Chapter 1

"A riverfront villa on a private island, worth 12 million dollars. Consider it my wedding gift to you."

The voice of my longtime rival, Seth Lane, came through the receiver with his usual cold certainty.

I murmured an acknowledgment and hung up.

A notification chimed on my phone—a bank alert confirming that 3.78 million dollars had been deposited into my account.

I looked up and gave the buyer a polite smile. "The door code has been reset to six zeros."

After leaving the real estate agency, I headed down to the underground parking garage.

My phone suddenly rang.

When I answered, my fiance, Stefan Shaw, sounded ice-cold. "You really went all out with the act this time. You even hired actors."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.

"You think threatening to sell the house will work on me? Too bad. You miscalculated."

His tone left no room for argument.

"Tell your people to leave right now, then get over here and apologize to Josie. You scared her so badly she's in tears."

In tears.

I thought back to my time in the ICU, to the moment the doctor told me I'd nearly ended up brain-dead. I had been hovering on the brink of death, and all Josie Gordon did was cry.

"The house is already sold."

My voice was so flat I barely recognized it as my own.

"You'd both better move out soon. Don't make the new owner call the cops."

There was a brief pause on the other end.

Then Stefan's patience snapped. "Cut it out. If you keep throwing this tantrum, no one is going to coddle you. Do you think you're Josie?"

His voice rose as he went on. "Josie is only staying in the house temporarily for her medical research. She has dreams and ambitions. She's not like you—always getting jealous over nothing and pulling these petty, pathetic stunts."

I let out a sudden laugh.

"Medical research, huh? Well, you can take that up with the new owner and see if he buys it."

With that, I hung up.

Less than a minute later, Stefan's name lit up my screen again.

This time, his tone had changed. "Did you actually sell it?"

I tightened my grip on the phone.

"I paid 4.2 million dollars for the house and another 1.5 million for renovations. I listed it for four million, and it sold for 3.78 million."

I enunciated every digit with chilling clarity.

"The money's in my account, the contract's signed, and the deed's been transferred."

The silence on the other end stretched like a wire pulled to its breaking point.

After a long pause, he spat out each word through gritted teeth.

"Queenie Sutton, have you lost your mind? That house was meant for our marriage!"

"I'm the one who bought it. Paid in full—"

He cut me off. "So what? You bought that house because you wanted to marry me! Since it was meant for our marriage, half of it belongs to me. What gives you the right to sell it without my permission?"