted her back to reality. She was Jane now. Jane McCormick, soon to be Jane Blackwood. Lyra stepped out, sheltered under the large black umbrella. Her cream Chanel suit, selected by Jane for its "appropriately bridal but businesslike" appearance, already felt like a costume. The four-inch Louboutins pinched her toes as she climbed the courthouse steps. In the grand marble lobby, a tall man in an impeccable suit checked his watch. Wh

CHAPTER 7: SETTLING IN Darkness fell quickly over the Blackwood estate, shadows stretching across marble floors as Lyra wandered from room to room. The frightfulness of the house felt even more pronounced at night—every creak and settling noise boosted the silence. "This place is ridiculous," she muttered, trailing her fingers along the back of a twelve-foot leather sofa that probably cost more than her college education. Her first night as mistress of the house, she couldn't even bring herself to sit on the furniture. A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Lyra turned to see Mrs. Hargrave standing in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral. "I was wondering if you'd like your evening tea now, Mrs. Blackwood." "Tea?" Lyra blinked. "I don't usually…” She caught herself. What would Jane do? "Yes, thank you. Earl Grey, if you have it." Mrs. Hargrave's eyebrow twitched slightly. "Of course. Though I was preparing your usual chamomile with honey. Mr. Blackwood mentioned it

CHAPTER 9: THE FIRST WARNING Lyra's hands shook as she held the phone. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure Mrs. Hargrave could hear it from across the room. "This is Jane Blackwood," she said, hoping her voice sounded steadier than it felt. "Mrs. Blackwood." The voice on the other end was crisp, female, and professional. Not Ryker. "This is Amelia Hayes, Mr. Blackwood's executive assistant." Relief washed over Lyra, quickly followed by a new wave of anxiety. "How can I help you, Ms. Hayes?" "Mr. Blackwood asked me to check on you." Something in Amelia's tone made Lyra's skin prickle. "He was concerned when he saw the recent changes to the household accounts." Lyra glanced at Mrs. Hargrave, who stood by the door, face carefully blank. The party guests had been ushered out minutes earlier, leaving chaos in their wake. "The changes?" Lyra repeated, buying time. "Yes. The furniture deliveries, repainting costs, and last night's party expenses." Amelia's voice was neutral but p