Blossom didn't waste time.

She marched into Andria's room two hours later, a stylist trailing behind her like a nervous pet. The stylist held a garment bag as if it contained the Crown Jewels.

"Show her," Blossom commanded, sitting on Andria's chaise lounge and crossing her legs.

The stylist unzipped the bag. The dress was a pale, sickly green. It was covered in excessive lace and ruffles, the kind of thing that looked expensive but dated.

"It brings out your eyes," the stylist lied, her voice trembling slightly. Blossom had clearly paid her well.

Andria walked over to the dress. She ran her hand down the fabric. It felt stiff. Her fingers traced the seam at the waist. It was barely held together by a few loose threads. One wrong step, one deep breath, and the whole thing would split open.

"It's beautiful," Andria said, her voice flat.

"Try it on," Blossom urged. Her eyes were fixed on the dress, anticipating the humiliation.

"Of course."

Andria took the dress and walked into the changing room. She spotted the cup of coffee she had left on the side table earlier. It was cold now, a dark, murky pool.

She didn't hesitate.

She tipped the cup. The brown liquid splashed onto the lace bodice, soaking into the fabric instantly. It looked like a grotesque wound.

"Oh no!" Andria shrieked.

She stepped out of the changing room, holding the ruined dress. "I'm so clumsy! I knocked over my coffee!"

Blossom shot up from the chaise. Her face went red. "You idiot! Do you know how much that cost?"

The stylist looked horrified, but Andria saw a flash of relief in her eyes. She wouldn't have to be responsible for the wardrobe malfunction later.

"I'm so sorry," Andria sniffled, dropping the dress on the floor. "I don't have anything else to wear..."

Blossom glared at Andria. She was furious, but she couldn't scream. Not in front of the staff. It would break her perfect, lady-like facade.

"Fine," she snapped. "Wear that old black thing in your closet. The velvet one. It's hideous, but it's better than going naked."

Andria hid her smirk behind her hand. "Thank you, Blossom."

The night of the Masquerade, the air was thick with humidity and expensive perfume.

The Dawson limousine pulled up to the Sears estate. Cameras flashed, blinding white explosions in the dark.

Blossom stepped out first. She was wearing a custom pink gown that took up half the backseat. She waved to the press, her smile practiced and wide. She clung to Garrick's arm, soaking in the attention.

Andria stepped out after them.

The black velvet dress hugged her frame. She had spent the afternoon altering it herself, lowering the back until it dipped dangerously low, exposing the sharp curve of her spine. It was simple. Stark. Mournful.

She slipped a black lace mask over her eyes. It obscured her identity, leaving only her red lips and jawline visible.

Blossom glanced back at Andria. Her nose wrinkled. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Maybe I am," Andria murmured.

They entered the ballroom. It was a sea of color and noise. Waiters wove through the crowd with trays of champagne.

Andria grabbed a glass and immediately drifted away from her family. She found a spot in the shadows, near a heavy velvet curtain. From here, she could see everything.

She saw him.

Duke Cato Sears stood in the center of the room. He was wearing his military dress uniform, medals gleaming under the chandelier light. He was handsome, in a classic, boring way. Square jaw. Blonde hair. Arrogant smile.

Blossom made a beeline for him. She practically threw herself into his orbit, laughing too loudly at something he said.

Cato looked bored. His eyes scanned the room, looking for an escape.

Then, his gaze landed on Andria.

She felt the weight of his stare. The black dress made her stand out against the pastels and jewels of the other women. She was an anomaly.

Andria didn't smile. She didn't wave. She met his eyes for a second, let her gaze drift over him with palpable disinterest, and then turned her back.

She sipped her champagne, counting down in her head.

Three. Two. One.

She felt a presence behind her. But it wasn't Cato.

"He's looking at you," a voice hissed.

Blossom.

She had abandoned her prey to come mark her territory. Her face was flushed with anger.

"I can't help where he looks," Andria said, not turning around.

"Stay away from him," Blossom whispered venomously. "He's out of your league."

"Gladly."

Andria saw Bianca Sears across the room. She was swaying slightly, a drink in her hand. She was heading toward the French doors that led to the pool.

