The coffee shop on campus was loud, a chaotic mix of espresso machines hissing and students complaining about midterms.

Eliza sat in the corner booth, clutching a latte like a lifeline. The caffeine was making her hands shake worse, but she needed it to combat the fog in her brain.

Azalea was sitting opposite her, scrolling through Instagram with a grimace.

"Everybody is talking about how you vanished," Azalea said, not looking up. "Claudine is posting passive-aggressive quotes about 'loyalty' and 'trash taking itself out.'"

Eliza flinched. A drop of foam spilled onto her thumb. "Let her talk."

"Oh, I am," Azalea said darkly. "I'm commenting with vomit emojis on every single post."

Eliza reached for a napkin to wipe her hand. As she moved, the cashmere scarf she was wearing slipped slightly to the side.

Azalea gasped.

The sound was so loud that two people at the next table turned around. Azalea dropped her phone onto the table with a clatter.

"Eliza! What is that on your neck?"

Eliza's hand flew to her throat. She felt the tender spot just below her ear. A dark, purplish bruise against her pale skin.

She had seen it in the mirror this morning and had been trying not to think about it. The memory of the night was hazy, obscured by alcohol. She remembered stumbling. She remembered Dallas catching her. Had he held her too tightly? Or was it... something else? She couldn't be sure, and the uncertainty was terrifying.

"It's nothing," Eliza stammered, pulling the scarf tighter. "The car door hit me on the way out this morning."

"Bullshit," Azalea hissed, leaning over the table. Her eyes were wide, predatory. "That's not a door, that's a hickey. A world-class, possessive, 'stay away from her' hickey. Who is he?"

Eliza's heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn't say Your Dad. She absolutely could not say that.

"It's... complicated," Eliza said, looking down at her cup. "An older guy."

Azalea's eyebrows shot up. "Older? Like... Anson's age?"

"Older," Eliza whispered.

Azalea opened her mouth to scream, but her phone cut her off. It began to ring, vibrating violently against the wooden table.

The Caller ID flashed: The Bank.

That was her contact name for Dallas.

Azalea answered immediately, her posture straightening instinctively. "Yes, Daddy?"

Eliza held her breath. She could hear the deep rumble of Dallas's voice on the other end, though she couldn't make out the words. The sound alone made the hair on her arms stand up.

Azalea frowned. "Right now? But we have class in an hour."

She listened for another few seconds, then sighed. "Okay. Fine. We're coming."

She hung up and looked at Eliza, confused.

"He wants us at the flagship store downtown."

Eliza's stomach dropped. "Both of us?"

"Yeah. He says you need 'appropriate attire' for a dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" Eliza squeaked.

"Apparently." Azalea gathered her bag. "Come on. You don't keep The Bank waiting."

They walked back to the parking lot. The silver Aston Martin was gleaming in the sun, drawing stares from a group of fraternity guys.

Eliza unlocked the car. She slid into the driver's seat, the leather molding to her body. She pushed the start button, and the engine roared to life, a guttural growl that vibrated through the floorboards.

"You'll get used to the high life, eventually," Azalea laughed, buckling her seatbelt.

Eliza pulled out of the lot, merging onto the main road toward the city. The skyline loomed ahead, glass towers reflecting the afternoon sun.

She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She adjusted the scarf again, ensuring the mark was covered.

Whether it was a bruise or... something else, Dallas had left a mark on her. And he had done it in a place that was hard to hide.

It felt like a brand.

Suddenly, the dashboard screen lit up. Eliza had paired her phone to the car's Bluetooth earlier.

A text message notification popped up on the center console, huge and undeniable.

Sender: Anson Hyde

Message: Stop playing games. Come home. You belong here.

Azalea saw it. She let out a low whistle.

"He's obsessed," Azalea said, shaking her head. "It's actually creepy. Good thing you have a new 'older man' to distract you."

Eliza gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Yeah. Good thing."

She drove faster, putting distance between herself and the university, between herself and Anson. But she was driving straight toward the man who had put a ring on her finger and a mark on her neck.

And she had no idea what his game was.

The air inside the jewelry store was perfumed and chilled to a temperature that kept the clientele awake and the diamonds sparkling.

The store manager, a man in a suit so expensive it hummed with tailored arrogance, bowed slightly as they entered.

"Ms. Solomon," he greeted them. "Please, follow me to the VIP suite."

He led them past glass cases filled with jewels that could feed a small country. They entered a private room at the back, enclosed by frosted glass walls.

A tray of sparkling water was waiting.

"Our client instructed us to show you the investment collection," the manager said, clasping his hands.

Azalea choked on her water. She coughed, slamming the glass down. "Investment? Who is buying?"

Eliza froze. Dallas moved fast. Too fast.

"It's... a portfolio diversification," Eliza lied, grasping at the first thing that came to her mind. "Diamonds hold value."

Azalea looked skeptical, crossing her arms. "Since when do you care about investment portfolios?"

"Since I decided to stop being poor," Eliza snapped back, a little too defensively.

"Fair enough," Azalea shrugged, her attention quickly distracted by a massive 5-carat emerald cut diamond sitting on a velvet pillow.

Eliza picked up a ring. It was a vintage setting, platinum with a solitaire diamond. She slid it onto her finger.

