1 I was born with a silver-plated heart and a radar for net worth. My philosophy was simple: a man’s charm was directly proportional to the number of zeros in his bank account. Unfortunately, I was a terrible con artist. I tried to play the part of a Manhattan socialite while wearing Temu-tier knock-offs, and I once tried to reel in a tech heir only to forget to turn off my location tags on a post from a dive bar in Brooklyn. After three years of "climbing," I was so broke I was skipping meals to pay for my hair extensions. That was until Gavin Blackwood, the most powerful man in the tri-state area, brought me into his glass-and-steel fortress and started depositing ten million dollars into my account every month. The catch? A freak medical anomaly. We were tethered. He called it "sensory resonance." Whatever agony I felt, he suffered tenfold. When I stubbed my toe on a marble pedestal, he had to cancel a day of board meetings because the phantom pain was so crippling. When a jealous rival slipped laxatives into my latte, Gavin spent three days in the hospital for severe dehydration; the day he was discharged, he bought her father’s firm, liquidated it, and effectively erased their name from the East Coast. When his obsessed ex cornered me on Fifth Avenue and slapped me, Gavin walked into a high-stakes merger meeting with a swelling, bruised face. By the time he walked out, her family’s retail empire had vanished overnight. After that, I became the untouchable ghost of New York high society. My only job was to stay alive, stay healthy, and spend his money with reckless abandon. That peace lasted until Gavin had to fly to London for a week. Within forty-eight hours, Serena Prescott—his "golden girl," the one the tabloids had spent years casting as his future bride—stormed into the penthouse. "A parasitic little gold-digger like you?" she sneered, her eyes raking over my silk robe. "You actually think you belong here?" She snatched my black card out of my hand and signaled her two goons. They shoved me down, forcing my palms into the shards of a shattered crystal vase on the floor. "Don't do this," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline. "You're going to hurt him." She let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "I’m going to hurt you." A second later, the thin stiletto of her shoe slammed down toward my hand. I curled my fingers inward at the last millisecond. The heel missed my knuckles but caught the back of my hand, driving a jagged piece of crystal deep into my palm. Blood—bright, hot, and terrifying—blotted the white rug. "Miss Miller!" Martha, the housekeeper, turned pale as a sheet, rushing forward to help. Serena stepped in her way, blocking her path. "What’s the panic? It’s just a scratch. She isn't going to die." I gripped my wrist, the world turning gray at the edges. Before Gavin left, he’d been obsessive. He’d even had the corners of the furniture padded. He’d been gone three days, and Serena had already served me a bloodied welcome gift. I took a shaky breath, trying to be the adult in the room. "Serena, listen to me. I don't love Gavin. I have no intention of marrying him. He pays me ten million a month to eat well and sleep safe. That is the extent of our relationship. You can have the engagement, the wedding, the whole damn circus. I am not a threat to you." Serena looked around at the stacks of designer bags and the priceless art. She scoffed. "You live in his bed, you spend his millions, and you expect me to believe you don't have designs on him? Do I look like a child to you?" I shook my head, my vision swimming. "No. A child would be easier to reason with." Her face contorted. Serena was the heiress to the Prescott pharmaceutical fortune, a staple of the Upper East Side. But compared to the Blackwood legacy, she was just a shiny accessory. Her family had spent years trying to broker a union with Gavin to save their falling stock. She wanted his power; I wanted his cash. We could have been allies. "If you actually want to be Mrs. Blackwood," I gritted out, "you’ll let me fix this hand. My being injured serves no one—especially not you." Serena’s eyes lit up with a sick sort of triumph. "Finally, the mask slips. Are you threatening me with Gavin now? A nameless mistress trying to teach me how to handle my own fiancé?" She snatched the first-aid kit from Martha’s hands and hurled it into the infinity pool outside. Martha let out a stifled cry. "Miss Prescott, please! Mr. Blackwood’s only rule is that Miss Miller must remain unharmed! If this continues, the Prescotts won't survive the fallout!" Hearing the word "only" made the jealousy in Serena’s eyes burn hotter. "His only rule? For her?" She raised her hand to strike me again. I flinched back, but my foot slipped on the bloody glass. I went down hard against the side of the sofa. Serena