Erin Yeats’s POV

I woke to a stranger’s hand sliding off my bare waist.

For one frozen second, I couldn’t breathe.

I was in a hotel room I didn’t recognize, lying under a thin sheet, with a man sleeping beside me.

A man I didn’t know.

My pulse lurched.

I didn’t remember coming here.

I didn’t remember this bed.

I didn’t remember him.

The last thing I remembered was my eighteenth-birthday party.

Music. Lights. Guests filling the Yeats estate.

And Nicole handing me a glass of sparkling punch.

My stepsister had smiled so sweetly.

“Come on, Erin. Just one drink. It’s your birthday.”

The drink had tasted sweet.

Too sweet.

Nicole.

My stomach turned cold.

She had drugged me.

There was no other explanation. The dizziness. The sudden weight in my limbs. The way the room had tilted before everything disappeared.

I had fallen straight into her trap.

I needed to leave.

Now.

My dress lay crumpled on the floor near the bed. I slipped out from under the sheet as quietly as I could, keeping my back to the sleeping man while I dressed in the dim light.

My hands shook.

The zipper caught twice before I managed to pull it up.

Behind me, the man shifted.

I froze.

He didn’t wake.

I grabbed my bag from the floor and moved toward the door.

Then I stopped.

For one strange second, I wanted to turn around.

To see his face.

To know who had been in that bed with me.

My fingers tightened around the doorknob.

No.

His face wouldn’t change what Nicole had done.

His face wouldn’t give me back the night she had stolen.

I opened the door and left without looking back.

In the taxi, I tried to steady my breathing.

I had to get home before Nicole twisted everything.

I had to tell my father first.

My father would believe me.

He had to.

I imagined his reaction the entire way back.

Shock.

Anger.

Maybe fear.

Maybe he would call a lawyer. Maybe he would send someone to the hotel. Maybe he would finally see Nicole for what she really was.

That was what fathers were supposed to do.

Protect their daughters.

By the time the taxi stopped outside the Yeats estate, I was clinging to that thought like a lifeline.

I ran through the main gate and pushed open the front door.

My father, Trent Yeats, was already standing in the hall.

Waiting.

The look on his face stopped me cold.

Not worry.

Not relief.

Disgust.

“Where were you last night?”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a verdict.

“Dad—”

Then I saw the photographs on the coffee table behind him.

My voice died.

A hotel corridor.

My body, limp, half-carried through a doorway.

A man beside me, his face turned away or blurred.

My own face wasn’t clear either.

It didn’t need to be.

Someone had gotten to him before I did.

Nicole.

Of course.

“Dad, listen to me.” My voice shook, but I forced the words out. “Nicole drugged my drink. She handed me that glass and—”

“Enough.”

My father pressed his palm flat against the table, his fingers digging into one of the photographs.

“I have eyes, Erin. I can see the truth.”

“No, you can’t.” My throat tightened. “You’re seeing what she wants you to see.”

A sharp click echoed from the staircase.

High heels.

Slow.

Steady.

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Nicole appeared in a champagne satin gown, perfect from head to toe, as if she had been waiting for her entrance.

She came to my side and rested her fingertips lightly on my arm.

“Erin,” she said softly. “I know you hate me. But right now…”

She let the sentence fade and gave a delicate sigh.

I jerked my arm away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Nicole lowered her eyes.

My father’s face hardened.

“Even now, you’re blaming her.”

“She did it!” I snapped. “She slipped something into my drink. I didn’t even know that man.”

Nicole whispered, “Dad, I don’t want to make things worse.”

I almost laughed.

She didn’t want to make things worse.

Because she already had.

My father looked at me as if I were something shameful he regretted owning.

“Keep lying,” he said. “Go on.”

My chest tightened.

“You’ve resented Nicole since she came into this family. She’s prettier, smarter, far more likable than you. Now you’ve disgraced yourself, and you want to drag her down with you?”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Prettier.

Smarter.

More likable.

So that was what he thought of me.

His daughter.

His actual daughter.

“It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” I asked quietly.

No one answered.

That was answer enough.

“I’ll find proof,” I said.

“There’s no need.” My father nodded toward the photos. “These are proof.”

I stared at him.

Then at Nicole.

Then back at the photos.

And in that moment, I finally understood.

The truth had never mattered.

Not to him.

Not when Nicole was standing there looking wounded and innocent.

My father reached beneath the coffee table and pulled out a document.

He threw it in front of me.

“Sign it.”

I looked down.

Bold black letters stared back at me.

Voluntary Renunciation of Inheritance Rights.

For a few seconds, I couldn’t process the words.

Then they hit.

My mother’s inheritance.

Her shares.

Her designs.

Everything she had left me.

Everything Nicole had wanted from the beginning.

I looked up at my father.

“You’re taking everything Mom left me? On my birthday?”

My voice cracked on the last word.

He didn’t even blink.

“Your mother’s gifts were yours only as long as you remained a Yeats.”

I stared at him.

“The scandal you caused last night means you no longer deserve that name.”

There it was.

Calm.

Cruel.

Final.

I looked at the man in front of me and realized the father I remembered had been gone for a long time.

Maybe since Nicole arrived.

Maybe since he first chose her tears over mine.

Maybe I had only been too desperate to notice.

A cold laugh escaped me.

“I hate you, Dad.”

