Chapter 1

As the second daughter of the illustrious Evans family, I was the apple of everyone's eye, wrapped in a cocoon of affection and privilege.

So you can imagine the collective gasp when I ended up marrying a nobody, a junior clerk named Samuel Andrews.

My new husband was as thrilling as a history lecture, a quiet, brooding man who made no secret of his disdain for my "pampered princess" ways. And I couldn't see past his hopelessly plain clothes and the perpetually serious set of his jaw.

On our wedding night, he didn't even touch me. He just grabbed a spare quilt, turned his back to me on the chaise lounge, and laid out the terms. "Three years," he said. "Then we get a divorce. A clean break."

For the first time ever, we were in perfect agreement. I spent the next three years fantasizing about my freedom.

Finally, the day came.

I was practically giddy. To celebrate, I personally baked a batch of my famous scones and delivered them to Anthony Williams, who worked some cases with Samuel before.

Samuel, a man who now held the power of the kingdom in his hands, had finally lost his legendary composure. He cornered me in the study as he pinned me, with fury burning in his eyes.

He spat, "Who gave you permission to smile at him?"

*****

"I don't care! I'd rather drop dead than marry Samuel Andrews! He doesn't have a title, and he doesn't have a penny to his name. If I'm stuck with him, I'll be miserable for the rest of my life!" I snapped, cutting my father off mid-sentence.

With a dramatic flare of my hand, I accidentally sent a plate of lemon scones flying. The delicate pastries went skittering across the floor.

My puffed-out cheeks deflated instantly.

It's exhausting to keep your head up when the universe seems determined to trip you at every step.

As the second daughter of the illustrious Evans family, I had been spoiled rotten since the day I was born.

If I wanted to walk among roses before their season, my father, Benson Evans, would have a glasshouse built on the estate and transplant a hundred rare specimens just for my amusement.

If I complained about the winter chill, my older sister, Charlotte Evans, would have a cashmere-lined velvet cloak waiting, and even my bedside lamp would be encrusted with crystals.

Even the King doted on me, frequently inviting me to palace banquets and letting me rummage through his private collection of rare first editions in the Royal Library.

Spoiled as I was by such affection, there wasn't a girl in the kingdom who could stand in my shadow, let alone rival me.

Maybe I was a little high-maintenance and a bit stubborn.

In all fairness, I was quite flawless. Between my delicate features and my perfect hourglass shape, I was the girl every man wanted and every woman envied.

When I came of age, the influx of suitors turned Redbird Avenue into a parking lot of high-society carriages. If you weren't an Earl or a Duke, you couldn't even get close enough to leave a calling card.

But I had high standards. None of them made the cut.

I spent my childhood reading classic romances, so my heart belonged to the legends in my books. I was waiting for a dashing hero, someone who would steal away in the night to see me and offer a love that lasted a lifetime.

None of these high-born sons could hold a candle to the men in my novels.

They were boring, lacking grace and charm, and they hadn't the slightest clue about true romance. None of them could offer the epic love I had read about.

And then there was Samuel. I had heard the rumors about him.

In any crowd, he was the one in the faded, threadbare charcoal suit.

The man was stubborn to a fault. Rank meant nothing to him. Whether you were a commoner or a Duke, you got the same cold truth delivered with a straight face.

He had offended more people than I could count.

So, despite being the top scholar of his year, he was stuck as a lowly junior clerk, barely scraping by.

At the balls, the high-society boys loved to mock him. To them, being "principled" was just another word for being a fool. How could a man like that ever understand the whirlwind romance I craved?

"Is there really no other way?" I asked, my voice trembling as I looked at Charlotte.

I lost my steam, dropped my crumpled lace handkerchief, and threw myself into her arms, sobbing. "Charlotte, I can't marry him..."

Our mother passed away early, and Charlotte had been more of a mother to me than anyone, protecting me at every turn.

Since there were no men in our generation to carry the family name, Charlotte had stepped up to lead the house.

She was so brilliant and ambitious that she joined the palace as a Royal Advisor to protect our legacy.

The court was a shark tank of gossip, and she had to fight for every inch of ground she gained.

Benson looked at me, his voice heavy with resignation.

"I know you feel wronged, sweetheart, but this is a strategic move. The King suspects me of forming a political faction. If we don't clear his doubts, your sister will lose her position, and our entire family is looking at total ruin.

"As for Samuel, I did him a massive favor once. He'll step up. Besides, he's a man of integrity, though he's a bit short on cash. Marrying him wouldn't be such a hardship for you."

I pulled back from Charlotte's embrace. Benson's voice echoed in my head, specifically his cold mention of the family's downfall.

Even as a brat, I knew the stakes.

The King was notoriously paranoid. Over the years, plenty of ministers had been exiled, or worse, had their entire families wiped out.

I gritted my teeth and swallowed my pride.

"Fine. I'll marry him."