Chapter 1

They all said someone like me, a nobody who clawed her way out of an orphanage, was only good for groveling for whatever scraps the Reed family tossed my way.

When Olivia Lane slapped me, Jonathan Reed stood right there and gently handed her an ice pack. "Did you hurt your hand?" he asked softly.

I lowered my head, wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, and smiled even more meekly.

It wasn't until the day the will was formally read that everything changed.

The lawyer faced the camera and announced, "Ms. Grace Warren will inherit full ownership of Warren Holdings, along with all assets currently mortgaged by the Reed family."

Jonathan's wine glass shattered in his hand.

For the first time, he really looked at me, his voice unsteady. "Who... who are you?"

I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses, my gaze drifting to the flashing police lights outside.

"The one who's here to take everything from you."

*****

In the rainy season, the air itself seemed wrung out with damp gloom.

But inside the Waldorf Astoria ballroom, it was dry and dazzling. The crystal chandeliers carved every smile into flawless perfection, and the champagne tower shimmered with honey-colored light.

I carried a tray, weaving between evening gowns and tailored suits, the burn from hot soup on my wrist faintly visible beneath my cuff.

A gaze stuck to my back, cold and familiar, a kind of icy scrutiny I knew all too well. I didn't even have to turn around. I knew it was Jonathan. Olivia Lane was with him, the one he adored.

Olivia let out a delicate, startled cry. She "accidentally" bumped into my arm, and half a glass of wine splashed right onto her this season's couture gown, leaving a dark patch on the dress.

She frowned, her eyes instantly brimming with tears, and when she glanced at Jonathan, she looked just the right amount of aggrieved.

Jonathan walked over in a few quick steps. He ignored me completely, took off his suit jacket, and draped it over Olivia's shoulders, asking softly, "Are you cold?"

Only then did he turn to me. His gaze was like a scalpel, cutting across my face, my uniform, and the remaining glasses on my tray.

"Grace." He said my name with the kind of tone reserved for something beneath him, "Apologize."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Curious, pitying, and gleeful eyes fixed on me. I knew exactly what they were watching, the orphan girl the Reed family had supported for ten years, wagging her tail for scraps in front of her benefactor and his prized darling.

I lowered my head, bowing my neck in a practiced, obedient arc. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lane. I should have held it steady," I said.

My voice was steady, even gentle. This was a skill I'd spent ten years perfecting. The matron at the orphanage taught me the first lesson. If I wanted to stay, I had to learn to keep my head down and swallow my pride.

Olivia made a faint, dismissive sound and hooked her arm through Jonathan's. "Let it go, Jonathan. She didn't mean it. It's just... this dress. It's the first time I've worn it."

Jonathan patted her hand, but his gaze stayed locked on me. "Three months' wages will be deducted to cover Ms. Lane's dress," he said. "Starting next month."

I kept my head down. "Yes, Mr. Reed."

Three months' wages—that was the money I'd spent half a year saving. But I kept my face blank. Anger was a luxury I couldn't afford.

Olivia seemed satisfied, or maybe just bored, and pulled Jonathan toward the dance floor.

Before turning away, she brushed past me and whispered in a voice only I could hear, "No matter how hard you try, you don't belong here. Jonathan's only kept you around out of charity. Don't forget that."

I looked up and gave her a practiced, professional smile. She froze for a second, clearly not expecting that reaction. Then she pursed her lips, lifted her chin, and walked away.

The party went on. I cleaned up the mess and slipped back into the staff hallway. The heavy door cut off the glitter and music from inside.

The corridor was stark and brightly lit, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I leaned against the cold wall and slowly unclenched my left hand.

My nails bit into my palm, blood seeping out. It hurt a little.

But compared to the cold and despair I felt ten years ago, when I huddled in a damp corner of the orphanage, watching other kids get chosen while I gnawed on a rock-hard bread, this pain barely registered.

The day Jonathan took me out of the orphanage, the sun was shining. He stood in the doorway, backlit in a white sweater, looking just like a prince coming to rescue a princess in distress. Too bad I was never his princess.

He gave me a name, a place to stay, and food on the table. He also gave me a label—the orphan girl the Reed family sponsored, and a disposable pawn for Olivia whenever she needed one.

If Olivia's blood sugar dropped, I'd be out scouring half the city at three in the morning, just to get her the exact dessert from the shop she wanted.

If Olivia got upset by a rival and cried, I'd have to go online and leave the nastiest comments about that person, all under a fake name. Even if it got traced back to me, Jonathan would just say, "It's your own problem."

If Olivia said I was an eyesore, Jonathan would have me move out of my room in Reed Manor and into the maid's quarters.

I did everything they asked. I did it flawlessly. I all but grovelled.

I did everything they asked and did it flawlessly, lowering myself as much as it took, because I knew none of it would simply disappear.

Every cold glance and every slight they allowed, I kept a careful record of it all, down to the last detail, and it would all be repaid.

Footsteps sounded at the end of the hallway. The banquet supervisor appeared, his brow furrowed. "Grace, why are you just standing here? The VIP lounge needs fresh champagne."

"Right away," I answered, quickly tucking my hand behind me, my face slipping back into that obedient, blank mask.

As I turned, I caught a glimpse of my blurred reflection in the shiny metal frame of the door.

Pale and thin, behind black-rimmed glasses, my eyes were calm and empty, like glass that reflected everything and revealed nothing.