Chapter 1

"I've made up my mind. I'll marry that guy from the Scott family who's in a vegetative state."

Willow Rooney lounged against the doorframe of Rooney Manor. Her lips twisted into something too sharp to be a smile.

Walter Rooney's cigar nearly tumbled onto the imported rug beneath him. He jerked upright in his leather chair. The creases at his eyes vanished in a surge of triumph.

"Willow, you've come around? Wonderful! The Scotts are pushing hard. You'll be sent to Nythera as the bride in two weeks. What kind of wedding dress do you want? I'll have it made—"

"That's it?" Willow scoffed. "I'm marrying in place of your precious illegitimate daughter, and all you're offering me is a dress?"

The air in the living room grew thin. It was brittle with tension.

Walter's face hardened. "Watch your mouth. She's not illegitimate. She's your younger sister."

"Sisters share a mother." A hollow laugh slipped from Willow's lips. Her eyes were as cold as winter. "She's the fruit of your betrayal. I'll never call her family."

A vein throbbed at Walter's temple, but he suppressed his fury before it could erupt. He drew a deep breath. Cigar ash landed on the desk.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Ten billion dollars." The number slipped from Willow's lips. "And once I'm married, transfer Alden to guard your precious illegitimate daughter."

Walter's face went rigid. He stared at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "You're insane. Ten billion would bleed me dry! And Alden? Wasn't he your favorite? You used to beg to marry him. Aren't you taking him with you?"

"Are you agreeing to it or not?"

Willow's patience ran out. She turned toward the door.

"Fine!" Walter slammed his palm on the desk and got to his feet. "It'll be done the day you leave for Nythera."

He didn't bother questioning her motives. All that mattered was locking the deal before she changed her mind.

Back then, the Scotts' only son had been the envy of everyone. Walter had rushed to secure the engagement between the families, eager to marry Vivian Rooney off to him someday.

A good match for his youngest daughter—or so he'd thought.

Then the accident happened, leaving the Scotts' heir in a vegetative state. Unwilling to condemn Vivian to such a fate, Walter finally remembered that Willow, too, was his daughter.

Willow waved him off with a flick of her hand. Her back was turned to him. The sharp click of her heels echoed across the marble floor.

Just as her fingers closed around the door handle, Walter's voice broke the silence behind her. "I get why you'd want the money. But I thought Alden meant everything to you. How could you just hand him over to Vivi?"

Willow's hand froze. She didn't turn around, but her eyes suddenly stung. That name was a thorn that twisted in the softest part of her heart.

Without a word, she pushed through the door and closed it, leaving Walter and his question behind.

Willow returned to the villa well past midnight. Her heels clicked on the stairs as she climbed them.

A low, restrained sound drifted out from Alden's room as she walked past it. The door hung slightly ajar. She looked up, and the scene inside came into focus.

Alden leaned against the headboard with a photograph pinched between his fingers. His eyes were closed, and his Adam's apple bobbed. A husky murmur slipped from his throat. "Vivi… babe… you're so sweet…"

It was a snapshot of Vivian from last year's birthday party. She wore a white dress. Her smile was radiant with warmth and innocence.

Willow's nails dug into the strap of her Hermès bag, leaving angry crescents in it. Finally, she answered Walter's question in her head.

Because Alden was just like him. He only cared about Vivian.

The answer coiled inside Willow, white-hot, until her ribs ached with it.

Three years ago, she first saw Alden while choosing a bodyguard. Amid a crowd of towering men, her gaze locked onto him instantly.

The reason was simple—he was impossibly handsome. At 6 feet and 2 inches, with broad shoulders, a lean waist, and sharp, sculpted features, he looked like something out of a fantasy. But it was his eyes—cold as ice—that undid her.

In their circle, Willow was the mischievous temptress everyone knew. She'd flirted with Alden just for fun, but three years had slipped by, and nothing ever came of it.

She'd pretend to be drunk and collapse into his arms. He'd grip the back of her neck like he was scruffing a cat and deposit her onto the couch.

She'd knock at his door past midnight, wearing a slinky nightgown. He'd wrap her in his suit jacket and escort her back to her room like a gentleman returning lost property.