looked at my bleeding foot and smiled. "If you’re so 'important,' why hasn't Gavin flown back from London to save you?" She tilted her head toward her security team. "Search the room. I want to see exactly what kind of filth she’s been using to keep him hooked." The men tore into my bedroom. Clothes, jewelry, and bags were tossed like trash. Minutes later, her assistant emerged holding a burner phone I’d never seen before. On the screen were fabricated messages—steamy texts between me and a mysterious man, and screenshots of a fifty-million-dollar wire transfer in exchange for Blackwood Industries’ internal bidding secrets. Serena held the phone up, her face a mask of smug victory. "Caught red-handed. What now, Jade? Any more lies?" I looked at the screen and sighed. "You can accuse me of cheating, Serena. But don't insult my professional integrity. He gives me ten million a month. You think I’d sell him out for a measly fifty million? Please. I have higher standards." That was the breaking point. "Hold her down!" Serena screamed. "I’m doing Gavin a favor. I’m cleaning out the trash!" Just as the guard grabbed my arm, the penthouse doors were thrown open. Marcus Reed, Gavin’s Chief of Staff, burst in with a medical team. When he saw the blood on the floor, the color drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint. "Miss Prescott, get away from her now!" Marcus’s voice was trembling with pure terror. "If she suffers one more bruise, your entire family is done. It’s over!" Serena blinked, then laughed. "Marcus, you’re a glorified secretary. Don't speak to me about my family." Marcus ignored her. He dropped to his knees beside me, checking the gash on my hand. "Jade, where else are you hurt? Tell me." "My shoulder," I whispered. "They were a little rough." Marcus looked like he was about to vomit. He barked at the doctors, "Check everything! Every inch! Don't miss a single scratch!" Serena stepped in front of the doctor. "No one touches her." Marcus looked up, his eyes cold and sharp. "This is a direct order from Mr. Blackwood. Before he boarded his flight, he said—and I quote—'If a single hair on her head is out of place, I will burn it all down.' If you want that wedding, Serena, you stop this second." Serena’s voice went shrill. "He’s in London and he’s worried about her? Who is the future wife here?" "Currently?" Marcus said. "Mr. Blackwood has never acknowledged a contract with the Prescotts." That hit the bullseye. The marriage was a rumor the Prescotts had leaked to the press to bolster their image. Gavin hadn't said a word. "Hold him down too!" Serena screamed at her guards. "When I’m Mrs. Blackwood, you’re the first person I’m firing!" The room descended into chaos. Serena’s twenty-man security detail swarmed Marcus’s smaller team. In the blur of the fight, Serena grabbed me by the hair and dragged me away from the sofa. My knees slammed into the hardwood. A white-hot spike of pain shot up my spine. "Stop!" Marcus roared, pinned by two men. "Gavin cannot see her hurt! Everything you do to her, you are doing to him!" Serena yanked my head back, forcing me to look at her. "He can't see her hurt?" She signaled her assistant to start a live-stream on a private social media channel used by the elite. Then, she threw a document at my face. It was a total asset transfer—property, stocks, jewelry, trusts. It totaled at least 1.5 billion dollars. My heart did a little somersault. That was a lot of zeros. She shoved a pen into my hand. "Sign it. Confess to the affair and the corporate espionage on camera, and I’ll let you walk out of here." I dropped the pen. "No." "You're about to lose your life, and you're worried about the money?" "Of course," I said. "I can live without Gavin. I can't live without his money. That’s just basic math." It was my final stand as a professional gold-digger. Serena’s breathing became ragged. "Fine. Let's see which is harder: your bones or your pride." She ordered them to pin my right hand onto the marble coffee table. Her assistant handed her a heavy, solid brass decorative bust. Marcus was fighting like a caged animal, his eyes bloodshot. "Serena, stop! She is the most important person in his life! He would rather be shot than see her bleed!" Serena’s last shred of sanity snapped. "Most important? Then what am I?" She swung the brass bust down toward my hand. Marcus broke free for a split second, throwing his arm over mine to shield me. There was a sickening thud. Marcus’s arm bent at an impossible angle, his face turning ghostly white. Before I could even process the scream stuck in my throat, Serena’s palm connected with my face in a stinging slap. "If he loves her so much," Serena hissed, "I’m going to let everyone in this city see exactly what he’s been keeping in his gilded cage."
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