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Chapter 1: Her Boyfriend Has a Girlfriend Katerina Morley had been Alaric Harlow's secret for years. Then, finally, he made her a promise: on her twenty-fifth birthday, he would make them official. Public. Real. Five days. She had five days left to wait. She'd been savoring every one of them. She never got to see him keep that promise. What she got instead was the sight of Alaric tangled up with her stepsister. She picked up her phone before she'd even finished processing what she'd seen. "Mom." Her voice was steady. "I'll do the arranged marriage. I'm ready to sign the paperwork today." She was out of Alaric's place before the day was over. By nightfall, she'd married his worst enemy. ****** "Kat, my uncle's got a girlfriend!" Katerina was still coming down from the anesthesia when her best friend Magnolia Harlow's call came through. She'd just had an emergency appendectomy, and the world still had soft, blurred edges. Magnolia was Alaric's niece. She'd always called him uncle. In the beginning, Katerina had called him that too — just following Magnolia's lead. But once she and Alaric got together, the word stopped fitting. She stopped using it. Magnolia still had no idea they'd been together for years. Alaric had made sure of that. He'd forbidden Katerina from telling anyone. They were a secret. No one knew. Katerina pushed herself upright against the hospital pillows, ignoring the pull of pain low on her right side. Had Alaric finally told his family about them? Was this it — the beginning of going public? Maybe he'd decided not to wait for her birthday after all. She'd been quietly stewing because he hadn't answered any of her messages before she went into surgery. Now the sting of that faded a little. She opened her mouth, guilt already creeping in. "Maggie, I — " "You're his secretary, you must've known." Magnolia didn't let her finish. "He's been single forever, and it turns out he was just waiting for her the whole time. Can you believe it? He and Genevieve Prescott are together!" The name hit her like a door swung into her face. Genevieve Prescott. "I really can't stand her, honestly," Magnolia went on, voice dropping into a familiar complaining tone. "She's so dramatic, always performing. I have no idea what my uncle sees in her." A moment ago Katerina had been terrified of being found out. Now she sat very still, the fear replaced by something colder. Because the girlfriend Magnolia was describing wasn't her. The incision throbbed. She pressed her lips together and pushed through it. "Maggie — are you sure? Could you have gotten it wrong?" He had held her every night before he left the country. How did someone go from that to someone else? Magnolia made a sharp, dismissive sound. "I'm looking right at them. We're on the same ski trip." A photo came through a second later. "Look at them. He's warming her hands. He kissed her right in front of me." Alaric had told Katerina to wait five days. Five days until her birthday, and he would finally let the world know she existed. Instead, she was in a hospital bed with a fresh surgical wound, watching him kiss someone else. Genevieve wasn't a stranger. They didn't share blood, but they shared a household — after Katerina's father died, her mother had remarried into the Prescott family. Genevieve was her stepsister. Katerina's whole body had started to shake. "You know what's funny?" Magnolia said. "Genevieve kind of looks like you. If my uncle has a type and it's basically you, he might as well just date you — I'd actually be thrilled." Katerina closed her eyes. She made an excuse and ended the call. Then she looked at her phone, and there it was — a new post from Genevieve on Twitter. 【My personal trainer. 😊】 The photo was the same one Magnolia had sent her. Three years. Katerina had spent three years with Alaric and he'd never once let her put a photo of them anywhere. Every time she asked, he had a reason. She'd believed every single one. She understood now. It was never about the photos. In the image, Alaric wasn't looking at the camera. His eyes were on Genevieve — low, soft, full of something Katerina had thought was hers. A new comment loaded beneath the post. 【Alaric Harlow: My Princess Ginny. 】 She stared at the username. His account. She'd never known he even had one. She clicked through to his profile, and the scroll killed her one post at a time. Valentine's Day. Christmas. New Year's. Every late night. Every business trip. Every time he'd said he was stuck at the office. All of it. Every single absence — he'd spent it with Genevieve. Each word on the screen was a blade, and she just kept scrolling. The cold seeped into her bones until breathing hurt. So that was what she'd been. A stand-in. A placeholder for her own stepsister. Enough. She pulled up her messages and typed to her mother, Isadora Langford. 【Mom. I'll do the arranged marriage.】 Isadora, who was never warm, who had barely spoken to her in years — she replied almost instantly. 【Good. I'm sending you the address. Go meet him now.】 A short, bitter sound escaped Katerina's throat. Of course. Her mother couldn't wait to trade her away for the right connection. She waited until her IV drip finished, then flagged down a car and gave the driver the restaurant address. — Alaric and Genevieve had come in from the slopes when he noticed the missed calls from Katerina — several of them. He frowned and was about to call her back when Genevieve's voice pulled him around. "Alaric, my boots are soaked through!" He locked his phone. The frown smoothed into something easy and warm. "Hold on, sit down. I've got it." Katerina was home, safe. Whatever it was could wait. Chapter 2 "How About We Get Married Right Now?" Isadora Langford was never going to arrange a good match for Katerina Morley. After her mother remarried, every scrap of warmth went to Genevieve Prescott. Katerina had long since made peace with that. She took a slow breath and pushed open the door to the private room — and stopped. This was Young Master Clifton? The man stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, phone to his ear. Nearly six-three, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, one hand tucked lazily in his pocket. When the door opened, those cold dark eyes slid toward her without urgency — just a flicker of surprise, one sharp brow lifting the slightest bit. She had to admit it: the Clifton family's son had a face that had absolutely nothing wrong with it. Katerina pressed her lips together, let the door close behind her, and pulled out the chair across from him. She sat and waited for him to finish his call. He hung up and turned around, settling into his seat with a look that said her presence genuinely puzzled him. "You're here because..." "My name is Katerina Morley. I'm here for the arranged marriage. If you agree, we can get married immediately." Alaric Harlow's cruelty had taught her everything she needed to know about men. Marriage was marriage. It didn't matter who the man was — love was never part of the equation anyway. The corner of his mouth curved up, his confusion somehow deepening. "Married?" he asked, like the word amused him. She steadied herself. "Obviously. An arranged marriage exists for one reason — to actually get married. I don't care what you do outside. But if you get someone pregnant, don't expect me to play stepmother. The best I'll do is look the other way." "What I'd prefer is a one-year arrangement. I play the role of your wife for twelve months, and when the year is up, we go our separate ways." "Don't worry — since this