Chapter 2

"You'll what?" Charley's voice screeched over the phone. "Hazel, are you out of your mind? You can't be serious."

I stood in the terminal at JFK, the chaos of the airport a dull roar in the background. "I'm perfectly serious. I'm going to take your place."

"No! Absolutely not! I was asking for your help to run away, not for you to sacrifice yourself! They say Christian Mccall is a monster. Horribly scarred from a childhood accident, with a temper to match. He never leaves his mansion. This isn't a marriage; it's a prison sentence!"

"It's a done deal, Charley," I said, my voice calm. It was a strange, hollow calmness, the kind that comes after every emotion has been burned out of you.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Did... did my brother do something to you?"

"Adler and I are over."

"What?" she shrieked, drawing the attention of a man wrestling with his luggage nearby. "He broke up with you? That bastard! I'm going to kill him! After everything you did for him! Is it because of Annika? I swear to God, Hazel, I will ruin him."

Her fierce loyalty was a sharp pang in my chest. "It doesn't matter anymore, Charley. This is my choice. You deserve to be happy with Liam. Go. Get on that plane to Paris and don't look back."

I had already booked her ticket. I' d used the last of my emergency savings, the money I' d been setting aside for a down payment on a house for me and Adler. The irony was a bitter pill.

"But Hazel... your life..." Her voice was thick with guilt.

"My life is my own now," I said, and for the first time, the words felt true. "I want you to be happy. That's all that matters to me."

We said our goodbyes, a tearful, rushed affair at the security gate. She hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe.

"I owe you everything," she whispered against my hair.

"Just live a beautiful life," I told her, pushing her gently toward her gate. "That's all the payment I need."

I watched her plane taxi down the runway and lift into the sky, a silver bird disappearing into the clouds. Freedom. For her, at least.

I stood there for a long time, the memory of another airport visit playing in my mind. It was three years ago. Adler had just secured his first major funding round for Monroe Tech. He' d surprised me with tickets to Italy. We' d stood in this very terminal, and he' d kissed me, telling me that none of it would have been possible without me. I had cried with happiness, believing him with every fiber of my being.

What a naive little fool I had been.

My first stop after the airport was a high-end bridal boutique on Madison Avenue. The Monroe family' s liaison for the arranged marriage had called, coldly informing me that "the bride" needed to be fitted for a dress today. They didn't even use a name. It could have been any Monroe daughter. It didn't matter who the woman was, only that the contract was fulfilled.

A saleswoman with a practiced, plastic smile greeted me. "Miss Monroe? We have the Versailles suite ready for you. We've pre-selected some of our most exquisite gowns."

I waved a dismissive hand. "Just show me your simplest design."

She looked momentarily flustered. "Simplest? But this is for your wedding to Mr. Mccall..."

"The simplest one you have," I repeated.

She led me to a sleek, unadorned silk sheath dress. No lace, no beading, no train. It was elegant but stark.

"This one," I said.

"An excellent choice. Shall we get your measurements and begin the fitting?"

"No need," I said, pulling out the credit card Adler had given me for "emergencies." "Just box it up in a standard size six. I'll have it tailored myself."

The woman' s smile faltered. "But, Miss... not even to try it on?"

"It's a business transaction," I said flatly. "The packaging doesn't need to be perfect."

I didn' t care what I wore to marry a monster. This wasn't about love or happiness. It was about escape. The Mccall family was powerful, reclusive, and lived on the other side of the country. Marrying their heir was like entering witness protection. Adler would never be able to reach me there. The Monroes didn't care which daughter they sent, as long as the alliance was sealed. My own parents had passed away years ago, so there was no one to object. It was a clean break.

Back at the apartment-his apartment-I began the ritual. I took down every framed photo of us. The one from our trip to Italy, the one from his first company launch, the one from Christmas last year. I didn't smash them. I simply removed the photos, tore each one into four neat pieces, and dropped them in the trash.

I gathered every gift he'd ever given me-the designer handbags, the expensive jewelry, the first-edition books. I placed them all in a large cardboard box to be donated. The only thing I kept was the ugly ceramic mug I' d made for him in a pottery class, the one with a lopsided heart and our initials. I didn't know why I kept it. Maybe as a reminder of my own stupidity.

Then I went through my phone, my thumb a ruthless weapon. I deleted every photo, every text, every saved voicemail. I untagged myself from every post, blocked his number, and erased every digital trace of our five years together. It was a methodical, painless act of annihilation.

Just as I was about to wipe my laptop, a call came through from an unknown number.

"Miss Preston? This is Martin from the Oak Room club. You were here last week for the charity gala? It seems you left a small sketchbook behind. We've been holding it for you."

My sketchbook. It was filled with my designs, my ideas... my entire professional life. And, hidden in the back, dozens of old sketches of Adler.

"I'll be right there to pick it up," I said.

The Oak Room was an exclusive private club, the kind of place where billionaires made deals over whiskey and cigars. When I arrived, the main hall was buzzing with a strange, predatory energy. A crowd was gathered, their voices a low, excited murmur.

"Can you believe he's actually doing it?" a woman in a Chanel dress whispered. "Auctioning off her 'first night' all over again? It's barbaric."

"It's not her first night, darling, not by a long shot," her friend sneered. "But it's the principle of the thing. He' s putting her on a literal auction block. After she came crawling back to him, this is how he gets his revenge. It's brilliant. And sick."

My blood ran cold. I pushed my way through the crowd, my eyes fixed on the makeshift stage at the front of the room.

And there he was.

Adler stood beside an auctioneer, looking handsome and cruel in a dark suit. His expression was impassive, but his eyes burned with a cold fire as he scanned the room.

Then, two large men dragged Annika onto the stage. She was wearing a flimsy, backless red dress, her makeup perfect, her expression a mixture of fear and defiant pride. She had agreed to this. For money, for status, for a chance to get back into his orbit, she had agreed to let him publicly humiliate her.

The crowd murmured, their faces a mix of shock and titillated excitement.

"Look at him," someone behind me said. "He says it's revenge for how she dumped him when he was broke."

"Revenge?" another voice scoffed. "Please. The man is still obsessed. He doesn't want anyone else to have her, so he's 'buying' her himself, under the guise of this twisted spectacle. He' s trying to own her."

"What about that girlfriend of his? The designer? Hazel, was it?"

"Poor girl. Imagine being the sensible, boring choice while your boyfriend is still playing these kinds of sick games with his ex. She' s just a placeholder. Everyone knows it. He'll never love anyone the way he loved Annika."

The voices faded into a dull ringing in my ears. I saw it all now. This wasn't revenge. This was a mating dance. A toxic, destructive ritual between two equally damaged people. He was never going to be free of her.

He was never going to be mine. He never had been.

The auctioneer began the bidding. Adler stood there, watching, a silent, possessive king reclaiming his broken queen.