Once, she even faked drowning. He plunged in after her and dragged her to safety. His hands never touched her waist.

No matter how much Willow flirted, Alden remained unmoved. He treated her with nothing but cool formality. And yet, she fell for him anyway.

She didn't know why. Maybe it was the loneliness that had gnawed at her since her mother, Camille Aldinger, had died.

At seven years old, Willow watched Walter bring home his illegitimate daughter, Vivian, a girl who was only three months younger than her.

The truth was, in the ten years he'd been married to Camille, he'd spent nine of them unfaithful. That day, the illusion of the happy, secure family Willow had held onto fell apart completely.

At the time, Camille was nine months pregnant with Walter's second child. She was only days away from giving birth. She had loved him desperately.

She confronted him in hysterics, sobbing so violently she nearly choked on her own tears. The distress sent her into premature labor that same night.

By the time she reached the hospital, it was too late. She never made it to the operating room. They lost her. And the baby with her.

From then on, Willow hated Walter. She hated Vivian, too.

She left Rooney Manor behind and grew up alone until the day the harassment became unbearable. She was too beautiful, and the spoiled, entitled heirs circled her like vultures.

That was when she decided she needed a bodyguard.

Alden had been Willow's first bodyguard. From that day forward, she was never alone. Wherever she went, he followed.

At first, she admired him. Then she flirted with him, and eventually, she fell for him. But after three years, his heart never once wavered for her.

She'd thought him cold by nature until the day she caught him pleasuring himself to a photo of Vivian. Once he was finished, he answered a call.

"Mr. Wilder, how long are you planning to keep up this bodyguard charade? You're Blythera's scion. You could have any woman you want. If Vivian caught your eye at first sight, why not just take her?

"Since when do you play the sentimental fool, wasting your time guarding Willow just to steal glances at Vivian?"

Alden's expression didn't flicker. "I did my research. Vivi's an illegitimate daughter. She's had a tough life and trusts no one. I'd lose her if I pushed too hard. So I'm taking it slow."

"Damn, since when do the Wilders breed lovesick idiots? And here I thought Willow's constant flirting would've worn you down. That woman's a temptress. She's got suitors lined up halfway across the globe."

Alden's mouth twitched into something like a smile. His words plunged Willow into an icy abyss. "Oh? I'm not interested. She's not even half the woman Vivi is."

Each syllable cut into Willow, sharp as a blade. And just like that, her feelings for him were gone.

No one could say how long Alden had kept going in his room. Somehow, it stretched longer than usual, and still, he couldn't find release.

Willow watched. Her lips curled into a cold smirk. Then, with one sharp thrust, she shoved the door open.

Chapter 2

Willow stared into the void of Alden's gaze. He was, after all, a man who commanded authority. Even now, when caught in this compromising moment, his face gave nothing away.

Unhurried, he slid the photograph beneath the pillow and zipped his fly. A breath, and his mask was back—cool and untouchable. The man who had surrendered to desire might as well have been a ghost.

Willow's lips curled into a thin smile. "Must be agony, stopping midstream. Need a hand?"

Alden didn't so much as blink. He leaned back slightly, putting space between them. "Ms. Rooney, do you need anything?"

He was always like this. A mere photograph of Vivian could set him ablaze, yet around Willow, he turned to stone.

Willow's nails dug into her palms as she pictured Vivian's plain, forgettable face. Vivian couldn't hold a candle to Willow's beauty or figure. Yet men fell for her anyway, tripping over themselves for that simpering act of innocence.

It didn't matter anymore. Willow had beauty, money, and a body that turned heads. From now on, she'd waste no time on anyone who didn't want her.

"There's an auction tomorrow. You're coming with me," she said flatly, not bothering to wait for a response as she turned to leave.

Alden frowned. "I requested two days off—"

"Vivian will be there, too."

She didn't look back.

A brief silence lingered before Alden's voice, low and deep, came from behind her. "Understood, Ms. Rooney."

Willow's heart stung as if a needle had jabbed into it. True to form, the mention of Vivian's name was enough to erase all his principles.