is arranged, I have no interest in your family's money. You can have a prenup drawn up if you want. I'm fine signing whatever agreement makes you comfortable. Does that work for you?" She felt she'd been more than reasonable. Word was that this Clifton heir was a notorious playboy — not particularly good-looking, apparently, but generous with women. Yet the man in front of her was clearly, undeniably handsome. The rumors had clearly missed the mark. Then again, a man who looked like this would have women lining up regardless. A wandering eye made sense. He studied her with dark, probing eyes, and her heart gave a small, startled lurch. "Sure," he said. His voice was lazy, faintly rough at the edges. "It's still early. How about we go get that marriage license right now?" ****** At five-thirty, Katerina walked out of city hall with the man and a marriage certificate in her hand. She didn't even look at it — just shoved it into her bag. It still didn't feel real. That was it? They were married? That was fast... He was watching her, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. "Second thoughts?" "None." She shook her head. "I have somewhere to be. I'll head out." "Hold on." He reached out to stop her. "What's your number?" Fair enough. They were husband and wife now. Not exchanging numbers would be a little ridiculous. She recited her number. He called it. She realized she hadn't looked at his name on the certificate. "Royce," he said. She nodded. "Okay. So — back to our own places for now?" She needed to get to Alaric's apartment and move her things out. Royce Dalton gave a slight nod, his tone even. "Need a ride?" "No, I'll grab a car. I'm fine." They went their separate ways. A few minutes later, a WhatsApp contact request landed on Katerina's phone from her brand-new husband. The note he'd attached was blunt: Your husband. Warmth crept into her cheeks. She accepted it without thinking. When it came time to add his contact name, she paused — then typed: Husband. They'd agreed to play the part of a loving couple for a year. He'd gotten her out of a corner, and she'd hold up her end of the deal. A contact name was nothing. Alaric Harlow, pinned at the top of her chats for three years, still hadn't called. She let out a short, self-mocking laugh, unpinned his contact, and blocked him. ****** Katerina turned the marriage certificate over in her hands and called her mother. "Mom. I'll get married — on your terms. But I want every share of the hotel Dad left in his name, and Genevieve needs to move out of Bellemont Villa." The hotel had been her father's. Her mother had been managing it since his death. Bellemont Villa was the small house her parents had shared when they first married — every memory Katerina had of her childhood lived inside those walls. After her mother remarried into the Prescott family, she'd handed it over to Genevieve, who had filled it with her own things. Every last piece of her father's that remained in that house — Katerina was taking it back. "Kat." Isadora's voice went tight. "Don't you think you're being a little greedy?" Katerina's laugh was soft. "Mom, Dad's estate was left to both me and Grandma. It's all been in your hands. How is asking for what's mine being greedy?" Isadora's tone shifted. "Once your engagement to the Clifton family is official, I'll transfer everything. You have my word." Katerina hung up. She wasn't afraid of her mother backing out. If Isadora tried, Katerina would divorce her brand-new husband without a second's hesitation. Chapter 3 Moving Out Royce Dalton pulled up to the family estate in his flashy Bugatti. He barely made it through the front door before his father, Edmond Dalton, was in his face, expression locked and loaded. "Royce Dalton! You are getting married before the end of this year!" The Dalton family had roots in the military, generations of officers before the family pivoted to business and built what was now a sprawling empire. Dalton Group had its hands in real estate, tech, finance, healthcare — you name it. "That Harlow boy," Edmond said. "Alaric Harlow. Word is he's already arranging a marriage alliance with the Prescott girl — Genevieve. So what about you?" The Daltons and the Harlows had been at each other's throats for as long as anyone could remember. They competed over everything — whose portfolio was bigger, whose family was larger, and now, apparently, whose son would make it to the altar first. Royce smiled, lazy and amused. "Already done, actually. Just happened. Marriage certificate is still warm — want to see it?" Edmond's expression shifted. "Done?" His eyes went wide. "Show me." Royce handed it over. Edmond turned it over in his hands, skeptical. "You didn't fake this just to mess with me, did you?" "I'm not that bored. Don't believe me? I'll bring your daughter-in-law by sometime." Edmond studied the photo in the certificate and gave a slow nod. "She's beautiful. You're out of your league." Royce's smile took on a knowing edge. "Then you'd better make a good impression when you meet her, Dad. Can't have her getting scared off." He kept that thought to himself, though — the other part of it. The part where he wondered when exactly Katerina Morley would figure out she'd married the wrong man. That her arranged marriage partner was never him to begin with. He almost looked forward to seeing her face when she realized it. ****** Katerina Morley wheeled two suitcases out of Alaric Harlow's villa. The housekeeper was just coming back from the market and stopped short at the sight of her. "Ms. Morley, are you heading out on a work trip?" Katerina smiled. "Something like that." "Oh, and I just bought groceries too. Send me a message when you're back and I'll cook all your favorites." Back. She smiled again, softer this time. There would be a new woman running this house soon enough. She wouldn't be coming back. "Thank you," she said. "Take care of yourself." The housekeeper watched her go, a vague unease settling in her chest. Something felt off, though she couldn't have said what exactly. When she went inside, she noticed it — things were missing. Decorative pieces, small personal touches, gone. She climbed to the second-floor walk-in closet and pulled the doors open. The clothes were still there, at least. What she didn't know was that everything Katerina had left behind were gifts from Alaric. She hadn't taken a single one of them. Everything she'd packed was hers — bought with her own money, belonging only to her. The unease was enough that the housekeeper picked up the phone and called her employer in Switzerland. "Mr. Harlow, Ms. Morley came by today and took quite a few things with her." Alaric went still. A small frown crossed his face. "Where did she go?" "She said a work trip. Just a few days." A work trip. He was out of the country. She was his personal secretary. Where exactly was she supposed to be going? He was reaching for his phone to message her when he heard Genevieve Prescott cry out from the kitchen. He set the phone down and went to her. "What happened, Genevieve?" She was holding her finger, a small cut bleeding from where the knife had slipped while she was cutting fruit. Her expression was sheepish. "Alaric, I'm so clumsy. I just wanted to cut something for you." He grabbed the first aid kit and wrapped her finger himself, then touched the top of her head with the kind of fond exasperation reserved for someone you adore. "I love that about you." She ducked her head, a shy pout on her lips. "That's mean..." Then, softly: "Alaric, when we fly home tomorrow — can I invite my sister?" He knew exactly who she