The Day He Let Me Go, I Let Him Go Forever

To outsiders, I was the bright and brazen heiress of the Seymours. Daniel Falkner was Belcaster's big shot—disciplined, aloof, almost ascetic.

Night after night, he took my waist in his hands and drove into me until my legs went weak, calling me "princess", again and again.

He didn't know I'd be marrying someone else in just two weeks.

The sheet was still damp. As I lay catching my breath, Daniel was already up, pulling on his clothes.

I turned onto my side and watched him button his shirt. "You're not staying tonight?"

"I have a meeting at the office. Be sweet," he said without looking back.

There it was again.

I sat up. The sheet slipped off me.

His hands stilled for a heartbeat, then resumed at his tie.

"Daniel."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

He turned, brushed a kiss across my forehead, and murmured, "I'm leaving."

When the door clicked shut, I reached for my phone and punched in a number I knew by heart.

"Dad, I'll go through with the arranged marriage. I'll marry the dying Gaskell heir in Velport in two weeks, but I have one condition."

His voice lifted at once. "Great! Name it. Whatever it is, I'll grant it!"

"We'll speak in person."

After I ended the call, Daniel's spare tablet on the nightstand lit, the screen flashing a new message from Serena Jarman.

"Danny, thanks for coming with me to the hospital today. The doctor says I'm doing better. It's all because you've been taking such good care of me. Let's catch a movie tomorrow, like old times."

A kiss emoji capped it off.

I stared at the text, my fingers shaking. Daniel had never once gone with me to the hospital, not even when I broke a rib at riding practice.

I threw on my clothes and slipped out, tailing his car. He stepped out in front of one of the city's finest restaurants.

From a distance, I watched him walk to Serena in her white dress. She looked frailer than in the photos.

He lifted a hand to smooth her hair, so gentle it seemed she might splinter at his touch. I'd only ever seen that tenderness on his face in bed.

It was three years ago when Dad handed me to Daniel. One glance at that austere, handsome face and my knees betrayed me.

Dad told him, "Freya needs to learn the family rules. She's too wild. Only you can keep her in line."

I was then just back from boarding school—rebellious, untamed, unwilling to yield. Plenty of men had tried to tame me. I thought Daniel would be just another, but I was going to tame him first.

The first time we met, I made sure to show up at his office in a microskirt.

Daniel sat behind his desk, not even glancing up.

"Close your knees, Freya."

"Why?"

"Because right now, you look like the Seymours forgot to teach you manners."

I hitched my skirt higher. "How about now?"

His eyes, icy behind gold-rimmed glasses, finally lifted to me. "Get out."

I spent months throwing every provocation I could dream up at him. I slid notes into his files, sabotaged projects he'd set up, and even dosed his whiskey with a laxative.

He'd just restore order, calm as ever, and say in that schoolmaster tone, "Freya, you're bright. Put that mind to better use."

One night, I spiked Daniel's drink, wanting to see him without the reins. I hadn't expected it to kick in before I was out the door.

He caught my wrists, breath uneven. "What did you put in my drink?"

I held his gaze. "You've already guessed. Want to test it?"

That night changed everything.

When morning came, Daniel was already dressed. I braced for him to lose it, to send me back to Dad.

"Daniel, I—"

"Princess." He brushed my cheek. "This stays between us."

That single word undid me.

We kept up this strange relationship for the next two years. By day, he was the cold CEO. By night, he breathed "princess" in my ear and drove me weak at the knees.

I believed Daniel loved me until my birthday that year.

I spent hours getting ready, slipped into my best dress, and reserved the restaurant where we'd first dated. I meant to tell him I loved him, that I'd stand by him, whatever the price.

But he never came. I waited three hours, alone, until even the waiters began watching me with pity.

The next day, the internet lit up with photos of Daniel at the airport, picking up another woman. Serena leaned into his arm in the shots, the two of them looking every bit the couple.

It turned out he'd forgotten my birthday because he was busy picking up another woman. I let out a bitter laugh and drank myself senseless.

I wanted to ask him what I was to him. A bedmate? A prop? But I didn't dare. I was too lonely, too addicted to his warmth, too afraid that saying it out loud would drive him away.

That night, I found Serena's photographs in his study and shattered every frame.

Daniel came home to ruins but didn't so much as frown. He told the maids to clean the mess up and take care of me, then walked right by.

I saw it then, plain as day. Daniel was the Falkner heir—distant, composed, untouchable. His patience was just his pride keeping him from arguing with me.

After that, he still called me "princess" in bed as if nothing had changed, except that I'd already gone cold.

At the restaurant, Daniel held the door for Serena. They spoke with an easy warmth.

I looked away and drove to the Seymour residence.

In the living room, Dad and my stepmother, Rowena Blanchard, were watching TV. He switched it off as I walked in.

"Well? Name your terms. What will it take for you to accept the arrangement?" he asked.

I sank onto the couch. "I'm cutting ties with you."

Dad froze. "What did you say?"

Rowena's eyes gleamed.

"I'll marry the dying Gaskell heir. But in exchange, we're finished. I'm no longer a Seymour. Bring your mistress and your illegitimate daughter back if you want.

"The day you staged that crash and killed Mom, you stopped being my father."

His face darkened. "I told you. It was an accident!"

I met his eyes and let out a humorless laugh. "Accident or not, Mom died while catching you with Rowena, right there on the road. So stop acting like the doting father.

"You've spent five months plotting to sell me to the Gaskells, just so your mistress could waltz in and your illegitimate daughter could wear the Seymours' name. Isn't that the bargain?"

Dad lurched to his feet. "You want to cut ties? Fine! From tomorrow, you're no daughter of mine!"

"Deal." I turned toward the stairs. "And make sure the Gaskells hear it. Their bride won't be the Seymour heiress anymore. She'll be nothing but an orphan. Let's see if they will still pay your price."

Once in my room, I shut the door and dropped the act. Curled on the bed, I let my tears spill, small and helpless as a wounded animal.

Would Daniel even know? To leave him for good, I cut the last thread that bound me to the world.

…

Early the next morning, I woke to the sound of things being moved downstairs. I rose and moved to the landing. At the foot of the stairs stood a figure I knew all too well.

Serena.

My blood ran cold.