It has been seven years since my brother died. In that time, I have become the most pampered "canary" in the gilded cage of Everett Lowell, the crown prince of New York’s old-money elite. Society calls me a sycophant. They say I’m a shameless social climber who traded her soul for his black cards and his family’s terrifying influence. And on the surface, they’re right. I act as if I want his money, his power, and the protection of the Lowell name. But they don’t know the truth. I’ve stayed by his side for five years because I don’t want his wealth. I want his life. Seven years ago, my brother, Emmett, was an aspiring stage actor. During a gala performance, he wore a dress for a Shakespearean piece that caught Everett’s eye. Everett offered him a single, appreciative smile. That smile was a death sentence. It ignited a psychopathic jealousy in Everett’s childhood sweetheart, Seraphina Sutherland. To appease his "Golden Girl," Everett stood by while his men cornered Emmett. They forced industrial-strength sulfuric acid down his throat. The acid burned through his tongue, his throat, his esophagus, and finally his stomach. As he lay dying in agony, Seraphina reportedly leaned over him and tutted, "Oh, it’s just a man in a dress. How revolting." When they finally found me, they pointed to a charred, unrecognizable corpse and told me, "Your brother was thirsty. He accidentally drank a bottle of cleaning acid. A tragic mistake." But my brother lived for the theater. He treated his voice like a holy relic; he wouldn't even touch a soda to protect his vocal cords. He would never "accidentally" drink acid. They thought they were lying to a helpless child. They had no idea they were creating a monster. 1 Seraphina Sutherland, the "Princess of the Hamptons," has finally returned from her years in London. For a month, Everett hasn't called me. He hasn't touched me. He hasn't even sent a text. Online, the tabloids are screaming. Every video of Everett escorting Seraphina to charity galas or high-end auctions is flooded with comments directed at me. “A placeholder is just a placeholder. No matter how hard Jade Quinn tries to mimic the real thing, she’ll never be Seraphina.” “The Queen is back to claim her throne. Jade’s days of playing house in that penthouse are officially over.” “Haven't seen Jade in weeks. She probably got her walking papers the moment Seraphina’s plane touched down at JFK.” I scrolled through the vitriol with a blank face. Then, I quietly posted a photo to my Instagram. It wasn't a selfie or a luxury bag. It was my newly minted Professional Diving Instructor certification. My small but loyal fanbase jumped in immediately. “Jade, you’re incredible! You never stop learning!” A hater replied instantly: “Please. This is just another pathetic ploy to get Everett’s attention. Everyone knows the Lowell family spends their summers diving in the Mediterranean. She’s just desperate to stay relevant.” “At least she’s capable,” a fan shot back. “Jade has more certifications than a library. She’s got her pilot’s license, her pastry chef degree, her yoga instructor cert… she’s a diamond compared to Seraphina, who just got her degree deferred again for failing every class.” The supporters were the minority. Most people just wanted to see the "homewrecker" fall. And they weren't wrong about one thing: I was a fox. I had spent five years meticulously dismantling Everett’s defenses, making myself indispensable to his lifestyle. To please him, I climbed mountains. I skied the Alps. I jumped out of planes. I learned to cook five-star French cuisine and studied nutrition. Every certificate I earned bought me a few more weeks of his attention. For five years, I was his shadow. I was the woman who understood his silences and fueled his adrenaline. I was the one who welcomed him into my bed without the demands of a socialite. Compared to Seraphina—a woman who defined her existence through tantrums and fragile tears—any man with a brain would choose me. Women admire power. Men, however, are addicted to the peace a woman like me provides. 2 At midnight, the elevator to the penthouse chimed. Everett was here. He looked exhausted, smelling of expensive bourbon and the cold night air. The moment I saw him, I didn't demand explanations. I didn't ask where he’d been. I simply crossed the room and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his chest. I let a few silent, warm tears soak into his custom-made shirt. “Why didn’t you call?” I whispered. “I would have made you dinner.” I knew exactly why he was here. Earlier that day, my fans had flooded Seraphina’s social media, telling her to "keep her man on a leash" and pointing out that Everett was still paying for my lifestyle. It was the first time someone had dared to insult the Sutherland heiress on her own turf. Seraphina had snapped. She’d posted a screenshot of a text she sent Everett: Blacklist Jade Quinn, or the engagement is off. Everett was here to cut the cord. But Everett, my love… do you really think it’s that easy? 3 “Jade,” he said, his voice deep and raspy. “We’re done. This is the end.” My body stiffened. I let my arms go slack, stepping back just enough to create a hollow space between us. Then, I forced a smile. A pathetic, heartbroken, "I-understand-my-place" smile. My eyes were rimmed with red. “Okay,” I said. Just one word. No accusations. His brow furrowed. He looked almost annoyed by how easy I was making this. “The penthouse is yours. I’ve set up a trust for you. There’s enough in there to ensure you never have to work another day in your life.” I nodded, tears finally spilling over. “Thank you. That’s… very generous.” He bit his lip, guilt flickering in his cold blue eyes. “Is there anything else? Anything at all. Just name it.” I opened my mouth, then closed it, as if the words were too