Chapter One

Dahlia POV

The check was on the table, right next to the whiskey glass my father held.

I stared at the paper, the number on it making my stomach turn. Five million dollars.

"Is that it?" I asked.

Marcus Vane, my father did not look at me but at the whiskey. He swirled the liquid slowly. "It is enough to keep the creditors away for another month. Maybe two."

"You sold me," I voiced.

He finally looked up, his face red and sweaty; he looked much older than fifty-two. "Don't be dramatic, Dahlia. It is a marriage, and with someone powerful. Silas is a good man."

"Silas Thorne is a monster," I said. "He put his last assistant in the hospital. Didn't he kill his first wife?

"That never happened," my father snapped. He downed the drink. "It was just a rumor. Dahlia you're twenty three with no job, no money and have been living off my charity since you came back from Europe. It's fine you paid your way.

Charity? Since when did training your child become a charitable case?

"I won't do it," I said, and then I stood up. My legs felt weak, but I locked my knees. "I am not marrying Silas."

My father stood up too. He was heavy and tall and he used his size to intimidate me. He leaned over the table. "You don't have a choice. The contract has been signed. The money is in my account. If you run, Silas will find you. If you refuse, he will ruin what is left of this family. He will put me in prison for fraud. Do you want that on your conscience?"

I looked at him, at the man who brought me up; all I felt was coldness.

"I am leaving," I said.

"Go ahead," he sneered. "Walk out that door. See how far you get without your passport. Or your credit cards. I cancelled them this morning."

I froze.

My hand went to my pocket where my phone was. That was all I had.

"This Friday is the engagement party," he said, then poured himself another drink. "Buy yourself a new dress and look pretty. Just do this for me or I'll be in jail, and you'd be on the streets. It's your choice."

I turned around and walked out of his study. I walked through the hallway of the penthouse that we were about to lose. I went into my room and locked the door.

I sat on the edge of my bed. My hands were shaking now.

Silas Thorne. The rival. The man who hated the Vane family almost as much as he hated to lose. He didn't want a wife; he wanted a trophy. He wanted to humiliate my father by owning his daughter.

I needed money and I needed a way out.

I walked over to the window and looked out over the New York skyline. The lights were bright, like stars that had fallen to the ground. Somewhere out there was the only person who had more money than Silas. The only person Silas actually feared.

Julian Thorne.

Older brother of Silas. Ex-best friend of my father.

And the man who broke my heart five years ago.

I shut my eyes. I still remembered the way he laughed. The sound was sharp, more hurtful than a slap. “Go back to school, little girl.”

He hated me, he hated my father.

But he hated Silas more.

I opened my eyes. I knew what I was going to have to do. I had to sell myself to the devil to try and escape the demon.

~

I checked my bank account balance on my phone.

It was zero.

My father was not lying. He had drained the trust fund my mother left to me. He had cancelled the cards. I had forty dollars in cash in my wallet and a MetroCard.

I sat on the park bench in Central Park. It was cold. The wind bit into my cheeks. I pulled my coat tighter. It was a designer coat from last season. It was worth two thousand dollars. I wondered if I could sell it.

I needed a plan.

Silas was expecting me at the engagement party on Friday. That gave me three days. Three days to find Julian Thorne and persuade him to save me.

Why would he save me?

He wouldn't. Not out of kindness. Julian Thorne was not kind. A businessman, he dealt in acquisitions and mergers. He dealt in profit.

I had to offer him something.

I pulled my phone out and looked up his name. Julian Thorne. CEO of Thorne Enterprises. Net worth: 15 billion.

There were pictures of him. He was forty-three now. In the pictures he looked harder than I remembered, his beard neatly trimmed and dark brown at the sides, his hair silver and thick, his eyes the color of the ocean in winter.

He looked dangerous.

I scrolled down, and there was an article from yesterday.

Thorne Enterprises Charity Gala this Wednesday at the Plaza Hotel. Tables start at fifty thousand dollars apiece.

Wednesday. That was tonight.

He would be there.

I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing jeans, a sweater and sneakers. I could not walk into the Plaza like this. I needed to look like I belonged. I needed to look like the Dahlia Vane of five years ago. The Princess of New York.

I stood up. I had forty dollars. It wasn't enough for a dress.

But I was wearing a coat.

I walked out of the park and headed toward Madison Avenue. There was a consignment shop there. When I was in my teens, I used to sell my old purses there to buy cigarettes I never smoked.

The woman behind the counter looked at the coat, then at me.

"Five hundred," she said.

"It's worth two thousand," I said.

"It's used," she said, "and you look desperate."

I was desperate.

"Fine," I said. "How much cash can I get for it?"

She counted out five hundred dollars. It felt dirty in my hand. I took it and left.

I went to a rental shop downtown. I found a dress. It was black silk. It had a slit that went up to my thigh and a neckline that plunged deep.

I rented it for two hundred and bought cheap heels for fifty and another red lipstick for twenty.

I went back to the apartment building but didn't go inside. The doorman, Henry, saw me.

"Miss Vane," he said, "your father told me that you were not to go upstairs without your promising to speak with him.

"I forgot my key, Henry," I lied. "I just need to use the gym shower in the lobby. The water is off at my friend's place."

Henry liked me. He nodded and let me in.

I showered in the gym locker room. Afterwards, I dried my hair with the wall dryer, put on the black dress, and did my quick cheap makeup.

When I looked in the mirror, I was totally different, with pale skin, wide green eyes, and red lipstick that made me look fierce.

I took a deep breath.

"You can do this," I whispered.

I was about to go into the lion's den, offer myself to Julian

Thorne, and pray that he hated his brother enough to say yes to me.