meant. Katerina Morley was Genevieve's sister in name only, and he was well aware of that distinction. "I thought things between you two weren't great." Genevieve looked up at him, eyes bright and earnest. "They're not. That's exactly why I want to try. Things between Mom and my sister have been tense because of me — I want to do something about that." Alaric smiled at her, warm and indulgent. "You're too kind, Genevieve. Let's hold off on that for now — when we land tomorrow, I want to throw you a welcome-home dinner first." Her eyes dimmed, just for a moment. "Okay." She'd always known. Katerina was nothing more than a stand-in — a placeholder while she was abroad. Once, she'd caught a message thread on Alaric's phone and understood immediately that the two of them had been seeing each other in secret. After that, it hadn't taken much. A little effort on her part, and Alaric was flying out to see her. The post she'd put up on Twitter two days ago? That was deliberate. Tomorrow, the real one was coming home. Which meant the substitute was done. ****** The next morning, Katerina went to the office to hand everything over. Mandy looked at her with genuine regret. "Kat, are you sure you won't reconsider? If it's about compensation, I can go to bat for you." Go to bat with who — Alaric Harlow? Katerina almost laughed. "Mandy, it's not that. It's personal." Katerina was the only woman among all of Alaric's secretaries. Every female candidate who'd come through before her had come with an agenda — angling for something more — and one by one, Alaric had turned them away. Katerina was the one who stayed. She was careful, quick on her feet, and handled every detail without having to be asked twice. Mandy, as Alaric's executive assistant, had come to rely on her more than she let on. She was sharp, she knew her place, and she never overstepped. Mandy respected that. But she wasn't going to force anyone's hand. "All right. I'll approve your resignation on my end. Whether Mr. Harlow signs off on it — that'll have to wait until he's back from this trip." Katerina nodded. Chapter 4 "Who Told You We Were Ever Together?" Katerina Morley slipped into the break room for a cup of water and walked straight into the middle of an HR gossip session. "Oh my God, did you hear? Mr. Harlow didn't actually go on a business trip — he went to bring his girlfriend back!" "Seriously? I thought Mr. Harlow wasn't into women like that. I've worked here for years and never heard a single rumor about him." "Please. The Harlow family and the Prescott family arranged this whole thing ages ago. Our Mr. Harlow's just been waiting for her to finish school and turn eighteen." Katerina didn't notice that she'd missed the spout entirely. Boiling water poured straight over the back of her hand. "Sss—" She yanked her hand back. A wide patch of angry red bloomed across her skin, and the pain bit deep. "Oh God, Kat, how are you so clumsy? Go run it under cold water, now!" someone said, noticing her hand. Katerina gave a small nod. "Yeah. I'm going." She stood at the bathroom sink with cold water running over the burn, the conversation replaying in her head while something sour and heavy settled in her chest. So he and Genevieve Prescott were already at the talking-about-marriage stage. And she had been sitting here like an idiot, waiting for him to tell the world she was his girlfriend. Her phone lit up on the edge of the sink. A message from her best friend, Magnolia Harlow. [Kat, my uncle's throwing a welcome-back dinner tonight for his girlfriend. I really don't want to go alone. Come with me?] Katerina blinked back the sting in her eyes. So he was already back in the country. [Can't, Maggie. I have to work late.] ****** She was getting ready for bed early that night when Mandy called in a panic. "Kat, I'm so sorry to do this. My daughter's running a fever, but there's a document that has to get to Mr. Harlow tonight — it needs his signature. Are you anywhere near the office? I'll owe you huge, I promise." There was no saying no to that. "It's fine, Mandy. I'll head in now and pick it up." Document in hand, Katerina made her way to the private dining room where Alaric Harlow was hosting Genevieve Prescott's welcome-back dinner. She stopped just outside the door. Then, after a moment, she walked up to it anyway. It was half-open. Laughter and voices spilled out into the hallway. "Genevieve, now that you're back for good, you and Alaric are going to start talking about the wedding, right? He's so much older than you — practically your uncle's age — can you really see yourself with him?" Inside, Alaric was lounging in his chair with that effortless, untouchable ease of his, one arm draped over the back of Genevieve's seat like he owned every inch of the space around her. Genevieve poked him in the side and buried her face behind her hands. "Stop it! Alaric, they're all laughing at me!" Alaric glanced down at her, a quiet smile on his lips. "Nobody's laughing. Unless — you don't want to?" Out in the hallway, every muscle in Katerina's body locked up. That part of her heart she'd worked so hard to numb — she felt it get cut open again. She raised her hand and knocked. "Yeah? Who is it?" Someone turned around. Katerina pushed the door open and walked in, one steady step at a time, until she was looking straight at him. "Mr. Harlow. This document is time-sensitive. I need you to sign it now." One of the guys at the table leaned back with a lazy grin. "Well, well. Alaric, is this your secretary? Way too pretty to be stuck fetching paperwork." The way he looked at her made her stomach turn. Alaric's dark eyes sharpened for just a fraction of a second — like he hadn't expected her to be the one walking through that door. Then the moment passed, and his expression went smooth and indifferent. "Come here. Give it to me." Katerina held the document out. He signed it with a few clean, decisive strokes, not the least bit rattled, and handed it back without looking up. "Take it and go." Genevieve had been watching Katerina the whole time. Now she tilted her head and spoke up, her voice soft and sweet. "Alaric, why don't you let her stay and hang out with us?" She was already smiling when she reached over and wrapped her hand around Katerina's — right over the burn. "It's been so long, hasn't it? Stay and have fun with us." The pain was white-hot. Katerina's eyes went glassy before she could stop it, and she wrenched her hand away. "Don't touch me. You guys enjoy yourselves. I'm going back to the office." The room went quiet. Alaric's brow drew together. His voice dropped. "Genevieve was just being friendly. What is your problem? Apologize." Katerina pressed her fingernail into her palm — hard — and held herself together. "I have nothing to apologize for. If that's grounds for termination, Mr. Harlow, then so be it." She walked out. One more second in that room and she was going to fall apart completely. Alaric felt something unnamed and irritating twist in his chest. He stood and said to the table, "Give me a minute," and followed her out before anyone could respond. The room exchanged glances. "Looks like that little secretary of his is in trouble," someone said, smoothing things over with a laugh. "But Genevieve — why were you calling her 'sis'?" Genevieve gave a short, hollow smile and didn't bother answering. Her eyes stayed fixed on the hallway where they'd both disappeared, cold and unreadable. Out in the corridor. "Katerina Morley. Stop." Alaric caught her by the arm from behind. She made herself look calm. "Is there something else you need, Mr. Harlow? You've been out