Chapter 2

The party was even more extravagant than I had imagined. The ballroom glittered with crystal and gold. My parents had spared no expense.

My father, a proud Texan who built his oil empire from the ground up, beamed as he introduced me to business partners and politicians. My mother, a pillar of Dallas society, guided me through the intricate dance of social etiquette.

My oldest brother, Ethan, stood near the stage, watching everything with his sharp, serious eyes. He' s the heir to the company, all business and logic. He caught my eye and gave me a subtle nod of approval. He' d gifted me a new sports car that morning, a cherry-red convertible parked out front.

My fiancé, Wesley Scott, stood beside me, his arm possessively around my waist. Our engagement was a strategic alliance between two of the most powerful families in Texas. He smiled for the cameras, a perfect picture of the devoted partner.

I played my part perfectly. The grateful daughter, the charming debutante, the loving fiancée.

Then, just as my father stepped up to the microphone to begin his speech, it happened.

The grand ballroom doors flew open with a loud bang.

Every head turned.

There she was.

Maria Chavez. Exactly like in my dream. Her jeans were frayed, her t-shirt was stained, and her eyes were filled with a raw, aggressive resentment.

A wave of silence fell over the room. Security guards started moving toward her.

"Stop!" she yelled, her voice shaking but loud. She pointed a trembling finger directly at me.

"Don' t listen to him! Don' t look at her! She' s a fraud!"

My father' s face turned to stone. The insult was not just against me, but against him, against the honor of his family.

"Who is this child?" he boomed, his voice laced with cold fury. "Remove her."

"No!" Maria screamed, her voice cracking. "I' m the real Blakely! She' s the impostor! She stole my life!"

A gasp went through the crowd. I felt hundreds of pairs of eyes on me. I let my own eyes widen, my hand flying to my mouth in a perfect picture of shock and hurt. I allowed a single tear to trace a path down my cheek.

"Daddy?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

That was all it took. My father' s anger solidified into pure, protective rage.

"Get her out of my house! Now!" he commanded the guards.

But as they moved in, Maria did something unexpected. She shoved a guard aside and lunged toward me. She wasn' t trying to hit me, but she grabbed the glass of red wine from the table beside me and threw it.

The dark liquid splashed across the front of my pristine white designer gown, a violent, ugly stain.

The crowd gasped again.

The perfect image was shattered. The chaos had begun.