Chapter 1

Wind cut across my face like glass. I stood at the edge of the Manhattan Bridge, clutching three documents so tightly they nearly broke skin.

The first was the bankruptcy liquidation notice.

"Wentworth Estate - Final Settlement Complete" blazed in black letters. The red stamp looked like dried blood.

A century of family legacy reduced to this paper. My apartment, Mother's jewelry, everything seized.

The second was my parents' accident report. "Cause: Wet roads, driver error. Case closed."

I traced the words. It had been sunny that day.

Dad had driven for twenty years without an accident. Mom had been laughing that morning.

The cops called it an accident. Nobody wanted to hear from a sobbing girl whose family was circling the drain.

The third was my death sentence.

Rare cardiomyopathy. Three to six months.

I laughed at the Hudson River below. The sound tore apart in the wind.

How ridiculous. The girl who once ruled New York's social scene now needed five hundred thousand dollars just to keep breathing.

My bank account held $3,847. Enough for rent and painkillers. Not even close to covering a cardiac workup.

"If this is fate, I'm choosing my ending."

I opened my hand. The documents spiraled into the river.

I closed my eyes and jumped.

Water swallowed me whole. Suffocation wrapped around me. The pain in my chest exploded.

Through the haze, I saw flashes.

Mom fastening her ruby necklace around my throat.

Dad saying, "Aurelia's going to run corporations someday."

Roman at my birthday party, promising, "My future revolves around you."

Dorian slipping me chocolate, whispering, "Don't let your dad's rules kill your spirit."

Memories burned as my heart seized. I hadn't always been pathetic. They hadn't always thrown me away.

I used to wear Chanel suits, commanding galas with confidence that made rooms quiet. Every socialite orbited around me.

Roman chartered helicopters because I wanted to watch the sunrise. Dorian stole me away in his Porsche, promising "Aurelia's perfect."

All of it shattered when my parents died and the money disappeared.

Roman changed first. Dodged calls, late nights. When I swallowed my pride and asked for help, he winced.

"Aurelia, money doesn't grow on trees."

His voice went cold. He was already courting other heiresses, terrified my ruin would drag him down.

Dorian's betrayal cut deeper. My constant since childhood.

After the bankruptcy hit, he vanished. Texts and calls ignored.

I spotted him on Fifth Avenue, laughing with a new crowd. When our eyes met, he looked away. Walked faster. Didn't pretend to see me.

I became a ghost hiding in a studio apartment. Too ashamed to show my face. Isolation ate me alive.

The divorce papers took five minutes to sign. I walked away from Roman's settlements. I still had enough Wentworth pride to refuse pity money. What a joke.

After that? Burned through savings, bounced between jobs, slept on couches.

Last week, chest pain dropped me in the ER. I got my expiration date.

"Wake up! Come on, wake up!"

Someone slapped my face. Fluorescent lights made me squint.

"You're lucky, Miss Wentworth." Dr. Mercer stood beside the bed. "Harbor patrol fished you out, but your heart can't take much more. You need surgery immediately. Cost is five hundred thousand."

Five hundred thousand.

I laughed. Not from despair, but rage.

Fury at my weakness, at those backstabbing bastards. Laughter turned my chest into a furnace. I couldn't stop.

I caught my reflection. Hollow cheeks, bruised eyes. The light gone out of me.

This wasn't me.

Twenty-one-year-old Aurelia would never let herself fall this far. She was fierce. Unbreakable. Too proud to bow.

If the world ended, she'd rebuild it.

"Enough." I wiped my face. Nails dug crescents into my palm. The pain cleared my head.

I wasn't going to die.

Not before I got justice for my parents.

Not before I made everyone who kicked me pay for it.

Not before I took back the Wentworth name.

Death wanted me? He'd have to fight for it.

I grabbed my phone. Fingers shook but dialed the number. Three rings. Voicemail.

A text came through: "Make it quick."

Roman.

I stared at the screen, typing: [Time to settle old scores.]

The message went through. I felt something I hadn't felt in months. Power.

I lost everything because I was weak and proud. I was done being a victim.

Now I was taking it all back.