Chapter 1
Everyone in the capital knew Edison Shaw kept the most obedient little canary, Bethany Marsh.
She was sweet, gentle, and even the way she dressed mirrored the girl he could never have.
For four years, she played the part. She wore the same makeup. She smiled every time he threw money her way, taking every cent, playing the perfect stand-in.
Edison believed she could never leave him. Her father was drowning in debt. Her brother was seriously sick. Her whole life sat in the palm of his hand.
Then came the stormy night. He skipped her birthday for the woman he could never forget—the one who had just returned to the country.
Bethany didn't cry or throw a fit. She just left a key and a note: [Edison, game over.]
He didn't even bother chasing Bethany. Later, at a party, he laughed carelessly, "She's just sulking. Freeze her card, and she'll be crawling back to me, begging, before the day ends."
A day went by.
Three days.
Three months.
That obedient shadow disappeared without a trace, like she was never even there.
Their paths crossed again in Zarwick, as snow swirled thickly through the city.
Bethany stood at the center of it all, dazzling like a queen, surrounded by admirers, with an elegant and refined man as her companion.
The Shaw heir, once so proud, now stood before her with reddened eyes, trembling as he clung to the hem of her dress in front of everyone, utterly humbled, his dignity shattered.
He pleaded, "Bethany, please, come home with me."
She looked down at him with a mocking smile. "Mr. Shaw, it's too late."
*****
When Bethany decided to end things, Harbor City was hit by the first storm since winter began.
The windshield wipers whipped furiously, as if trying to peel a layer off the city.
The heat blasted from the vents. The radio played the evening traffic report.
Her phone screen lit up.
It was a message from Edison's assistant—polite, official, not a single word out of place: [Ms. Marsh, Mr. Shaw has a last-minute international video conference tonight and regrets he won't be able to attend the family dinner at Willow Manor. He's arranged for the driver to take you home.]
Bethany looked at her phone for three seconds.
This was the fifth time this month.
Today was her twenty-sixth birthday and her fourth year with Edison.
"Turn around," she said quietly and locked her phone.
The driver, Gavin Hill, paused and glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Ms. Marsh, Mrs. Shaw at Willow Manor is still waiting..."
"I said turn around. Take me back to Regency Bay," Bethany said.
She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
The custom-made dress she wore had been sent by Edison just last week. It was velvet, a vintage red, with a low neckline. He loved seeing her in red, always saying her radiant skin could pull it off.
She knew it wasn't that she could pull it off. It was just that the color reminded him of that woman he could never forget.
No one in their circle ever said it out loud, but everyone knew. Edison kept Bethany around because she was obedient, sweet, and looked just like the woman who had left him without a word all those years ago.
Four years. Even a cat would be tamed by now, so how could a person not be?
Edison was convinced Bethany would be tied to him for life.
The car pulled up in front of the house at Regency Bay.
Bethany stepped out without asking for an umbrella. The rain instantly soaked the expensive velvet, icy and sharp. In her heels, she walked step by step into that opulent yet lifeless cage.
She walked in and flipped on the lights.
On the table in the living room sat the hot chocolate she'd made that morning before leaving. It had long since gone cold.
She headed straight upstairs to her bedroom on the second floor.
She opened the walk-in closet. It was filled with this season's designer pieces, jewelry spilling across the display shelves. All of it was from Edison. He was always generous with money and opportunities. But he never gave her a name. He never gave her love.
Bethany pulled out a black suitcase. It was small, just a 20-inch carry-on.
She packed only a few old clothes she'd bought herself, a set of toiletries, and the passport she'd kept hidden under her pillow.
She did not touch a single thing that he had given her. Not the Hermès bags. Not the wall of designer heels. Not the diamond necklaces sitting in the safe.
It took her less than half an hour to pack.
Before leaving, she placed a key on the nightstand, with a piece of paper weighted down beside it.