Harper gasped and opened her eyes. The nightmare of the flashing cameras faded. She was lying in a massive, incredibly soft king-size bed.

She looked around. The room was decorated in cold shades of black, white, and gray. It was a luxury guest bedroom she did not recognize.

She tried to sit up. A piece of medical tape pulled at the skin on her arm. She looked down and saw an empty IV bag hanging from a metal stand next to the bed.

She touched her chest. Her wet suit was gone. She was wearing a clean, oversized men's silk shirt.

The bedroom door opened quietly. A middle-aged butler in a crisp uniform walked in carrying a silver tray. He smiled when he saw her awake.

"You are in Mr. Donovan's private penthouse," the butler said softly. "You have been asleep for two days with a severe fever."

Harper's stomach dropped. The name Donovan triggered an immediate alarm in her brain. Her muscles tensed.

"The maids changed your clothes," the butler added quickly. "The doctor said your fever is broken." He placed a glass of water and two pills on the nightstand and walked out.

Harper grabbed her phone from the table. The screen lit up. She had ninety-nine missed calls and texts from Chase.

She opened the messages. The first few were angry: Where the hell are you? The recent ones were desperate: Pick up the phone, Harper. Please.

Harper stared at the words. A cold, mocking smile touched her lips. She switched the phone to silent and tossed it onto the blankets.

She pushed the covers off and stood up. Her bare feet sank into the thick wool rug. She walked toward the half-open bedroom door.

Harper walked out of the bedroom and into the massive living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed the skyline of Manhattan.

Antoni stood with his back to her at the kitchen island. He was holding a cup of black coffee and reading a tablet.

Harper cleared her throat. The sound broke the heavy silence. Antoni turned around. His eyes were completely blank and cold again.

"Thank you for the help," Harper said. Her voice was stiff and guarded. "Do I owe you anything for the medical bills?"

Antoni set his coffee cup down. He looked at her like she was a piece of trash on his shoe. "I just didn't want your dead body dirtying the front steps of my building."

The words felt like a slap. Harper locked her knees and stood up straighter. "I will leave immediately."

Antoni pressed a button on the intercom. "Alex, get a car ready. Take Ms. Ryan downstairs."

Harper went back to the bedroom. She changed into her own clothes, which had been washed and ironed. She walked into the elevator without looking back. As the metal doors slid shut, Antoni stared at the space where she had been standing, his jaw clenched tight.

The Donovan driver dropped Harper off at the front entrance of her Tribeca loft building. She stepped out of the car, thanking the driver quietly. But as she stood on the sidewalk, she realized she couldn't just hide. She needed her passport and trust fund documents from the safe. She hailed a passing yellow cab and gave the driver the address to Long Island. An hour later, the cab dropped her at the front gates of the Young estate. The air here felt fake and suffocating. She punched the code into the iron gates and walked up the gravel path.

She walked into the grand foyer. Chase was pacing back and forth across the marble floor like a trapped animal.

He heard her heels click. He spun around. Relief flashed in his eyes. He ran toward her.

He reached out to grab her shoulders. Harper stepped sharply to the side. His hands grabbed empty air.

Chase swallowed his anger. He put on a fake, gentle face. "I have been going crazy. My mother released that statement to the press, not me."

Harper stared at him. She did not say a word. She walked past him toward the stairs.

Chase jumped in front of her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He opened it and shoved it toward her face.

"I know you are hurt," Chase said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I had someone bid on this limited-edition pink diamond in Paris. It is an apology."

Harper looked at the red box. Her eyes did not show surprise. They only showed deep, exhausting disgust.

Chase saw she wasn't taking the box. He pushed the button on the front. The lid popped open. The massive pink diamond caught the light from the crystal chandelier and sparkled brightly.

He stepped closer. He reached out to force the necklace around Harper's neck. "Put this on, and we will forget this whole mess happened."

Harper jerked backward. Her eyes were sharp and dangerous. "Do not touch me."

Her phone chimed loudly from inside her purse. It was a special notification from Instagram.

Harper ignored Chase's frozen hands. She pulled out her phone. Her best friend Pippa had sent her a screenshot.

Harper opened the image. It was a post Lila Moreau had uploaded five minutes ago. The location tag was Mount Sinai Hospital.

In the photo, Lila's pale wrist rested on the white bedsheets. Wrapped around her wrist was a limited-edition pink diamond bracelet. It was the exact same collection as the necklace Chase was holding.

Lila's caption read: Even in the darkest times, he always knows how to heal my pain. TrueLove.

Harper looked at the screen. Then she looked at the necklace in Chase's hand. She let out a short, quiet laugh.

There was no anger in the sound. It was the sound of a woman who had finally seen the absolute bottom of a man's soul. The laugh made the hair on Chase's arms stand up.

Harper flipped her phone around and shoved the screen directly into Chase's face. The pink diamond on the screen glowed brightly.

Chase's face went completely white. His eyes darted back and forth. He started to stutter. "My assistant... he must have bought two by mistake."

Harper did not want to hear his voice anymore. She walked around him and marched up the curved staircase.

Chase stood at the bottom of the stairs. His face turned red with rage. "If you walk out of this house today, I will cancel every credit card you have!" he screamed.

Harper did not stop walking. She went into the study and locked the heavy oak door behind her.

She walked to the bookshelf, moved a row of books, and exposed the wall safe. She typed in the code. The metal door clicked open.

She pulled out her passport, her birth certificate, and the papers for the trust fund her mother had left her.

She opened the desk drawer. She found a brown envelope. She took every Young family credit card, access badge, and car key out of her wallet and threw them into the envelope.

Harper shoved her documents into her bag. She unlocked the door. Chase was standing right outside, breathing heavily. His eyes were bloodshot.

