Chapter 1: The Diamond Collar

The champagne in my glass was warm. I didn't drink it. I just held it because I needed something to do with my hands.

"Smile, Clara," my father hissed in my ear.

I forced the corners of my mouth up. It hurt. My cheeks ached from fake smiling for three hours.

We were at the Grand Hotel ballroom. The room was filled with the smell of expensive perfume and fresh lilies. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above us. To anyone looking in, it looked like a fairy tale.

But to me, it was an auction block.

"He is coming over," my father whispered, gripping my elbow hard. "Stand up straight. Don't embarrass me."

I straightened my spine. My dress—a tight, silver silk gown—felt like it was shrinking. It was beautiful, but it felt like wrapping paper.

A man walked towards us. Mr. Sterling.

He was fifty-five years old. He had thinning hair and skin that looked sweaty even in the air-conditioned room. He was one of the richest men in the city.

And he was the man my father wanted me to marry.

"Richard!" Sterling boomed, shaking my father’s hand. Then his watery eyes turned to me. They slid down my body, lingering on my chest.

I felt like I needed a shower.

"And the lovely Clara," Sterling said. He took my free hand and kissed it. His lips were wet. "You look stunning tonight, my dear. Like a silver trophy."

A trophy. That’s all I was.

"Thank you, Mr. Sterling," I said quietly. My voice sounded hollow.

"Please, call me Arthur," he said, stepping too close. I could smell his breath—stale cigars and mints. "After all, we have much to discuss. Your father tells me the merger is almost ready."

By "merger," he meant the marriage. He was going to pay off my father’s massive debts, and in exchange, he got me.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the warm champagne in his face and run. But I couldn't.

My little sister, Ellie, was at home. She needed tuition for art school. She needed a roof over her head. If I ran, my father would lose everything. We would be on the street.

So I stood there. I let him hold my hand. I let him think he owned me.

Suddenly, the music stopped.

The chatter in the ballroom died down. A strange silence swept across the room, starting from the entrance.

"Who is that?" someone whispered nearby.

"Is that... Vane?"

I turned toward the double doors.

A man was walking in.

He was tall. Taller than anyone else in the room. He wore a black suit that fit him so perfectly it looked like armor. His hair was dark, swept back from a face that was dangerously sharp. High cheekbones. A strong jaw.

But it was his eyes that froze me.

They were blue. Not the color of the sky, but the color of ice. Cold. Hard. Empty.

He didn't look like he belonged at a party. He looked like a wolf walking into a sheep pen.

"It can't be," my father gasped beside me. His grip on my arm turned painful. "Silas Vane."

The name hit me like a punch.

Silas Vane.

I remembered him. Ten years ago, he was the boy whose father worked with mine. He was the boy who wore second-hand clothes. The boy my father had laughed at when he kicked his family out of the company.

I remembered a boy with dirt on his shoes and tears in his eyes.

But the man standing there now had no tears. He looked like he had burned his tears a long time ago.

He walked into the room, and the crowd parted for him. They were scared of him.

He walked straight toward us.

Mr. Sterling looked annoyed. "Who invited him?"

Silas stopped three feet away. He didn't look at Sterling. He didn't look at me.

He looked straight at my father.

"Richard," Silas said. His voice was deep and smooth, like velvet wrapped around a knife. "It’s been a long time."

My father was shaking. He was terrified.

"Silas," my father stammered. "I... I didn't know you were back in the city."

"I never left," Silas said calmly. "I was just waiting."

Then, for the first time, Silas turned his head.

His ice-blue eyes locked onto mine.

My heart stopped beating. He looked at me, and I felt naked. He didn't look at me with lust, like Mr. Sterling. He looked at me with something much worse.

He looked at me like I was a target.

"Hello, Clara," he said softly.

He remembered my name.

"You grew up," he noted, his eyes scanning my silver dress. "You look expensive."

"What do you want, Vane?" Mr. Sterling stepped in, trying to be tough. "We are in the middle of a private conversation."

Silas looked at Sterling. He smiled. It was a terrifying, cold smile.

"I'm here for business, Arthur," Silas said. "I heard there was a sale going on."

He looked back at me.

"And I’m in the mood to buy."

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