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.

Andria locked her bedroom door and turned to her mother.

Elta was sitting on the edge of Andria's bed, wringing her hands. Her face was pale, etched with years of anxiety and emotional abuse.

"You can't marry him, Andria," she sobbed. "The Prince... they say he's cursed. They say he coughs blood. You'll be trapped in that palace."

Andria sat beside her and took her hands. They were cold.

"Mom, look at me."

Elta raised her teary eyes.

"I'm not trapped. I'm free. And so are you."

Andria pulled the papers she had just signed out of her pocket. "I got the dowry. I control the money now. Dad can't touch it."

Elta gasped. "He... he gave it to you?"

"He thinks he's getting a good deal," Andria said grimly. "But we need to secure it. Mom, I know about the NDA."

Elta froze. Her pupils dilated in terror. "What? How?"

"I know he set you up," Andria said, her voice low and urgent. "I know about the photos he faked twenty years ago. I know he forced Grandfather to sign over the business to keep you out of jail."

"Stop," Elta whispered, covering her ears. "He'll hear you."

"He can't hurt us anymore," Andria said, pulling her hands away from her ears. "I'm going to be a Princess. The Royal laws supersede civil contracts. But I need the original documents. The ones you hid."

Elta stared at Andria. She looked at the daughter who had suddenly become a stranger. A protector.

Slowly, she got up. She walked to the old armchair in the corner. She flipped it over and tore at the lining underneath.

She pulled out a rusted tin box.

Andria's heart hammered. This was it. The smoking gun.

She opened the box. Inside were yellowed papers, photos, and a cassette tape.

"I kept them," Elta whispered. "Just in case."

"You did good, Mom."

Andria took photos of every page with her phone and uploaded them to an encrypted cloud server. Then she put the box in her bag.

"I'm going out," Andria said. "I have an appointment."

The law office of Thompson & Associates was located in a strip mall, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a vape shop.

It was humble. Gritty.

Andria walked in. The bell above the door jingled.

Arthur Thompson looked up from his desk. He was young, messy-haired, with coffee stains on his tie. He had no idea that in ten years, he would be the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

"Can I help you, miss?" he asked, looking confused by Andria's expensive clothes.

Andria placed the tin box on his desk. Then, she placed a check for fifty thousand dollars next to it.

Thompson's eyes bulged.

"I want to hire you on a retainer," Andria said. "My name is Andria Dawson. I'm the fiancée of Prince Cameron."

Thompson choked on his coffee. "The... the Prince?"

"I need you to investigate the tax records of the Dawson Corporation," Andria said calmly. "And I need you to prepare a lawsuit to void a Non-Disclosure Agreement signed under duress twenty years ago."

Thompson looked at the check, then at Andria. He saw the seriousness in her eyes. He straightened his tie.

"I'm listening," he said.

When Andria returned to the manor, chaos had erupted.

Blossom was in the hallway, directing two maids who were carrying Andria's antique vanity table out of her room.

"Careful with that!" she barked.

"Put it down," Andria said.

Blossom turned. "Oh, you're back. I'm taking this. It matches the decor in the Sears estate better."

"It's part of the dowry," Andria said, stepping over the threshold. "It's mine."

"You don't need it," Blossom sneered. "You're going to a palace. They have plenty of furniture."

"Put. It. Down."

Andria didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to.

"Or what?" Blossom challenged. "You'll tell Daddy?"

"No," Andria said. "I'll tell the Royal Comptroller that the Dawson family is embezzling assets designated for the Crown. Theft from a Royal fiancée is a federal crime, Blossom. Minimum sentence, five years."

The maids froze. The word "prison" hung in the air.

Blossom's face went pale. She knew nothing about the law, but she feared the Royals.

"You're bluffing," she said, but her voice wavered.

"Try me," Andria said. "Take the table. See who comes knocking tomorrow."

Blossom stared at Andria, hate radiating off her. Then, she stomped her foot.

"Put it back!" she screamed at the maids. "It's ugly anyway!"

She stormed off to her room, slamming the door.

Andria watched the maids carry the table back in. She walked into her room and closed the door.

She leaned against the wood, her legs trembling slightly.

One battle down. A war to go.