Alden did not need to worry, Willow thought. Soon enough, she'd be the one to send him right to Vivian herself.

…

The next morning, Willow stepped outside the villa to find Alden by the car. His black suit fit like a second skin, emphasizing his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The early light cast golden highlights across his sharp profile.

Once, she would've flirted with him—maybe faked a twisted ankle to fall into his arms, or leaned in just so her breath tickled his ear. But today, she climbed into the car with a blank expression without even sparing him a glance.

Surprised, Alden glanced at her before quickly averting his eyes. Without a word, he slid into the passenger seat.

The car coasted toward the auction venue. Willow kept her face turned to the window the whole way. She didn't try to come up with excuses to start a conversation with him like usual.

The silence in the car was so heavy that their breaths seemed to echo too loudly.

The auction was being held at the city's most exclusive hotel. Crystal chandeliers bathed the grand hall in light as people from elite circles mingled below.

The moment Willow stepped inside, she saw Vivian up ahead. She was dressed in white, and her long, straight hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was chatting happily with a cluster of socialites, looking every bit the picture of innocence.

Something in Alden's gaze shifted in an instant. Though he still stood behind Willow, dutifully playing the role of her bodyguard, she could feel his attention lock fully onto Vivian.

"Willow!" Vivian spotted them and rushed over, slipping her arm affectionately through Willow's. "What a coincidence! You're here for the auction too?"

Willow wrenched her hand free. "Don't touch me."

Vivian's eyes welled up instantly. Her gaze darted to Alden, and her expression was wounded. "Den, I just wanted to be closer to her…"

Alden's brow furrowed. His gaze lingered on Willow with barely concealed disdain.

Seizing the moment, Vivian tugged at his sleeve. "Den, I heard that when I had a fever and wanted cherry pie, you went out in the middle of the night—in that downpour—just to bring it to Rooney Manor.

"It's a shame I was so out of it. And then, with all the recovery, I never got to thank you properly."

Alden's expression softened instantly. "No need for thanks, Ms. Vivian. It was on my way."

On his way? Willow scoffed.

Five hours. That was how long he'd been gone that night. And when he finally returned, he was drenched to the bone. That was his idea of "on his way"?

"I still owe you a meal!" Vivian chirped, sweetness dripping from every word.

This time, Alden didn't refuse. "Whatever you arrange, Ms. Vivian."

"We should invite Willow too!" Vivian turned, then gasped. "Willow, why do you look so awful? I'm the one who was sick—"

Willow cut her off. Her voice was icy. "Since when are we close? Worry about yourself, homewrecker's daughter."

Vivian's face went pale, while Alden's frown deepened.

The auctioneer's voice cut through the hall, announcing the start of the bidding. It finally put an end to the awkward conversation.

Willow didn't bother with another word. She simply took her seat.

She was about to marry into the Scott family. Expecting Walter to provide her wedding gift would've been delusional. These were things she'd have to secure herself. That was the real reason she'd come today.

After she sat down, the first item was unveiled—a pigeon blood ruby necklace. Its starting bid was set at one million dollars.

Without hesitation, Willow raised her paddle. "Two million."

Surprisingly, Vivian's paddle flicked up too. "Three million."

Willow turned.

Vivian met her with a thin smile. "I like this one too, Willow. You don't mind letting me have it, do you? After all, Dad's never been quite as generous with your allowance as he is with mine."

Willow smirked. "Generous" was putting it mildly.

Growing up, Vivian had gotten five million dollars a month in spending money. Willow? Five hundred. If it hadn't been for Camille's inheritance, Willow might've actually starved to death.

But the game had changed. Ten billion dollars sat in her accounts now.

"Four million."

Willow raised her paddle again.

Vivian stiffened.

"Four and a half million," she forced out through clenched teeth.

"Five million."

"Five and a half."

With each exchange, Vivian's expression darkened. "Willow, where the hell are you getting this kind of money? Aren't you afraid you won't be able to pay?"

"Ten million!" The bid rang out, bold and unflinching. Willow tilted her head and smirked at Vivian. "Funny. I was just thinking the same about you."