The stage was set.

"I'm going to get some air," Andria said, walking away from Blossom. She headed toward the doors.

She knew Blossom would follow. She was too insecure to let Andria out of her sight.

As Andria stepped out onto the terrace, she glanced up. On the second-floor balcony, hidden in the shadows, sat a figure in a wheelchair.

He was watching.

Prince Cameron Kaufman.

Andria felt a shiver run down her spine that had nothing to do with the night air. The real player had arrived.

The air by the pool was cooler, heavy with the scent of chlorine and night-blooming jasmine.

Bianca Sears stood perilously close to the edge of the water. She was laughing at something one of her sycophants had said, swaying on her heels. She was drunk. Sloppy.

Andria stopped a few feet away.

Blossom marched up behind her, her heels clicking aggressively on the stone tiles. She grabbed Andria's arm, her nails digging into Andria's flesh.

"Go get Bianca's shawl," she hissed, pointing to a bench on the other side of the pool. "She's shivering. It's a good chance to show Cato how thoughtful we are."

We. As if she would ever share the credit.

"Okay," Andria said meekly.

She pulled her arm free and walked toward Bianca. She didn't head for the shawl. She headed for the space directly behind Bianca.

Blossom followed, hovering like a vulture, ready to push Andria or scold her if she messed up.

Andria timed it perfectly.

As she passed Bianca, Andria stumbled. It was a small, calculated misstep. Her shoulder bumped into Bianca's arm. Not hard. Just enough.

"Oh!" Andria gasped.

Bianca's center of gravity shifted. She flailed, her arms pinwheeling.

"Help!" she shrieked.

Her hand shot out, grasping for anything to anchor her. Her fingers tangled in the tulle of Blossom's pink skirt.

Blossom's eyes went wide. She tried to pull back, but the momentum was already against her.

Splash.

The sound was enormous. Water sprayed up onto the deck, soaking Andria's velvet shoes.

"My dress!" Blossom screamed, surfacing and spitting out water. Her wig was askew, revealing the dark roots underneath. Her mascara was already running down her cheeks in black rivulets.

Bianca was thrashing next to her, clearly too intoxicated to swim properly.

Andria fell back onto the dry tiles, landing gracefully on her hip. She pressed her hands to her mouth. "Help! Someone help! They fell in!"

The commotion drew everyone's attention. The French doors flew open.

Cato burst onto the terrace. He saw the two women in the water. He didn't hesitate. He dove in, uniform and all.

He swam past Blossom.

He wrapped his arm around Bianca, pulling her against his chest. "I've got you," he said, his voice thick with panic. "I've got you, B."

Blossom was left paddling like a drowning dog. "Cato! Cato, help me!"

Cato looked annoyed. He had one arm around his beloved cousin-lover, and now he had to deal with the nuisance. He reached out his other hand and grabbed Blossom's wrist, dragging her toward the steps.

It was a pathetic tableau. The Duke, soaking wet, clutching his cousin intimately while dragging Andria's sister like a sack of potatoes.

Cameras flashed. The paparazzi had found their way to the hedges.

Click. Click. Click.

This photo would be on every front page by morning. The Duke's Wet Threesome.

Andria sat on the ground, trembling. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing two perfect tears to roll down her cheeks.

But inside, she was laughing.

She looked up.

On the balcony above, Prince Cameron lowered the binoculars he had been holding. Even from this distance, she could see the pallor of his skin. He looked like a ghost.

He turned to the man standing beside his wheelchair-his head of security, Mason. He said something, then looked back down at Andria.

Their eyes locked.

He didn't look concerned. He looked... amused.

He knew.

He had seen the stumble. He had seen the setup.

Andria didn't look away. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her head in a deep, respectful nod. A bow.

I see you seeing me.

Cameron's lips quirked upward. He raised a hand in a mock salute, then wheeled himself back into the shadows.

Down below, Cato hauled the women onto the deck. Blossom threw herself at him, shivering violently. "Oh, Cato, I was so scared!"

She buried her face in his wet chest, sobbing.

Bianca, meanwhile, refused to let go of Cato's hand. She glared at Blossom with pure malice.