here a while. I'd hate for your girlfriend to get the wrong idea." Something in his expression shifted. "I've told you before — don't call me that when it's just us. Your hand. What happened to it?" So he had noticed. Katerina let out a short, humorless laugh. "Not your concern. We broke up, didn't we?" "Broke up?" A cold, contemptuous smile crossed his face. His voice went flat. "Who told you we were ever together?" Chapter 5 "Alaric Harlow, I'm Going Home to Get Married." A sharp, searing pain radiated from her chest and spread through every inch of her body. Katerina Morley bit down hard on her lip. "I understand. Don't worry — after this, we're nothing to each other." Alaric Harlow's expression darkened. Those words landed wrong, stoking a slow, simmering fury. "What did you just say? Nothing?" She didn't answer. She turned and walked away. He lifted his foot to follow — and then Genevieve Prescott's soft, lilting voice floated out from behind him. "Alaric... aren't you coming back in?" He drew a slow breath. Turned. Smiled. "Coming, Genevieve." That was it. The last wall inside Katerina crumbled, and the tears she'd been choking back broke free all at once. She stood outside the hotel, her back against a stone pillar, too drained to hold herself upright. Her shoulders trembled. She didn't notice the shadow drifting toward her until it was already there. A hand pressed against the pillar beside her. He leaned in close, and a low, lazy voice murmured right at her ear. "Looks like my wife just got her heart broken." The night was dim. Royce Dalton crouched beside her with an easy, unhurried slouch, one hand braced against the pillar. He tilted his head and brought his ear close to her lips, waiting. Katerina stiffened. Her brand-new husband had appeared out of nowhere, and the awkwardness of it cut right through her misery. She couldn't cry — not now — but she couldn't stop the small, hitching sobs either. Her nose scrunched with each one, a little pathetic, a little unbearably cute. She sniffled hard, voice thick, and redirected. "What are you doing here?" Royce's dark eyes glinted. A slow, careless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What else? I saw a beautiful woman crying and couldn't walk past. Had to find out who hurt her that badly." He stretched the words out, utterly unhurried. "Didn't expect it to be mine." Katerina's brows pulled together. She fixed him with a sharp, guarded look. "Mr. Dalton, please keep your distance. This is an arranged alliance between our families. We barely know each other." Silence fell. Royce stepped back, just one easy pace. Those ink-dark, bedroom eyes narrowed slightly. "Arranged or not," he said, "you're still my wife." He clicked open his ridiculous purple Bugatti and crooked a finger at her. "Get in. Where do you need to go?" Katerina pressed her lips together. Whatever faint, bruised feeling had been sitting in her chest a moment ago — it was gone now. "I'm fine, thanks." A soft click of his tongue. "Come on. I'd rather not be all over the news tomorrow because my wife was spotted crying over another man. That would put me in a bad mood." She had no real argument against that. And she was in no state to be alone with her thoughts on a street corner. She got in. She'd never been in a car like this. Alaric was steady, deliberate — he drove sedans and SUVs. He had a sports car or two in his garage, of course, but that was never a world Katerina had been allowed into. She turned her face to the window. Royce caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision — those eyes still wet, the corners still faintly red. "Heartbreak?" This time the teasing was gone from his voice. He sounded almost genuine. Katerina glanced at him. Her gaze drifted briefly to the tattoo peeking out along his collarbone before she looked away. "Something like that. But don't worry — he's already my ex. He won't cause any problems for you." She kept her tone even. "And we agreed, remember? We don't interfere in each other's lives. You can date whoever you want, fall for whoever you want. I don't care." Not that the Dalton family's youngest had ever needed permission. His reputation preceded him by a mile. Royce pulled up in front of her apartment building. "An hour enough for you? Pack what you need and come home with me." "Home?" she repeated. "Unless you want to live separately." Oh. That home. Katerina blinked. "There's no rush. We should wait until our families have met. I can move after that." The shares hadn't transferred yet. She wasn't in any hurry. Royce pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "Fine. Up to you." She stepped out of the car, and the ostentatious purple streak of it vanished from sight almost immediately. She stared after it. Was he annoyed? ****** At eleven o'clock, Alaric's driver brought him back to the villa. The Clearwater Cove villa — the place he'd set up for Katerina. He hadn't specified this destination, but the driver had brought him here all the same. The entryway light was on. He tugged at his tie and called out her name on instinct. "Kat. Make me some hangover tea." Nothing. The villa swallowed his words and gave back only silence. Right. He'd driven her off tonight. He dropped onto the sofa and draped an arm over his eyes. A moment later, he heard footsteps, and a small smile touched his lips. No matter how harsh she got, she couldn't stay away. She'd be right here, same as always, waiting for him to come home. He lifted his gaze — and his expression went cold. "Why is it you?" The housekeeper faltered. "Sir, of course it's me. Ms. Morley is on a work trip, she hasn't come back yet. I heard you come in, so I thought — sir, you've been drinking. Let me make you some tea." Alaric made a short, dismissive sound. Work trip. She'd been at that hotel causing a scene not two hours ago. She was sulking, nothing more. In a day or two she'd show up saying she'd been wrong, asking him to forgive her for being difficult. He'd seen it enough times. He was used to it by now. "Don't bother," he said, cutting her off. "Go to bed. I'm going up." The housekeeper pursed her lips as he disappeared up the stairs. She knew — the only hangover tea he'd ever drink was the kind Ms. Morley made. She'd never understood that particular quirk of his. Alaric stood in his room, pressing his fingers against his temple, and pulled out his phone. He opened his chat with Katerina. Every message in the thread was from her. She sent, he read. He almost never replied. He stared at the empty text field and typed: Where are you? Then he thought about what she'd said at the hotel — that they were nothing to each other — and a fresh flash of irritation moved through him. He deleted the words one by one and put his phone away. He'd been too lenient with her. That was the problem. She'd gotten so used to it that a single argument was enough to make her act like this. One fight, and she couldn't even come home. ****** The next morning, Katerina showed up to work with dark circles carved under her eyes. She walked in looking like she hadn't slept, because she hadn't. Today was her last day. "Hey," she said, stopping by her colleague's desk. "My mom's been pushing me to come home and get married. Today might be my last day — I already sent everything to your email for the handoff." Mandy stared at her. "That fast?" "Yeah." "What about your last paycheck?" Katerina gave a thin smile. "I don't need it." Mandy thought for a second. "Give me half a day. I'll talk to HR and get them to write you a proper termination letter. You'll need it for your next job." Katerina considered