Chapter 1

I had just finished a facial at the luxury med spa and handed my black VIP card to the front desk. Instead of checking my membership, the manager flung the card straight into my face.

"Trying to pull a scam with a fake card?"

"I've seen plenty of old hags like you trying to find an excuse to skip the bill."

Assuming there was some kind of mix-up, I calmly explained, "The card is real. Would you check my membership again?"

After all, my brother handed me this VIP card himself the moment he opened this med spa, telling me I could swipe it whenever I wanted.

The manager rolled her eyes dramatically and slapped an invoice across my chest.

"Can't you survive for five minutes without depending on a man? Pay up. Right now."

I glanced at the itemized receipt. Facial treatment plus an equipment damage fee: a staggering 1.2 million dollars.

A dry laugh escaped my throat.

Since when did an afternoon facial at my own brother's spa cost 1.2 million dollars?

I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. "Tell my brother that if he doesn't deal with the psycho running his spa right this second, he doesn't need to bother coming back."

Seeing me make a call, the manager smacked the phone right out of my hand. "Stop wasting everybody's time. Pay the damn bill."

Her voice was sharp, dripping with venom. She had already pegged me as a vain freeloader trying to mooch off high-end services with a fake card.

Whispers broke out in the lobby. Several clients waiting nearby began pointing and staring.

Two women lounging near the front desk put down their phones to watch the spectacle. The aesthetic consultants paused their work, and even the hostesses by the front doors stretched their necks to get a better look.

"I'm the owner's sister," I said, picking up my phone from the marble floor. I hung up on my assistant and called Logan directly. "He can explain it to you himself."

The manager didn't stop me this time. She just crossed her arms, watching me with a sneer.

The phone rang several times, but nobody picked up.

I dialed again. He sent it straight to voicemail.

Unbelievable. When it really counted, he was utterly useless.

I redialed three more times. Still nothing.

The manager let out a cold, mocking laugh, her patience wearing thin. "Couldn't scrounge up the cash, so now you're pretending to have personal ties with our CEO, Logan Vance?"

I lowered the phone and took a deep, steadying breath. Keeping my voice level, I reiterated, "I really am Logan's younger sister, Avery Vance."

"He isn't answering his phone right now, but he handed this card to me personally. My information is registered in your system."

Hearing my name didn't prompt her to check the computer. Instead, she burst into hysterical laughter.

"Sister? Or side chick?"

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out you've been seducing my man?"

"I wondered what kind of cheap tramp had her claws in him—his camera roll is full of your photos!"

"The audacity of you, showing up at his spa thinking you can just swipe your pretty face and walk out."

"Did you forget he has an actual girlfriend? Little home-wreckers like you need to be taught a lesson."

I froze. She thought I was Logan's mistress?

The hushed chatter around us grew louder. Most of the clientele here were wealthy socialites who despised mistresses more than anything in the world.

Feeling their disgusted glares burning into me, I almost found it comical.

I was his actual sister. We shared the same parents, the same bloodline.

I was honestly speechless. Logan had been talking up his precious, secret girlfriend for months, hiding her from the family like she was some crown jewel.

Turns out, this was her.

I glanced down at her nametag: Chloe Miller, General Manager.

His taste in women was truly garbage.

Still, the priority was de-escalating this absurd misunderstanding.

Before I could get another word out, she completely lost her temper.

"Since this woman forged a VIP membership card, destroyed high-end medical equipment, and refuses to pay for damages, detain her until the police arrive!"

With a snap of her fingers, two burly security guards flanked me.

"This is a misunderstanding. We are not in that kind of relationship," I managed to say.

Before I could finish, one of them clamped a sweaty hand over my mouth while the other twisted my arms violently behind my back.

I fought back with everything I had, but the sheer physical disparity made my struggles pathetic.

Ignoring the terrified gasps of the clients and the fury in my eyes, they dragged me down the hallway like a sack of trash.

They hurled me brutally into a dimly lit storage room at the back of the building, the air thick with the stench of bleach and mildewed cardboard.

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off my cries and any hope of help.