Chapter 1

Five years into running Jax Sterling’s most exclusive private club, his older brother, Christian Sterling, was getting engaged.

His bride-to-be was an heiress from an old-money dynasty. Her first demand? Christian had to purge every lingering woman from his past.

And right at the top of that cleanup list was my name.

As my severance package, Jax made me a rather ridiculous offer.

"My brother has zero redeeming qualities other than being icy, foul-tempered, and disgustingly rich. Oh, right, and he comes with baggage—a kid."

Swirling the amber bourbon in his glass, Jax grinned with lazy amusement.

"Since you need to move on anyway, why not take a shot at becoming my brother's woman? It’s an instant ticket to the top."

"That is, if you don’t mind playing instant stepmom."

Mind it?

Not in the slightest.

After all, that "baggage" he mentioned was the son I carried for nine months.

I was once Christian Sterling’s caged bird.

Jax had no idea.

To him, I was merely the top-tier VIP manager he’d poached from a rival club for a small fortune—charming, sharp, and effortless at keeping high-rollers happy.

He didn't realize that my skill for pleasing people was entirely beaten into me by his own brother.

Christian and I started five years ago at a charity art auction.

Back then, I was green in the industry, just a waitress carrying champagne flutes behind the velvet ropes.

He wasn't the ruthless heir to the Sterling empire back then, either.

He was disguised as a starving artist, trying to auction off an heirloom painting to scrape together medical bills.

That night, he wore a faded white dress shirt. He was lean, sharp, and wore an unshakable melancholia between his brows.

A sleazy new-money buyer was aggressively lowballing him, humiliating him in front of everyone.

In a sudden burst of sympathy, I discreetly whispered to an influential older collector at the next table.

"Mr. Harrison, the artist behind that canvas... has fewer than three surviving works in the world."

Half an hour later, the painting sold for a record two million dollars.

Christian intercepted me backstage. His dark, bottomless eyes practically burned in the dim corridor.

"Why did you help me?"

I shrugged it off. "I just hated watching that arrogant prick humiliate you."

He bought it. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight enough to snap bone.

"What’s your name?"

That evening, he spent his art money treating me to cheap bowls of street pasta.

He told me his name was Ian. An orphan. All alone in this world.

It was the sweetest, most lethal lie I’d ever been fed.

We fell fast, like a wildfire out of control.

He lived in my cramped, three-hundred-square-foot studio, eating cheap meals I cooked, using the brushes and acrylics I bought with my hard-earned tips.

In front of me, he was always that fragile, pure artist who needed shielding from the world.

I thought that was love.

Until my birthday, when the owner of the club I worked at announced a visit from an ultra-elite client.

Everyone stood motionless, heads bowed in absolute deference.

Holding a bottle of rare vintage wine, I stepped forward nervously on my boss’s cue.

And then, my eyes landed on that all-too-familiar face.

Christian Sterling.

Sitting at the head of the table, clad in a bespoke tailored suit, an obscenely expensive watch gleaming at his wrist.

His assistant was whispering updates to him. Christian’s expression was icy, detached, utterly foreign.

He didn’t spare me a single glance. To him, I was no more noticeable than the furniture.

In that instant, the world went dead quiet.

I had been the joke all along.

I didn't cause a scene, nor did I shed a tear.

That night, I went back to my apartment, packed up every single thing he owned, and threw it out onto the curb.

When he walked in, all he found was empty space.

It was the first time I saw him lose his cool. With bloodshot eyes, he cornered me and demanded why.

I slammed a credit card onto the counter. "For playing with my feelings. Consider that your payout."

He froze. Then, a low, humorless chuckle broke from his throat.

That laugh was laced with pure mockery and arctic frost.

"Chloe, who the hell do you think you're settling a bill with?"

He didn’t bother explaining. Instead, he showed me exactly who held the power.

That began the darkest month of my life.

He locked me away in his coastal villa, using the most primitive dominance to claim me day and night.

I was a bird with clipped wings, unable to flee the gilded cage he bought with his bottomless wealth.

Until the pregnancy test came back positive.

I held the medical slip and made my final demand, as calm as ice.

"Let me walk. You keep the child."

He looked taken aback, but the hesitation lasted only a second.

"Deal," he said, gripping my chin until it bruised, his eyes toxic.

"Give birth, take the cash, and disappear from my son's existence forever."

I kept my end of the bargain.

The day the boy was born, I never took a single look at him.

With two million dollars wired to my account, I left that city, took on a new identity, and walked into Jax Sterling’s club.