It fit perfectly.

Of course it did. Just like the clothes.

Suddenly, the bell at the front entrance chimed. Not a polite ding, but a jarring sound caused by the door being thrown open with force.

Voices raised at the front desk.

"Sir, you cannot go back there!"

"Get out of my way."

Eliza's blood ran cold. She knew that voice.

She turned just as the frosted glass door to the VIP room was shoved open.

Anson stood there. He looked disheveled. His tie was crooked, his hair messy, and his eyes were wild. He spotted Eliza instantly.

He stormed over, ignoring the manager, ignoring Azalea.

"That platinum band... it looks cheap, Eliza. Is that the best your new benefactor could afford?" Anson spat. He didn't reach for her. He reached for the velvet tray on the table, picking up a grotesquely large diamond necklace.

He dangled it in front of her face. "This is what you're worth. Not that... pathetic little shackle. Come home. I'll buy you ten of these."

"She's not for sale, Anson," Eliza said, her voice shaking but her chin up. She clenched her left hand into a fist, protecting the simple band.

"Not for sale?" Anson laughed darkly. "Everything about you is for sale. I control your trust fund, Eliza. Your entire life is funded by my signature. I can cut you off without a penny."

"Not anymore," a calm, icy voice said from the doorway.

Everyone turned. Dallas's senior lawyer, Mr. Sterling, stood there, flanked by two security guards. He held a tablet.

"As of 9:15 this morning, upon the official execution of her new legal status change, all assets within the Solomon Trust have been legally transferred to Ms. Solomon's independent control," Mr. Sterling announced, his voice carrying through the silent room. "You no longer have signing authority, Mr. Hyde. In fact, you are in breach of fiduciary duty for your past... expenditures."

Anson's face went from arrogant red to a ghostly white. The financial power, his primary weapon, had just been vaporized.

"I'll find out who is backing her," Anson hissed, dropping the necklace back onto the tray with a clatter. "And I'll ruin him. I will bankrupt him and leave him in the gutter. And then you'll come crawling back."

He spun around and stormed out.

Eliza stood there, trembling. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her knees weak.

The store manager stepped forward, bowing slightly to Mr. Sterling. "Mr. Hyde is now banned from all our properties, effective immediately."

Eliza stared at the door. He was going to try to ruin her husband.

He was going to try to ruin Dallas Koch.

She almost laughed. It was a hysterical, terrified sound bubbling in her throat. Anson was about to kick a steel wall and break his foot.

Azalea guided a shaking Eliza out of the jewelry store and into a quiet, upscale café two doors down.

She pushed Eliza into a booth and ordered two double espressos.

"Okay," Azalea said, sitting down and staring Eliza dead in the eye. "Spill. You're married. For real."

Eliza nodded. She was twisting the ring on her finger, the metal warm against her skin.

"Who is he?" Azalea demanded. "And don't give me that 'complicated' crap again. Anson looked like he wanted to murder someone. I need a name."

Eliza took a deep breath. She looked at her best friend. Azalea had saved her from bullies in high school. She had snuck her food when Anson locked her in her room. She couldn't lie to her.

"Promise you won't scream," Eliza pleaded.

Azalea crossed her arms. "Try me."

"It's... Dallas. Your father."

Azalea blinked. Once. Twice. The ambient noise of the café seemed to warp and fade into a dull roar. Her face went blank, a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her brain visibly rebooting as it processed the impossible words.

Then, a slow, dangerous grin began to spread across her face.

"You're... my stepmom?" Azalea whispered.

Eliza flinched, covering her face with her hands. "It's just a contract! For protection! I needed to get away from Anson, and he... he offered."

Azalea burst out laughing. It was a loud, joyous cackle that startled a waiter carrying a tray of pastries.

"Oh my god," Azalea gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. "Anson is going to lose his mind. He's going to stroke out."

Eliza peeked through her fingers. "You're not mad?"

"Mad?" Azalea leaned forward, grabbing Eliza's hands. "Eliza, I have been trying to get Dad to date for five years. He's a monk! A workaholic robot! And you... you are perfect."

"But he's your dad," Eliza said weakly. "It's weird."

"He's lonely," Azalea said, her voice turning serious. "And you need a tank to fight Anson. My dad is a tank. He's a nuclear submarine."

Azalea squeezed Eliza's hands. "We are going to destroy Claudine and Anson. We are going to bury them."

Eliza felt a wave of relief wash over her, so strong it nearly knocked her over. She wasn't losing her best friend. She had gained an ally.

"Thank you," Eliza whispered.

"Don't thank me yet," Azalea said, pulling out her phone. "We have work to do. Dad's credit card is crying out to be used."

"I can't spend his money," Eliza protested.

"It's not his money," Azalea winked. "It's 'step-mommy support.'"

Eliza groaned, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

Azalea's phone pinged. She looked at the screen and turned it to show Eliza.

It was a text from Dallas.

Is she okay?

Azalea raised an eyebrow. "See? He cares."

Eliza looked at the three words. They were simple, direct.

"He just doesn't want his asset damaged," Eliza said, trying to convince herself. "It's a business deal."

Azalea rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "You are so blind. But that's okay. I see everything."