that. Half a day was nothing. "Okay. Thank you." She went to her desk and started sorting through her personal things. What she hadn't expected was for Alaric to come in that morning. She kept her eyes on what she was doing. She felt his stare burning into the back of her head, heavy and unblinking, and she didn't look up. Not once. Until his shoes stepped into the edge of her vision. Alaric stood over her, unhurried and unbothered, and tapped the surface of her desk with one finger. "Secretary Morley. My office." He turned and walked away without waiting. Katerina looked at the potted plant on her desk and had a very specific thought about his face. She let it go. They were almost done. There was no point making it ugly. She pushed open his office door. "Mr. Harlow. You wanted to see me?" He tilted his chin toward the door behind her. "Close it. Come here." She left it open a crack and stayed where she was, a solid ten feet between them. "Mr. Harlow. What did you need?" A thin, mocking curve touched his mouth. "You used to beg me to hold you to sleep at night. Now you can't stand within ten feet of me?" "I've resigned," she said, her face perfectly calm. "I'm almost not your employee anymore. Is there something wrong with keeping my distance?" The amusement died. Something cold moved through his eyes. "Resigned? Who authorized that?" His voice sharpened. "Don't play games with me, Katerina. Playing hard to get doesn't work on me." "I'm not playing anything. I don't have time for that." "Then why?" His voice cracked with urgency. "Is my pay not enough? Is there another company out there offering you more than Harlow Holdings?" Katerina looked at him. And slowly, clearly, she smiled. "Alaric Harlow," she said. "I'm going home to get married."

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They stripped her of everything—her name, her love, her place in the family. But when the truth came out, they realized the “country girl” they cast away owned half the nation’s wealth. ===== Chapter 1 Kicked Out Of Home Nicolas Kirk's hand trembled as he flung the bowl at Rylie Kirk's feet, the crash ringing out across the room. Bl**d stained his lips while fury contorted his face. "How could you do such a thing? What kind of sister would wish harm on her own brother?" he said, his words splintered by a violent cough. "I should've listened to Stacey. She warned me about the poison!" Rylie's expression flickered as she looked down at the ruined medicine, disappointment shadowing her features. "I keep telling you, Nicolas, there's nothing deadly in the medicine. It contains an ingredient that purges the old bl**d, which you need if you ever want to recover," said Rylie. Watching the medicine soak into the carpet, she winced inwardly, knowing how much effort and money she had poured into finding the right remedy for her eldest brother. Stacey Kirk, the adopted daughter of the Kirk family, stood at Nicolas' side, her arms wrapped protectively around the medical text that she always carried. She raised her voice, tears prickling at her eyes. "Please, Rylie, just stop making excuses. Leland ran tests on your concoction, and the results were dangerous. It's full of toxins!" Cold skepticism crossed Rylie's face as she met Stacey's gaze. "You complete f**l," Rylie said. "There isn't a medicine in this world that's entirely safe, especially not for what Nicolas is suffering from. The only way to fight back is with a powerful dose. There's nothing mild that could work on him." Stacey could barely contain her tears, her voice quivering as she pleaded with Rylie, "He's spitting up bl**d right in front of us, and you're still insisting this is the only way? We're just medical students, Rylie, not miracle workers. Don't put your pride above Nicolas' life." Taking a shaky step toward Rylie, Stacey continued, her words thick with emotion, "I found a well-known specialist. He's already written a prescription that might actually save Nicolas. Admit you were wrong and let us try. Please." Nicolas doubled over, hacking up bl**d, and fixed Rylie with a glare that burned with outrage. "It wasn't enough that you fed me that mystery medicine, now you turn on Stacey too? If you had even a fraction of her compassion, things wouldn't have come to this," Nicolas snapped. "Apologize to her, right now!" Rylie straightened her shoulders and faced Nicolas with an unflinching stare. "All I ever wanted was to help you. I have done nothing that warrants an apology. I owe her nothing." Desperation twisted Nicolas' features as he scrambled to his feet, snatching a whip from the wall in a blind rage. "That's it! You're going to push me into an early grave! Why can't you ever listen?" he shouted. "Get out! I don't want you here!" Before the whip could lash out, Rylie shifted away, nimble and unafraid. From the upper landing, someone's measured steps echoed, and a battered backpack landed at her toes. Leland Kirk, her second brother, stood at the base of the stairs. His tone cut through the air. "Let's lay it out plainly. You're just an outsider, and Stacey is our true sibling. We've kept this secret for your sake, hoping you wouldn't resent her, but today, we see just how cruel you can be. If you refuse to admit your mistakes, pack your things. We'll announce Stacey as our one and only sister. Your fortune goes with your name -- you'll have to go back to your birth family and live as they do." Such a threat didn't faze Rylie. Years of living in the Kirk household had worn down her patience. However, the revelation that she was not bound to them by bl**d came almost as a blessing. Her ch**t felt unburdened, lighter than it had in years. There was no need to waste any more of her knowledge or talent on a house that never valued her. The thought had struck her as odd -- she always wondered why she stood out among siblings who never seemed to measure up. "That suits me just fine." Rylie's voice held not a hint of regret. With quick fingers, she snatched up the backpack, plucked a candy from the bowl, and let it dissolve on her tongue as she strode for the door. Left in the hallway, Stacey could not hold back a grin of satisfaction. Five years of plotting had finally paid off. With Rylie gone, she would be the Kirk family's prized daughter, adored and indulged by her brothers. Still, she could not resist a final performance. She darted after Rylie, her voice ringing out. "Rylie! Don't leave like this! You'll always have a place here! Please, don't make me feel like the villain. I'm begging you!" Nicolas interjected sharply, "Enough, Stacey! Let her go. A heart as cold as hers belongs to her own impoverished family. She never deserved this home." A cold laugh escaped Rylie when she overheard him. Was everyone in the Kirk family so easily fooled? Did they genuinely believe that it was sheer luck that had brought Nicolas back to health, gotten him out of bed, and made him able to walk again? Without her hands and her medicine, they'd see soon enough just how far good fortune could take him. Drawing the hood over her head, Rylie let the breeze whip strands of hair across her vivid lips, a flicker of scorn glinting in her eyes. ... Far away, inside the bustling capital city of Kouhron, the imposing Owen Mansion stood as a symbol of influence and wealth. Within that opulent hall, Kendrick Owen struck his ornate cane against the marble floor. "You all promised she'd been located. Why is she still not here?" Arrayed around him stood his three grandsons -- each a commanding presence in his own right, men whose names carried enough weight that even the highest government