Vivian's face flushed, then drained of color. Around them, murmurs rippled through the crowd.

The auctioneer, ever polite, turned to her. "Ms. Vivian, do you wish to continue?"

"Wait." She fumbled for her phone, fingers stabbing at the screen as she fired off a message to Walter.

A moment later, her face soured. Clearly, she'd been rejected.

Willow watched. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. Of course, he had refused. A billion had already bled into her hands. What scraps were left for Vivian to flaunt?

As the tension crested, a man in a sharp suit stepped forward. His voice cut through the silence like a blade. "We'll cover every raise!"

Chapter 3

The room erupted in murmurs.

The auctioneer blinked. "Sir, did you just say…"

Neal Blauner explained, "I'm Mr. Wilder's assistant. His instructions are clear. Whatever lot Ms. Vivian bids on today, we'll cover every raise to secure it for her."

The auction hall exploded.

"Mr. Wilder? As in the Wilder family's sole heir? That famous scion of Blythera?"

"Isn't he uninterested in women? Why's he backing Ms. Vivian's bids?"

"Looks like Ms. Vivian just hit the jackpot…"

Whispers coiled through the crowd. Vivian's face shifted—shock first, then delight, and at last, triumph blazed in her eyes.

"Where is Mr. Wilder? I'd like to thank him in person," Vivian said. Her cheeks were flushed.

Neal answered respectfully, "Mr. Wilder isn't available at the moment. But when the time comes, he'll meet with you himself."

Only then did Vivian turn to Willow. Her eyes were bright with victory. "Still bidding, Willow?"

Then, with feigned innocence, she added, "Oh, I nearly forgot—Mr. Wilder's covering every raise for me. If you keep going, you might just bankrupt yourself. After all, who in this circle could possibly outbid him?"

Willow's face darkened. She whipped her head toward Alden, only to find him gazing at Vivian with naked adoration. His expression was unbearably tender.

What followed was pure spectacle.

Every piece Vivian so much as glanced at, Neal snatched up for her, outbidding every rival without hesitation.

The pigeon blood ruby necklace, the centuries-old porcelain set, even Whispers of the Lilies—the famed masterpiece opening at 80 million dollars—all fell into her hands inevitably.

Willow shot to her feet. Her composure shattered at last. "Is Mr. Wilder not leaving any lots for the rest of us?"

Neal flicked a glance at Alden, who gave the barest nod.

"My apologies, Ms. Willow," Neal replied coolly. "These are all gifts from Mr. Wilder to Ms. Vivian. His only concern is her enjoyment of the auction. As for everyone else's feelings… Well, they're not his priority."

Willow laughed as her nails bit into her palms. She turned to Alden. His gaze never left Vivian, who stood basking in triumph.

Alden was something else. The thought burned through Willow. Really, he was something else.

When the auction ended, Vivian was swallowed by a rush of socialites. Their honeyed words and glittering smiles clung to her like perfume.

Willow couldn't stomach the charade for another second. She turned on her heel and marched out of the hall. She went straight into the idling car.

"Nightfall Club," she told the driver.

She needed liquor to drown the thoughts clawing at her.

But before the door closed, Vivian wedged herself inside. "Willow! You're heading to the club, right? I've been dying of boredom. Let me come!"

Willow was half a second from shoving her out when Alden appeared. His hand was braced against the doorframe. He told the driver, "Drive."

Vivian spent the ride gushing about the auction. "Den, why was Mr. Wilder so nice to me? We've never even met!"

Alden's voice became low and uncharacteristically soft. "Because he's into you."

Vivian's eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed scarlet. "Den, don't joke like that!"

"Men understand men best." His gaze burned into her. "Where a man spends his money is where his heart lies. And besides… Ms. Vivian, you're exceptional. It's no surprise he fell for you."

"Then… are you into me too, Den?" Vivian blurted out.

Alden stiffened. His reply died on his lips as Willow's voice sliced through the air. "If you two want to flirt, get the hell out of my car!"

Vivian's eyes welled up instantly. "I'm sorry, Willow. I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll be quiet."