His eyes flashed.

Nicole made a small wounded sound, as if my words had hurt her.

I grabbed the document from the table.

My father’s voice sharpened. “Erin.”

I tore it in half.

His face changed.

I tore it again.

And again.

White scraps scattered over the table, the floor, and the photographs.

“I won’t let you win,” I said. “And if you’re throwing me out, fine.”

I looked straight at him.

“I never wanted to be a Yeats anyway.”

His hand flew up.

I saw it coming.

I stepped aside before he could slap me.

His palm cut through empty air.

For one second, no one moved.

Then I let out a short breath and turned toward the stairs.

“Not today.”

Behind me, Nicole spoke in that gentle voice she used when she wanted to look innocent.

“Don’t be upset, Dad. No matter how my sister accuses me, I don’t mind. I just hate seeing her carry so much anger toward you.”

I kept walking.

If I stayed one more second, I would hit her.

My bedroom looked exactly the same.

That somehow made it worse.

The pale curtains.

The neat bed.

The framed photograph on my desk.

For eighteen years, this room had been mine.

Now it felt like a place I had already been erased from.

I pulled a suitcase from the closet and packed fast.

Three minutes.

One suitcase.

Only what mattered.

My mother’s earrings.

My sketchbook.

A few design drafts.

And the photograph of Mom.

In the picture, she was twenty-three, standing in front of Vienna Jewelry, smiling like the whole world was still kind.

I touched her face once.

Then I tucked the photo between my clothes and zipped the suitcase shut.

When I came downstairs, my father was gone.

Only Nicole waited in the hall.

Of course.

She followed me toward the front door, her heels clicking softly behind me.

“Leaving already?” she asked.

I ignored her.

Her voice dropped.

“I have footage from the entire night.”

I stopped.

My hand tightened around the suitcase handle.

Nicole stepped closer.

“Every single minute,” she said. “Crystal clear.”

Slowly, I turned.

She smiled.

“If you leave, don’t ever come back. Otherwise, I can’t promise it won’t accidentally leak.”

My blood went cold.

For one second, I saw the hotel room again.

The bed.

The sheet.

The stranger beside me.

Nicole watched me carefully, waiting for fear.

Maybe six hours ago, she would have gotten it.

Not now.

“My dear sister,” she said, stepping closer. “I’ll honestly miss you.”

She lifted an arm as if to drape it around my shoulder.

I shoved her hard.

Nicole stumbled back.

I raised my middle finger.

“Bitch,” I said. “We’ll see.”

Then I opened the front door and dragged my suitcase outside.

I didn’t look back.

Not once.

The door clicked shut behind me.

Soft.

Final.

Like a period at the end of everything.

Behind that door were my father, Nicole, the photographs, the inheritance papers, and a video she thought would keep me afraid forever.

Let her keep it.

One day, I would come back.

Not to explain.

Not to beg.

To take back everything they thought they had stolen.

*****

After Erin Left

Nicole watched the front door close behind Erin.

For a moment, she simply stood there, listening to the fading sound of suitcase wheels on the driveway.

Then she smiled.

Finally.

Erin was gone.

No father left on her side.

No inheritance in her hands.

No place left in this house.

Nicole smoothed one hand over her champagne satin gown and glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror.

Perfect.

Almost perfect.

Then headlights swept across the front windows.

Her smile paused.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up outside the estate.

Four men in dark suits stepped out first.

Bodyguards.

Nicole’s fingers tightened slightly at her side.

Then the rear door opened.

A man stepped out.

Tall.

Striking.

Dressed in a black suit tailored to perfection.

He carried himself like someone who had never once needed permission to enter a room.

Nicole recognized him a second later.

Orion Haywood.

CEO of Haywood Capital.

A financial mogul.

The kind of man even her father spoke of carefully.

Nicole’s heartbeat jumped.

Why was Orion Haywood here?

His cold gaze swept over the entrance before settling on her.

“Are you Nicole Yeats?”

His voice was deep, smooth, and empty of warmth.

Nicole straightened at once and gave him her most charming smile.

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

Orion’s gaze darkened.

“So you’re the woman who spent the night with me in Room 6228 of the Imperial Hotel?”

Nicole’s smile almost slipped.

Room 6228.

Imperial Hotel.

That was where she had sent Erin.

But not to Orion Haywood.

Never to Orion Haywood.

She had arranged someone else.

Someone pathetic.

Someone disposable.

Someone who would have ruined Erin beyond repair.

But Erin hadn’t ended up with that man.

Erin had ended up with him.

For one terrifying second, Nicole couldn’t breathe.

Then another thought surfaced.

Not panic.

Opportunity.

Erin was gone.

Orion clearly hadn’t seen Erin’s face.

And now Orion Haywood was standing in front of the Yeats estate, asking Nicole if she was the woman from that room.

Nicole lowered her lashes.

When she looked up again, her smile had changed.

Softer.

Shyer.

Perfectly shaken.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It was me.”

Orion fixed her with a sharp stare.

Nicole forced herself not to move.

Not to blink too quickly.

Not to show how hard her heart was pounding.

Finally, he spoke.

“I’m sorry for last night.”

Nicole’s breath caught.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

This time, the excitement was almost impossible to hide.

Erin had walked away with one suitcase and nothing else.

Nicole had stayed.

And fate had just handed her Orion Haywood.