Chapter 2

Amelia Ball arrived looking like a wilting flower. She was dressed in a simple, pale dress and clutched a small handbag as if it were a life raft. Her eyes were wide and watery when she saw Francesca.

"Frankie," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm so happy for you and Archer."

"Are you?" Francesca replied, her voice sharp. "I wasn't aware we invited you."

Archer immediately stepped forward, putting a protective arm around Amelia's shoulders. "Frankie, be nice. Amelia is our guest."

Amelia shrank against him. "It's okay, Archer. I know Frankie has never liked me. I shouldn't have come."

"Nonsense," Archer said, his tone hardening as he looked at Francesca. "It's Amelia's birthday next week. I want to throw her a party here, to properly introduce her to our friends."

He was using their home to elevate his real love interest, right in front of his fiancée. The audacity was breathtaking.

"We all grew up together," Archer continued, a false cheerfulness in his voice. "We're family."

"Yes, family," Amelia echoed softly, then she took a step toward Francesca. "Frankie, I know we've had our differences. I was hoping... I was hoping you could forgive me."

Before Francesca could respond, Amelia did something extraordinary. She dropped to her knees.

"Please, Frankie. Forgive me. I just want us all to be happy."

It was a performance worthy of an award. The poor, victimized girl, begging for forgiveness from the cruel heiress. Francesca felt a surge of hot anger.

Amelia looked up, her eyes swimming with tears, and glanced at Archer. It was a silent plea for him to rescue her.

Archer rushed forward and pulled Amelia to her feet. "Amelia, what are you doing? You don't have to do this."

He held her close, stroking her hair as she sobbed into his chest. Then he turned his furious gaze on Francesca.

"Look what you've done," he hissed. "Can't you show an ounce of compassion? Her family lost everything because of yours. Her father lost his job, and they've been struggling for years."

Francesca stared at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Her father retired with a full pension. My father gave him a generous bonus."

"Don't lie, Francesca!" Archer's voice was sharp. "Amelia told me everything."

"And you believe her?" Francesca' s voice cracked. "You believe her over me? Over my family, who took you in?"

"Stop it!" Archer yelled. "Just stop being so cruel!"

Francesca' s mind reeled. It was her mother's anniversary next week. The anniversary of her death in a fire at their estate. A fire that had consumed the most important person in her life.

And he wanted to throw a party for Amelia.

"Get out," Francesca said, her voice low and trembling with rage. "Both of you, get out of my house."

Archer looked at her as if she were a monster. "Frankie, I don't know what's gotten into you."

He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away. He was trying to placate her, to keep his revenge plot on track.

"Let's all just calm down," he suggested, his voice softening into that fake, gentle tone she now despised. "Why don't we all sit down and talk this through?"

"I'm leaving," Amelia whimpered, interrupting him. She pulled away from Archer, her face a mask of tragedy. "I'm just causing trouble."

She turned and ran from the room, her sobs echoing down the hall.

Without a second's hesitation, Archer ran after her. "Amelia, wait!"

Francesca stood alone in the grand living room, the silence ringing in her ears. He had always done this. He had always run to protect her.

She remembered when they were teenagers. A group of boys from a rival school had cornered her, taunting her about her family's wealth. Archer, who was still skinny and short for his age, had launched himself at them without a thought.

He had been her shadow then, her protector. He' d get into fights for her, taking punches meant for her and never complaining. He would stand in front of her, his small body a shield, and glare at anyone who dared to look at her the wrong way.

He got a black eye and a split lip that day. He' d spent the whole fight making sure she was untouched.

When it was over, he had turned to her, blood dripping from his mouth, and his first words were, "Are you okay, Frankie?"

She had held his face in her hands, her heart aching for him. He was her fierce, loyal boy.

When had he changed? When had his loyalty shifted so completely to Amelia?

Francesca let out a bitter laugh. It didn't matter when. It had happened. The boy who would have taken a punch for her was now the man who would stand by and watch her burn.

The party for Amelia was a grand affair. Archer had spared no expense. He had transformed the ballroom into a fantasy land of flowers and twinkling lights, all to introduce the estate manager's daughter to New York high society.

Amelia stood at the top of the stairs in a custom-made gown, a vision of demure beauty. She smiled shyly as Archer took her hand.

"Do I look okay, Archer?" she asked, her voice soft and full of feigned insecurity.

It was a performance, and everyone was buying it.