Willow turned away and stared fixedly out the window. In the reflection in the glass, she saw it all—Alden's tender, yearning gaze that lingered on Vivian, then his disdainful gaze when he glanced at Willow.

She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. All men preferred bitches in the end.

Chapter 4

The club pulsed under dim, hypnotic lights. Willow threw back her third whiskey. It burned as it slid down her throat, but it was useless against the resentment coiled in her chest.

She moved with the music in stiletto heels, and her red dress swirled around her in the center of the dance floor. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Alden by the booth.

He was supposed to be her bodyguard. But there he was, hovering at Vivian's side, so close not even air could slip between them.

Vivian murmured something, leaning in until her lips nearly grazed Alden's ear. He had never shown Willow anything but icy detachment, yet now, his ears burned pink at the tips.

Willow sneered and turned, straight into a tightening ring of eager heirs.

"Ms. Willow, honor us with a drink?"

"How about adding me on Facebook?"

"Ms. Willow, I've been dying to meet you. All those stories about your beauty? They didn't even come close."

Pinned in the corner, she had no room to move or protest. More men closed in. One placed his hand on her waist.

"Alden!"

Willow had finally had enough.

Only then did Alden seem to notice her distress. He frowned, pushing through the crowd toward her. The defined muscles of his arms flexed beneath his black suit. A single icy glance from him sent the pack of spoiled heirs slinking away.

"Anyone would think you're her bodyguard."

Willow wiped the liquor from her collarbone, smirking.

Alden's gaze dropped. "My apologies. I didn't see you earlier."

"Didn't see me?" She stepped closer suddenly. Her lips were nearly brushing his chin. "Or you didn't want to?"

Her breath warmed his skin. His throat moved as he took half a step back. "Ms. Willow, you've had too much to drink."

"Don't worry. Once I'm married off, you can protect Vivian all you want—"

A sudden burst of cheering from the stage drowned out the rest of her words.

The staff wheeled out an iron cage with two adult Cane Corsos pacing restlessly inside.

"Tonight's special event!" the host bellowed in an excited voice. "Vortex versus Inferno! Betting is now open!"

Willow frowned.

Nightfall Club ran brutal betting matches like this all the time. She'd always despised them. She turned to leave when the iron cage groaned, straining against some unseen force.

The latch gave way. In a split second, the larger Cane Corso barreled through the open door and lunged straight for the crowd.

Screams erupted. Willow saw Alden turn without hesitation, instinct driving him as he rushed to Vivian. He wrapped her in his arms and shoved her toward the emergency exit.

Willow was the one standing closest to the Cane Corso. She was close enough to see strands of saliva hanging from its fangs.

She screamed. The searing pain came without warning.

The Cane Corso's fangs sank deep into her calf, and she barely registered the tear of fabric and flesh. A chunk of her leg came free. Blood gushed out, and she collapsed. Helpless, she could only watch the beast lunge again.

A deafening gunshot crackled through the air. The dog dropped mid-leap.

Through her fading vision, Willow saw Alden shield Vivian behind him. His gun was still raised. Then the ceiling tilted, whirled, and the light was swallowed.

…

The scent of antiseptic clung to the air.

Willow clawed her way back to consciousness through a haze of searing pain. The sterile white ceiling swam into view first. Her calf burned as if pressed to a hot slab of iron. Every breath pulled at the wound like a hooked barb.

She turned her head with effort, and the scene at the doorway hit her like a second blow, cutting through the groggy fog of her mind.

Vivian buried herself in Alden's arms while sobbing. "Den, you're Willow's bodyguard. Why did you protect me instead? It's all my fault. I never should've come…"

Alden patted her back. His voice was impossibly gentle. "Ms. Vivian, don't blame yourself. Even if we lived this moment a hundred times—" His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. "I'd still choose to save you first."

"Why?" Vivian looked up, her eyes glistening.

His gaze locked onto hers. The usual steel in his eyes was dissolving into something tender and unguarded. "Because I lo—"

Chapter 5

The shattering glass cut Alden off mid-sentence. Vivian jerked back from his arms like a startled rabbit.