The crowd murmured. The scandal was palpable.

Andria stood up and grabbed two towels from a nearby cart. She walked over and handed one to Cato, and one to Bianca.

She left Blossom shivering in the cold.

"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Andria asked Cato, her voice soft.

Cato looked at Andria. He looked at the dry, elegant woman in black velvet, then down at the soggy, hysterical mess clinging to his jacket.

Regret flashed in his eyes.

"I'm fine," he grunted.

Andria turned and walked away, leaving them to their mess.

The headline the next morning was brutal.

DUKE TAKES A DIP: A WET AND WILD NIGHT AT SEARS MANOR.

The photo was even worse. Blossom looked like a drowned rat, her mouth open in a scream, while Cato looked at Bianca with undeniable tenderness.

Garrick Dawson threw the newspaper onto the mahogany desk. It landed with a slap that made Andria jump.

"Disgraceful," he spat. "Absolutely disgraceful."

Blossom sat on the sofa, her eyes puffy from crying. "It wasn't my fault! Andria pushed me!"

"I was ten feet away getting a towel," Andria said quietly from the corner. "The cameras saw everything, Blossom."

Garrick ignored them. "The Sears family lawyers called. They want to contain this. They're offering a marriage to silence the rumors about Bianca."

Blossom sat up straight. "He wants to marry me?"

"He has to marry one of you," Garrick said, rubbing his temples. "To show that the Dawson family is still in good standing. But he's requested... specifically..."

"Me," Blossom finished, a smug smile breaking through her tears. "He saved me. He held me."

Actually, he saved Bianca, but Andria didn't correct her.

"Yes," Garrick said. "He's agreed to marry you, Blossom. Which leaves us with a problem."

He turned his cold eyes to Andria. "The Royal engagement. We can't cancel it. It would be treason. Fortunately for us, the Palace's protocol for such matters is swift; they have a contingency for everything. They only need a bride, not a specific one."

"So?" Blossom said, waving her hand. "Let Andria do it. She's useless anyway. She can go nurse the dying Prince."

Andria lowered her head, hiding her expression. "But Daddy... Cato was my fiancé."

"Plans change," Garrick said sharply. "You will marry Prince Cameron. It's a higher title, Andria. You should be grateful."

"He's sick," Andria whispered, injecting a tremor into her voice. "Everyone says he won't last the winter."

"Then you'll be a rich widow," Blossom sneered. "Stop being selfish. I'm doing this for the family. I'm sacrificing myself to handle the scandal."

Andria took a deep breath. It was time.

"If I do this," she said, looking up at Garrick. "If I am to marry the Prince... I cannot go to the Palace empty-handed. It would be an insult to the Crown and reflect poorly on us. The Royal Family expects a bride with a dowry befitting her new station. Therefore, I must have control of Mom's dowry. All of it. The trust fund, the properties, the jewelry. It's not a request, Daddy. It's a political necessity."

Garrick narrowed his eyes. "That's a fortune, Andria."

"And the Crown expects nothing less," Andria said, her voice gaining strength. "If I arrive with insufficient assets, they'll think the Dawson family is cheap. They'll think you don't respect them. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

She saw the hesitation in his face. He cared about money, but he cared about his reputation more.

"Give it to her, Daddy," Blossom urged. "Who cares? Once I'm Duchess Sears, I'll have access to the Sears fortune. That's worth ten times Mom's dowry."

Oh, you poor, stupid girl. The Sears fortune was gone. Cato was drowning in debt.

Garrick sighed. He pulled a file from his drawer. "Fine. Sign the papers. You take the dowry, you take the Prince, and you leave this house."

Andria walked to the desk. She picked up the heavy fountain pen.

She signed her name. Andria Dawson.

With that signature, she stripped her father of his liquid assets and handed her sister a lifetime of misery.

"Done," Andria said.

She walked out of the study. She went upstairs to her room.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out. A text from an unknown number.

"Deal accepted. See you at the altar. - C.K."

Andria stared at the screen. Cameron Kaufman.

He had been watching. He knew about the swap. He wanted the swap.

She typed back: "I hope you like black velvet."

She hit send.