Chapter 4

With the voting rights locked into the independent trust, I told the private investigator to keep a close eye on every move Adrian and Claire made.

Once that was taken care of, I headed to a hair salon.

I stared at the woman with long hair in the mirror. Somehow, she felt like a complete stranger.

For 20 years, my father had insisted that I always wear my hair in a neat, proper updo. Adrian had told me more times than I could count that it was the only style fit for a future duchess.

"Do as I say. Cut it off."

My eyes stayed on my reflection, and my voice didn't waver.

The stylist picked up the scissors. With each crisp snip, the long locks fell away until a sleek short cut brushed the sides of my neck.

The woman in the mirror finally looked like she belonged to herself.

I took off those drab, plain gowns and put on a long red backless dress, the kind my father had never allowed me to wear.

That afternoon, I drove the Aston Martin my mother had left me out to Silverstone.

In my last life, I'd had a real gift for racing. Yet when my father called it "improper," I gave up the thing I loved without a fight.

But this time, I floored the accelerator and pulled off a beautiful drift through the corner.

The engine roared so loud it rattled my eardrums, but the speed made me feel free again.

"Evelyn! Have you lost your mind?!"

I'd barely made it back to the lounge when Adrian stormed in.

He was as immaculate as ever in his suit, but his face showed anger he could barely control.

I pulled off my racing helmet, shook out my short hair, and gave him a cold look.

"Can I help you, Mr. Devaux?"

"Look at yourself!" Adrian hissed. "You cut off your hair, and now you're out here racing? There are reporters everywhere. Are you trying to drag both families' names through the mud? You're coming home with me!"

He reached out to grab my wrist.

I sidestepped him.

"Hands off."

I looked at him, my voice calm and cold.

"Are you really worried about my safety, or just worried that I no longer meet your standards?"

Adrian forced his temper down. "I know you've been under a lot of stress lately. A little tantrum before the wedding is fine, but once we're married, things go back to normal. I'll allow you two vacations a year. Isn't that enough freedom for you?"

The way he said it, like he was tossing scraps to a beggar, almost made me laugh.

"Freedom that needs your permission isn't freedom."

I put my helmet back on and walked to the car before he had another chance to stop me.

The moment the speedometer passed 120 miles an hour, I laughed out loud inside my helmet.

To hell with Lady Evelyn.

To hell with the perfect fiancée.

When I got back to the lounge that evening, an envelope from the investigator was waiting in my bag.

I tore open the seal and pulled out a thick stack of photos.

They told the whole story. Adrian had been taking Claire to private parties and hotels for two whole years. He'd even bought her expensive jewelry on a card tied to the Devaux family account.

Six months earlier, when I was in the hospital with a stomach bleed, Adrian had claimed he was away on urgent business. In fact, he'd been in Paris with Claire.

I went through the photos one by one, and the last scrap of feeling I had for him disappeared for good.

Adrian. Claire.

Do you two really think no one knows about your affair?

These photos will be my wedding gift to both of you.