"Willow, you're awake!" She rushed to the hospital bed. Tears were already welling in her eyes. "How do you feel? Are you still in pain? This is all my fault…"

Willow's pale lips curled into a sneer. "How could I get better with you in my sight?"

Vivian's tears fell harder. Her shoulders trembled as if the words had struck bone. She bit her lip, threw Alden a glance, and ran out.

Alden took a half-step after her, then forced himself to stop.

He turned to Willow. His voice was low. "Ms. Willow, it was a tense situation. I didn't have time to react…"

Willow didn't answer. She just turned away and stared out the window. She didn't want to hear it.

For three days, Alden stood guard outside her hospital room like some dutiful sentry. Not once had she spoken to him, not until the day they discharged her.

Willow walked straight to the study. Her legs were still unsteady from her injuries. She yanked open the mahogany drawer and pulled out a gleaming black leather whip.

This was the Rooney family's traditional method of discipline. One strike could split flesh.

"Send for Alden," she told the butler.

Alden pushed the door open to find Willow meticulously cleaning her whip. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, carving shadows beneath her lashes.

"You're my bodyguard, Alden. And you failed to protect me," she said, lifting her gaze to meet his. "You don't object to being punished, do you?"

Alden stood motionless. His eyes widened just a fraction, but Willow didn't miss it.

This Blythera scion had probably never imagined a day when someone would dare to discipline him. He was the renowned sole heir of the Wilders.

How many people groveled for his favor every day? Who in their right mind would even think of laying a hand on him? And yet, here she was, whip in hand.

Willow studied his expression, then suddenly laughed.

He was actually hesitating. He could resign and walk away, but he didn't. Was it Vivian holding him back? Was he staying close because he hoped it would bring him closer to Vivian?

Willow's eyes burned. Her laughter was hovering dangerously close to tears.

Alden gritted his teeth and finally muttered, "No."

The moment the word left his lips, Willow's heart wrenched violently. Her grip hardened on the whip, and she raised her arm.

"Stop!"

A slender figure suddenly threw itself in front of Alden, desperately shielding him.

Tears welled in Vivian's eyes, and her voice was shaking. "Willow, if you need to punish someone, punish me! Den has nothing to do with this!"

"Move." Willow's voice was icy.

"No!" Vivian shook her head as tears streamed down her face. "I'm the one who got you hurt. Take it out on me—"

Alden tried to pull her back. "Ms. Vivian, this isn't your fault."

But she planted herself, refusing to give an inch.

Fury burned through Willow at the sight of her. Her whip lashed out. The crack split the air, sharp and piercing.

She'd aimed for Alden, but Vivian threw herself in front of him, taking the full force of the strike. A cry tore from her lips as her body shuddered, then folded.

Alden caught her before she hit the ground. His gaze fell on the wound. When he looked up again, Willow found herself staring into eyes so cold they burned.

There was murder in them. It was as if, in the next breath, he'd tear out her throat. A frozen dread seized her, locking her in place.

"Get out."

Her voice trembled.

Alden swept Vivian's unconscious body into his arms and strode away. The study door slammed behind him with a deafening crash.

Willow stood rooted in place. Her hands were trembling too violently to clutch the whip.

Chapter 6

Three days later, Willow went alone to try on her wedding dress.

The night hung thick and heavy as she stepped out of the boutique. Without warning, a hand clamped over her mouth and nose from behind, and the sharp sting of chemicals flooded her senses.

She thrashed—once, twice—before the world dissolved into nothing.

When Willow woke, there was only darkness. A blindfold smothered her sight. Her wrists were bound to the chair. She couldn't move.

The first lash cracked through the silence. Pain arched her spine. The coarse fibers tore into her wrists, and the blindfold made the blackness suffocating.

She bit down on her lip hard until the taste of copper filled her mouth. She swallowed her scream before it could escape.

"You pissed off the wrong people."

The torturer's voice drifted over from somewhere distant.

The whip fell like a storm, each lash splitting the air with a sharp crack. Her skin split with it. Willow clenched her teeth, biting back every scream.

Who? Who would do this to her?

The flogging dragged on until her consciousness wavered. Only then did it stop. A moment later, the sound of a phone call reached her.