heavy to speak. When I finally found my voice, it was a fractured whisper. “You’ve given me so much, Everett. I wouldn’t dream of asking for more.” “Say it,” he pressed, desperate to alleviate the shame of discarding me. “Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen.” I started to shake. I bit my lower lip so hard it nearly bled. “I… I just finished my accounting exams. I was going to study for the LSAT. I don’t want to be in the spotlight anymore. I want a real life. I want to work.” I looked up at him, my gaze desperate. “If I apply—through the proper channels, no favors, just a blind resume—could you just… please tell HR not to reject me? Just a junior position at Lowell Holdings. I won’t tell anyone about us. I’ll never talk to Seraphina. I just… I need to be in the same building as you. Just to know you’re there. It’s the only way I’ll have the strength to keep going. Everett… please?” I was begging, smaller than a grain of sand. His entire body went rigid. I saw his eyes soften, a terrifyingly possessive tenderness taking hold. “I’ll be so good,” I promised. “I won’t make her angry. I know she’s your world, and if she’s unhappy, you’re unhappy. I never want you to be unhappy.” As I spoke, I let my knees buckle. The "exhaustion" of my supposed grief took over. I collapsed, but I didn't hit the floor. He caught me, his strong arms pulling me into his lap. Right on cue, Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper I’d spent years befriending, appeared in the doorway, dabbing at her eyes with an apron. “Mr. Lowell,” she sobbed. “Miss Jade has been waiting for you every night. She hasn’t eaten in days. She says she can’t swallow without you here.” “Higgins, don’t,” I weakly protested. “I have to!” she cried. “She’s been having nightmares every night, screaming your name, begging you not to leave her. She wouldn’t let me call you because she didn’t want to ‘bother’ you. Sir, she’s so depressed… she even…” She trailed off, pointing to my wrist. Everett’s hand flew to my arm. He pulled back the silk sleeve of my robe, his thumb brushing over the jagged, raised scars I’d carefully cultivated. I heard him let out a long, shuddering breath. I knew then. He wasn't going anywhere tonight. 4 When I "woke up" the next morning, Everett was sitting by my bed. He was staring at the wall. Not the blank space, but the wall covered in thousands of candid photos I’d taken of him over the last five years. There he was, mid-laugh on a hiking trail. There he was, focused on a legal brief. There he was, emerging from the ocean like a god. It was an altar of obsession. But the real trap was on the back of those photos. I knew he’d seen them. I’d written the same words on every single one in my most elegant script: I miss you, Emmett. I love you, Emmett. When can I see you again, Emmett? Everett’s fingers traced the ink. His face was a mask of conflict. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to be the reason I died. I sat up, pretending to be startled. I reached for him, then pulled back, acting as though I’d remembered we were broken up. “Everett, I’m okay. Really.” My voice was thick with "fake" strength. “Don’t listen to Higgins. I can take care of myself. You should go. Seraphina is waiting.” “Jade—” “Go,” I urged, a tear tracking down my cheek. “I don’t want you to be miserable because of me. I’ll move out soon. I just need a little time to… to pack. I’ll be okay. I promise…” I broke down then, sobbing into my hands until my shoulders shook. He didn't leave. He lunged forward, pulling me into a crushing embrace. “You stupid girl,” he muttered against my hair. “Where would you even go? Why are you pushing me away when you should be begging me to stay?” He pulled back, his expensive fingers wiping away my tears before he kissed me with a hunger that bordered on violent. “I’m not going,” he vowed. “Not tonight. Not ever.” We stayed in that bed until the sun was high in the sky. Then, the silence was shattered. My phone—which I’d conveniently left on the nightstand—began to scream. It was Seraphina. I answered and immediately hit the speakerphone. Her voice shrilled through the room like a jagged blade. “Is Everett there?! Tell him if he isn't in front of me in thirty minutes, we are done! Do you hear me, you little slut? Done!” Click. I looked at Everett, my face pale and terrified. I scrambled out of bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor and shoving them into his hands. “You have to go! The driver is downstairs. I’ll make you coffee for the road—maybe he can speed—please, Everett, don’t let her be angry—” He grabbed my waist, hauling me back into his lap. He looked disgusted. “Ignore her,” he spat. “The way you’re acting… you make it look like I’m afraid of her.” I blinked, my eyes wide with feigned confusion. “Compared to your gentleness,” he added, his voice low and dangerous, “I’ve realized I’m sick to death of her tantrums.” “But she’s the Sutherland heiress,” I whispered. “What if she actually breaks the engagement?” He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Let her try. The Sutherlands are bleeding money. They need the Lowell merger to survive. It’s time I reminded her of that fact. I’m tired of seeing you cry because of her.” I looked at him, my eyes shining with "adoration." “Everett… does this mean you’re keeping me?” He smirked, ruffling my hair like I was a loyal golden retriever. “I’ve offered you five million dollars and you didn't even blink, but the thought of staying with me makes you look like you won the lottery. Do you really love me that much?” I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder so he couldn't see the coldness in my eyes. “I love you more than anything, Emmett,” I whispered. Yes. I loved Emmett. My brother.
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