officials paid their respects. Yet, despite their stature, the shadow of their missing youngest sister dimmed their confidence, and their faces bore deep lines of worry. "Our search stalled in Crolens. According to the latest report, she spent some years in a mountain village, but after being trafficked, her whereabouts vanished from every record." Agony creased Kendrick's expression. "For eighteen years, that child has been gone. Imagine the hardships she's endured in a place like that." "Grandfather, there's been progress. One of the kidnappers came forward and claimed she was later sold to a rich woman in Crolens. We only need a bit more time -- her discovery is within reach." Relief softened Kendrick's features. No trace of irritation remained as he rose from his chair, hope radiating from his gaze. "In that case, let's not delay. I'm coming with you. We'll search together." Chapter 2 Versatile Rylie A heavy backpack slung over her shoulder, Rylie walked out of the Kirk residence without a backward glance, heading directly to the parking lot where her prized, limited-edition motorcycle waited. Years of downplaying her skills and masking her sharpness for the sake of the Kirk family's fragile peace were finally behind her. Freedom now tasted real. Down the city streets, her motorcycle roared, slicing through the afternoon air until she arrived at the imposing entrance of a gated community near a military compound. At the checkpoint, security protocols ran tight as always, but the instant Rylie's motorcycle appeared, the guard broke into a broad smile and opened the gate wide. "Miss Kirk, your visits are always a welcome surprise." With a practiced motion, Rylie flipped up her visor and gave a polite nod. Inside, cherry blossom petals scented the breeze, and several retired officers meandered beneath the blooming trees. Spotting her approach, they made their way over. "Look who's back -- Rylie, I was just about to see you. I've run out of those pills you mixed up for me last time." Her motorcycle came to a halt as she peeled off her helmet, her gentle features drawing nods of approval. "You can swing by the clinic tomorrow. I'll be here all day if you need a refill." Catching sight of another familiar face, she gestured toward an elderly man still sporting a neck brace. "As for you, I've told you before that brace is only making things worse for your neck." An embarrassed grin spread across his face as he removed the brace. "Would you at least allow me to try a few easy exercises?" "Take it slow, and don't do anything reckless," said Rylie, stepping inside an apartment building. Long ago, her connection to this community began unexpectedly. During a visit to the Military General Hospital to buy medicine, she had encountered an elderly man suffering from epilepsy. With a prescription that targeted his condition at the root, she gave him relief that no other doctor had managed. That stranger turned out to be a celebrated, now-retired clinical specialist. Awed by Rylie's abilities, he insisted on calling her his savior and offered her an apartment in the community as thanks. Easy rapport filled the community, and its prime location made life peaceful and convenient. In time, Rylie had come to see this place as the home that she had always needed. As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, lights flickered on and a soft, familiar mechanical voice greeted her. "Welcome home, Rylie. You've been gone for three days. There are two encrypted voicemails waiting, your email inbox has new messages, and your bath is ready." Her backpack landed with a thud on the floor, sending the zipper flying open. A thick bundle of cash spilled out, scattering across the entryway. She stared at the pile of bills, guessing that it must total around ten grand. The sound that escaped her lips was half a chuckle, half a sneer. Was that really all the Kirks thought she was worth, tossing money her way like she was some beggar? "Play my messages," she said. Britton Davies' voice filled the room first, recorded late the previous evening. "Hey, Rylie, registration for the relay's almost up -- two practice runs down already! Are you honestly still clinging to the Kirks? For real? I've been wiping the floor with Phillip these past few days!" A slight arch in her brow gave away her recognition. Phillip Kirk, her third brother, ran one of the most exclusive racing clubs in the world, churning out champions and stacking up prize money. Long nights spent behind the wheel were her secret, pushing his team to one victory after another. Yet each season, as the finals approached, Phillip would swap her out for Stacey, handing over the glory and the gold. Year after year, her skills powered their success, but when the spotlight appeared, Stacey was ushered in for the celebration, leaving Rylie invisible to the crowd. Trophies meant little to her. In those days, protecting her family's ego mattered more. But now... A grin spread across her face as she called Britton. "I want half of the prize money." Whatever disappointment Britton had felt vanished at once. "Done! Phillip's team doesn't scare me. I've mapped out every move they make, but when you're behind the wheel, nobody can keep up. I never lose to him, Rylie -- I always lose to you!" A small laugh escaped Rylie as she let out a soft sigh. "You've noticed it too. Funny how obvious it is, but they still manage to overlook everything I do." Curiosity lit Britton's voice as he switched topics. "By the way, something else came up. There's been chatter on the dark web about the Owen family -- the wealthiest folks in Kouhron. Word is, they're here in Crolens, searching for their missing daughter and throwing around serious money for information. Think we should get involved?" Without hesitation, Rylie answered, "No interest. I have finals coming up, so I'll pass. See you." On Britton's end, confusion crept in. Of all the reasons to bail, exams were the last thing that he would expect from Rylie. As far as he could recall, she never even showed up for tests. The truth was, she was the one who wrote them. Chapter 3 Invitation Rylie moved on to the next voicemail, which turned out to be from Rory Carter, one of the most respected physicians at the Military General Hospital. A note of flattery colored Rory's tone as he spoke. "Rylie, I'm really in a bind. One of my old friend's sons has battled a rare illness for years, and his health is declining again. Those special pills you provided aren't helping him any longer. Is there any chance you could stop by and take a look?" Pulling out her phone, Rylie dialed him back. "I'll come to the clinic after classes tomorrow evening. Tell him to swing by then." Rory cut in with an apologetic sigh, saying, "He's stuck in the VIP wing at the hospital, and strict protocols mean he can't leave." Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Rylie pressed for details. "Enough stalling, Rory. Who's the patient?" After a pause, Rory's voice dropped to a whisper, saying, "It's Brad Morgan. Yes, the grandson of General Sean Morgan. This isn't just any case -- the Morgans have discreetly reached out to top doctors nationwide. They're offering twenty million dollars to anyone who can cure him." An arched eyebrow was all the reaction Rylie gave. The Morgan family was legendary, led by Sean Morgan, a formidable general. He was a man even the President deferred to. The name Brad Morgan brought back memories -- she remembered reading about him in the news. Only thirty and already hailed as the youngest admiral of his era, his string of military victories made headlines everywhere. That revelation puzzled Rylie. Something could actually bring down a man like Brad? Her next move was to check her encrypted contract inbox, and sure enough, there sat an official invitation from the National Healthcare Department. Working under the codename "Healing Hand" on the dark web, she had built a reputation for tackling medical mysteries, and eventually gathered an elite team of her own. It seemed natural that the government would come looking for her. Keeping her composure, Rylie responded, "I see the message. That reward would tempt anyone. I'll take the case." Meanwhile, word of the Morgan family's urgent call reached the Kirks as well. Leland sprang into action, already strategizing and dialing contacts in hopes of getting their foot in the door. Always just out of reach of the upper society, the Kirk family saw this as their shot. Healing Brad would mean acceptance into the highest social circles at last. Another rumor had set the city abuzz: the wealthiest family in Kouhron landed in Crolens, promising a mind-blowing sum to anyone who could lead them to their missing daughter. People all across town had dropped everything, desperate for a piece of the reward. ... The next day. The shrill ring of her phone yanked Rylie from sleep. She stretched and dragged herself out of bed. On the other end was Timothy Powell -- her research advisor -- barely masking his irritation. "Rylie! I told you to handle the data organization, but you're nowhere in sight. Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of my research group? Stacey was here right at dawn. I expect you here immediately!" She offered no answer, choosing instead to end the call and glance at the clock. The digits read ten o'clock. Her mind flashed back to the previous night. Lost in old medical texts, she'd worked long hours sorting through ancient prescriptions, and now she had overslept, letting Timothy's task slip her mind. A yawn escaped as she flipped open her laptop, sent off a quick email, and hurried to get ready. Backpack in tow, she stepped out the door. Her motorcycle zipped through city streets until she pulled up in front of the university lab. After finding a spot, she strode toward the entrance. She pulled out her pass and swiped it, only to watch the screen blink and flash a denial -- her access had been revoked. At that moment, the lab doors swung open and out came Stacey, flanked by two upperclassmen from the research team. A mocking smile twisted one guy's lips as he spotted her dilemma. "So, Rylie, you think you're special? Turning up late, ditching your work -- looks like you finally pushed Professor Powell too far. Lab access is locked, and your days here are over!" Chapter 4 I'm Expelling You Stacey tugged at the man's sleeve and said with a hint of grievance, "Rylie was late because she was in a bad mood. You should go and plead with Professor Powell on her behalf. If she's kicked out of this project, how will she maintain her reputation at school? No professor would risk taking her on, and she'd never graduate." Even as she spoke, excitement flickered in Stacey's eyes, barely masked by her sympathetic tone. The prospect of Rylie's downfall was almost too delicious to hide. If Rylie really got expelled, surely she would have no choice but to come back pleading. But the scene didn't play out the way Stacey had hoped. Rylie's answer was blunt and left no room for argument. "That's perfect. I never intended to stick around. I'm out of the project. I already sent my withdrawal report to Professor Powell this morning. Tell him to approve it." Her trip here wasn't for the team -- it was to collect her carefully developed Nexo-7 compound, the key ingredient that she had been growing for months for a rare genetic remedy. Stacey's face faltered at that. "You're quitting the group?" Without missing a beat, Rylie nodded and stepped past them, but Stacey's grip shot out, latching onto her wrist. "Please don't let impulse get the better of you, Rylie! We're nearly done with this phase, and the medical competition's coming up. This isn't just about you -- there's a team counting on you! You can't just walk away." The man cast Stacey a critical look. "You shouldn't give her special treatment just because you're related, Stacey." Rylie turned her gaze on Stacey, arching a brow. "Is your concern for me genuine, or is this just another act?" "Absolutely, I am really concerned," Stacey insisted, nodding eagerly. The urge to laugh nearly escaped Rylie, her tone laced with derision. "Be serious. You've seen what your team can do even with my help -- and it's not much. Six months, and you haven't achieved a thing. You're all lost causes, so of course I'm leaving." Everything about the research group's progress came down to Rylie -- her organization, her direction, her experimental designs. Without her, Timothy's grand ambitions in clinical medicine and AI were just wishful thinking. The others fumbled through experiments, never getting close to real breakthroughs. With a dismissive snort, Rylie reached out and tapped Stacey's cheek, her words cold. "Don't fool yourself. You're not family, and I'm not here to babysit incompetence in the lab." A surge of tears filled Stacey's eyes, her voice tight with shock. Ever since Rylie had been shown the door at home, she had turned into someone unrecognizable -- brazen, stubborn, completely unwilling to listen. It drove Stacey mad. "Rylie! Don't flatter yourself -- the research doesn't revolve around you. You wouldn't even be part of this team if Stacey hadn't vouched for you in the first place!" Patience snapping, the man lunged at Rylie, intending to shove her aside. But Rylie moved first, gripping his wrist and twisting it sharply. "Ah!" A cry of pain erupted from him as he doubled over, hand clutching his now-dislocated arm, disbelief written all over his face. Rylie merely dusted off her hands and shot the group a cold glance. "Aren't you all future doctors? Surely setting a joint isn't beyond your skills." Without wasting another word, she brushed past them, entered the lab through the open doors, and collected her prized compound. While inside, she fed the latest core AI research notes into the shredder, ensuring that her work would not be stolen. Moments later, Rylie stepped back out, vial in hand, just as Timothy stormed into the hallway. One glance at the scene -- a student whimpering, the others shaken -- and Timothy's anger boiled over. He jabbed a finger at Rylie. "You're always scraping by in class, using the lab for naps, and now you're assaulting your own teammates? Do you honestly believe my research team has any need for someone like you? From now on, you're no longer a member of the team! And I--" Growing impatient, Rylie interjected, "Didn't you read my email? I already sent in my resignation." Timothy hesitated, then fumbled for his phone and scanned his inbox. Sure enough, there was Rylie's formal withdrawal. He scoffed, shaking his head as if the idea was ridiculous, "You must be out of your mind, Rylie. Do you know how many students would k**l for a place on my team? Let me make this clear: you don't get to quit -- I'm expelling you. I'll post the official notice on the university website for everyone to see." Timothy had expected her to back down, maybe beg for another chance. But he had clearly misjudged her resolve. Rylie shrugged, tossing out a dismissive, "Whatever," and was halfway out the door when sudden shouts erupted nearby. A frantic voice cut through the noise. "Somebody just collapsed!" Instinct overriding her exit, Rylie pivoted toward the commotion. A