"Sir, I've done as you ordered," the man said. His voice was deferential.

The voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable. "Good. Send her back."

It was only a few words, but in that moment, Willow's blood turned to ice.

Alden.

This was his doing. She'd struck Vivian with a whip by accident, and for that, he'd given her 99 lashes?

Agony and dread surged through her, and at last, her body gave out, plunging her into darkness.

…

Willow lay on the hospital bed. Her back was burning. It felt like she was being lashed with fire. Nurses murmured outside the door.

"That man is so handsome and gentle with his girlfriend."

"Yeah, it's just whiplash, but he's acting like it's the end of the world. Meanwhile, the patient in 304 is covered in lashes, and nobody even bothers to check on her..."

Willow yanked out her IV needle and steadied herself against the wall. She shuffled step by step into the hallway. As expected, she found Alden inside a VIP room.

He cradled a glass of water, tilting it carefully to Vivian's lips. She mumbled something soft and sweet, and Alden brushed a stray droplet from her mouth with his thumb. His gaze was so tender it could have melted ice.

Willow sagged against the wall, and her vision blurred. She didn't understand. She'd made the choice to let go, so why did her heart still ache like this?

The pain gnawed at her, like an invisible hand dragging a dull blade across her flesh. She told herself not to cry. No one would care anyway.

…

The day Willow was discharged from the hospital, she had barely stepped inside her home when familiar footsteps sounded behind her.

Alden had returned.

Their eyes locked, and each saw something unfamiliar in the other's gaze. They stood there, the silence stretching between them, until Willow's phone buzzed. Walter's name flashed on the screen.

"Tomorrow is Vivi's birthday party." His voice brooked no argument. "She's been crying to me, saying she wants to make things right. You're coming."

Willow scoffed. "No."

"What's the point of holding a grudge? This might be the last chance." His tone sharpened. "The Scott family has already set the date. Once you're married—"

She hung up before he could finish. When she looked up, she found Alden standing in the shadows. "Do you think I should go?"

The dim lamplight carved harsh lines into his profile. A beat passed before he answered in a quiet voice. "You should."

"Fine." Willow's lips curled into a bitter smile. "If that's what you want."

The birthday party was held in Rooney Manor's glass conservatory. By the time Willow arrived in her emerald-green velvet gown, the guests had already clustered together.

Beneath the crystal chandelier, Vivian stood surrounded by admirers. Her frothy pink gown made her look every inch the princess.

"Willow!" she exclaimed, bright and eager, stepping forward as if to slip an arm through hers.

Willow sidestepped her. Her eyes caught on the mountain of gifts from Walter—the limited-edition Hermès, the robin's egg blue Tiffany boxes, and the Porsche key fob.

"Vivi's always been such a good girl. She's my favorite."

Walter stood beside Vivian. His face was alight with fondness, just as it had been when he had stood beside Willow and Camille all those years ago.

The memory burned clear in Willow's mind—herself in a white dress, laughing as Walter hoisted her high, while Camille watched from the sidelines with a soft smile.

Now, everything had changed.

After the cake was cut, the guests drifted apart in small clusters.

Maisie Gardner—Vivian's best friend—pulled her aside, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper. "Vivi, with all these high-society bachelors here tonight, is Mr. Rooney trying to set you up? But I thought you were already engaged to that guy from the Scotts?"

Vivian smirked, and her gaze flicked toward Willow. "That fell through ages ago."

"Good riddance. Rumor is the guy's in a vegetative state. Marrying him would be like widowhood with the guy still breathing, wouldn't it?" Maisie waggled her eyebrows. "Anyway, with all these men hanging around, tell me—what do you look for in a partner?"

With everyone egging her on, Vivian flushed. She counted it off on her fingers. "First, he has to adore me. He has to get my name tattooed over his heart. I'm looking for that kind of adoration. Second, he's got to be brave.

"They say that theres's a rose on Mooncrest Cliff that blooms only once every century. He'd have to pick it for me. And third—"

Before she could finish, the conservatory doors swung open. "Mr. Wilder's gifts have arrived. We wish Ms. Vivian a joyous birthday and a life free from sorrow!"