He stared at her bag. His voice dropped into a pathetic whine. "We can go to marriage counseling. Please do not do this."

Harper lifted the brown envelope and slammed it hard into Chase's chest. The paper ripped. Dozens of plastic credit cards spilled out and clattered onto the hardwood floor.

"I think you are disgusting," Harper said. Her voice was completely flat. "And your money is disgusting."

Chase snapped. He raised his hand, aiming a violent slap at her face, just like his mother had done. His hand shook in the air.

Harper did not flinch. She lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes. She looked at him like he was a pathetic insect.

Chase's hand dropped. He punched the wall next to her head. The skin on his knuckles split open and bled.

Harper walked past him. Her high heels crushed the credit cards scattered on the floor. She walked down the stairs without looking back.

Rosa, the housekeeper, stood by the front door holding an umbrella. She looked at Harper with sad eyes.

Harper pushed the umbrella away. She walked out into the gray afternoon. She opened the door of the Uber she had called.

The car engine started. The tires crunched over the dead leaves in the driveway.

Harper sat in the back seat. She watched the massive Young estate disappear in the rearview mirror. She let out a long, deep breath. The heavy chains around her neck were finally broken.

The Uber pulled up to an old brick warehouse converted into luxury lofts in the Tribeca neighborhood. Harper grabbed her small bag and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

She swiped her keycard and walked into the apartment she had bought secretly with her own bonus money before the wedding. The loft was empty. There was only a gray fabric sofa and a bed.

She dropped her bag on the wooden floor. She collapsed onto the sofa and stared blankly at the high ceiling.

The doorbell rang violently. Someone started pounding on the heavy metal door. The loud noise echoed in the empty room.

Harper frowned. She dragged herself up and looked through the peephole. A woman with bright red hair and massive sunglasses was standing in the hallway.

Harper pulled the door open. Her best friend from college, Pippa Donovan, screamed and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

Pippa ripped off her sunglasses. She looked at Harper's pale face and the fading bruise on her forehead. "Chase is a blind, stupid piece of trash," Pippa yelled.

Pippa walked into the apartment, dropping her massive Birkin bag onto the sofa. She slammed two bottles of expensive champagne onto the kitchen counter.

"I cannot believe you hid all of this from me," Pippa complained, popping the cork on the first bottle. "If I hadn't seen the news, I wouldn't even know."

Harper took the glass of champagne Pippa handed her. She took a sip. The tension in her shoulders finally relaxed a little.

Pippa looked around the empty apartment and wrinkled her nose. She reached out and snatched the glass out of Harper's hand.

"You are not rotting in this box," Pippa ordered. "You are going back into the New York social scene tonight. We are showing everyone you are alive."

"No," Harper said, rubbing her temples. "I need to sleep. I have to fix the CGI studio mess tomorrow."

Pippa's eyes darted to the side when she heard CGI. She waved her hand. "Work is for tomorrow. Tonight, you belong to me."

Pippa grabbed Harper's arm and dragged her into the bathroom. As she passed the sofa, she snatched her Birkin bag up by its handle with her free hand, slinging it over her shoulder. "I didn't bring half of Sephora across town for nothing," she declared. "You're going to look like the warrior queen you are."

In the bathroom, Pippa dropped the Birkin bag onto the marble counter. She unzipped it and dumped a pile of high-end makeup onto the sink.

For the next hour, Pippa forced Harper to sit still. She painted Harper's face, giving her a sharp, dangerous, and aggressive look.

Pippa walked back out to the living room and pulled a black, deep-V backless designer gown from a garment bag she had left by the door. She forced Harper to put it on.

Harper looked in the mirror. The woman looking back was cold, stunning, and completely different from the quiet wife she used to be.

Pippa smiled, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She pulled a sleek evening clutch from her Birkin bag, transferring only her phone and lipstick into it, and left the large designer bag resting on the gray fabric sofa. She linked her arm through Harper's and marched her out the door.

A McLaren sports car roared up to the valet stand at The Pierre hotel. Harper and Pippa got out and walked up the red carpet toward the ballroom. The security guards bowed to Pippa.

Harper looked at the wealthy crowd. "What kind of event is this?" she asked quietly.

Pippa smirked. "It is a fake charity gala. My dad threw it to force my workaholic brother to go on blind dates."

Harper's brain stopped working. The word brother echoed in her head. She turned to Pippa, a sudden chill spreading through her chest. "Wait. Your last name is Donovan."

Pippa looked at her, confused. "Antoni Donovan. Did you not know that?" She waved a hand dismissively. "I used my mother's maiden name, Miller, all through college to avoid the paparazzi. I only officially changed it back to Donovan last year, right around the time you were drowning in wedding planning and vendor meetings every weekend. I told you at that brunch, remember? You were on the phone with the florist the whole time."

Harper's stomach dropped. She vaguely remembered a brunch months ago where Pippa had mentioned something about paperwork, but Harper had been so consumed with Chase's demands and the wedding arrangements that she had barely registered the words. And Pippa never talked about her family. In four years of friendship, she had never once mentioned a brother, never posted family photos, never invited Harper to family events. She had always been just Pippa Miller, the wild redhead from the art history seminar.

Now, standing on the red carpet of The Pierre, Harper realized her best friend was the sister of her biggest rival. The man who stole her project and threw her out into the rain.

Harper turned around to run away. Pippa grabbed her arm and dragged her forcefully through the doors.

The heavy doors opened. Bright crystal light poured over them. Everyone in the room turned to look.

Harper was forced to lift her head. She looked across the crowded room. Her eyes locked perfectly with the dark, dangerous eyes of Antoni Donovan, who was standing in the center of the room surrounded by women.