small knot of medical students clustered around the person sprawled on the floor. She wasted no time barking instructions. "Give him space -- don't crowd, let some air in." These were all medical students, and certainly, they knew this knowledge. Immediately, they stepped back, forming a loose circle. Dropping to one knee, Rylie sized up the unconscious man. His face, pale but striking, caught her attention for only a second before her hands moved to assess his condition. Her fingers quickly found his trachea -- shifted, not where it should be. She was about to examine his ch**t when Timothy charged onto the scene, voice booming. "Out of the way! Let me through!" Without hesitating, Rylie grabbed her portable medical kit, but Timothy shouted at her, "You have no business treating anyone! You're just an inexperienced student, not a doctor!" Stacey hustled over, siding with Timothy. "Rylie, listen to Professor Powell. If something goes wrong, it's on you. He's the expert here, not you." Chapter 5 Anything But Ordinary Rylie ignored Timothy and Stacey and busied herself with the medical kit. She took out a decompression needle, felt the patient's ch**t, and unbuttoned his shirt to prepare for the procedure. Her calm defiance caught Timothy's eye, prompting him to step directly in her path. "Look at him -- clammy skin, ghostly complexion, and he collapsed in this sweltering heat. This is textbook heatstroke, maybe worsened by heart trouble. The right call is CPR. Bring him back that way!" Stacey didn't waste a moment piling on. "Rylie, for once, just do as Professor Powell says. You nearly k**led Nicolas with the wrong medicine yesterday. If you keep going like this, you'll end up in court!" With Stacey stirring things up, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Hidden among the onlookers, some of Stacey's friends chimed in about Rylie's supposed poor grades, spreading doubt and fanning resentment. At the edge of the crowd, a team from the nearby bio-research institute took notice and started moving closer. Rylie's expression chilled as she seized Timothy's hands, halting his attempt at ch**t compressions. "This man's not drawing a single breath, and his trachea's off-center. He's got a tension pneumothorax. If you start CPR now, you'll just make things worse." Such a challenge to his expertise -- especially in front of his students -- left Timothy red-faced. Yet, several research group members rallied around him, echoing his diagnosis. "Rylie, stop spreading nonsense. Professor Powell's the expert here, not you!" Unfazed, Rylie shook off Timothy's grasp, disinfected her instruments, and replied, "Cold sweats, pallor, collapse -- pneumothorax can look just like heatstroke. But if you bother to check for a shifted trachea or a drum-like ch**t, you'll see the difference. Guess that's lost on a quack." Her sharp words prompted a few medical students to lean in and study the patient themselves, curiosity overtaking their doubt. "It looks like Rylie's diagnosis holds up," one student admitted, and Timothy's expression turned even grimmer. Back straight and voice steady, Timothy retorted, "You're nothing more than a glorified assistant who just files paperwork, yet you think you're an expert? If you can revive him with that needle, the mentor's chair is yours!" Rylie didn't waste another word. She finished sterilizing, deftly inserted the decompression needle, and with a sharp hiss, trapped air rushed out. Color crept back into the patient's face as his breathing returned at once. "She was right all along! He had a pneumothorax!" a student shouted, awe coloring every word. Recognition dawned across the faces in the room as those with medical training pieced together what had just happened -- Timothy's assessment had been mistaken. One student voiced what everyone was thinking. "If Rylie hadn't stood her ground and Professor Powell had pushed on with CPR, we would have had a disaster on our hands." Even so, Timothy scrambled for justification. "Well... you've all misunderstood me. I actually recognized it was pneumothorax all along." In an attempt to salvage his authority, he looked down at Rylie and the group, adding, "My intention was only to test Rylie. She has a reputation for cutting corners, after all." Before she could get a word out, the patient -- still weak, yet now radiating a quiet power -- interrupted from the floor. "Did you risk my life just to prove a point with your student? That hardly qualifies you as a doctor, let alone a teacher." Despite his lingering frailty, this man rose, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. Those striking features, combined with an unmistakable force of will, made Rylie sense that his identity was anything but ordinary. She regarded him calmly and gave a simple instruction. "Save your strength and let the campus hospital run further tests." The man nodded and, with a hoarse voice, said to Timothy, "You should apologize to my savior." When he heard this, Timothy's composure slipped. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" Not missing her chance to gain approval, Stacey chimed in quickly, "Rylie, Professor Powell's intentions were good. He cares about your growth. A kind teacher like him shouldn't have to apologize." A sharp retort cut through the crowd. "And why shouldn't he?" The voice belonged to the dean, who had just arrived with several white-coated physicians in tow. All eyes shifted as the dean hurried to the patient's side, bowing in recognition. "Mr. Owen, we're so sorry for this incident. You shouldn't have had to experience this chaos. Please, let us escort you to our facility for a proper check-up." The name Owen rang out in Rylie's mind. She remembered hearing about the powerful family from Kouhron searching for their lost sibling. The gravity and presence this man carried left her with little doubt -- she was looking at a member of that very family. A team of doctors quickly appeared with a wheelchair, helping Felix Owen settle in. Despite their urgency, Felix stayed put, his presence radiating icy authority as he leveled his gaze. "Offer her an apology," he said, voice sharp as steel. Any harm to an Owen family member on campus would have spelled disaster for the school. Sweat gathered on the dean's brow as he spun toward Timothy, his voice sharp. "You will apologize to Rylie right now! Do you value your position here or not?" Surrounded by witnesses and cornered by the dean's command, Timothy could do nothing but lower his head. "I was wrong, Rylie. I apologize," he said, each word heavy with reluctant humiliation. Anger simmered in Timothy's eyes even as he spoke. His fists clenched, and inwardly, he promised himself that Rylie would pay for this humiliation one day. Packing her vial away, Rylie was just about to leave when Felix stopped her with a call. He pressed a carved wooden token into her hand. "This is an Owen family token -- redeemable for any favor. If you ever run into trouble or need something, just call the number on the back. Whatever you ask, it's yours." The gesture gave Rylie pause. Recognizing its weight, she quietly accepted the token. Once Felix was wheeled off under the dean's watchful eye, murmurs spread among the students nearby. "So that's why there were luxury cars lining the parking lot this morning. Looks like the Owen family really is here, searching for their lost daughter." Shock rippled through the group. "Wait, are you saying their missing daughter is somewhere on campus? Who could it be?" A shrug and a whisper followed, answering, "Nobody knows for sure. I just heard they traced her here." &16&