Chapter 1

I had just gotten back from my best friend Chloe's bachelorette party

when a push notification pulled me to a post on a popular anonymous blog.

The title was:

“Need a birthday gift under $300 that will absolutely humiliate someone. It’s for my best friend.”

The comment section flooded with vicious ideas.

The blogger rejected every last one.

Same response every time: "Not disgusting enough."

In the end, she pinned her own reply.

“Thanks, everyone. But her boyfriend said he’d help me get even at her birthday party. He’s going to make her embarrass herself in front of everyone.”

The internet caught the weirdness immediately.

“Your best friend’s boyfriend is helping you go after her? What exactly are you two?”

The blogger answered with pure arrogance, followed by several eye-roll emojis.

“What are we? The first bite of every steak he cooks goes to me. Anything he wins at auction, I get first pick.”

“His first kiss was mine. That whole night — every round, from first to fifth — mine.” “He delayed his proposal five times for me. That diamond ring worth over a hundred grand? It has our initials on it.”

My heart clenched. For a second, all I could think was —

who does this? I reached to flag the post.

But something stopped me. Instead, I tapped her profile banner.

In the photo, a man and a woman had their fingers laced together.

A diamond ring caught the light on her hand, blazing.

My heart sank.

That was the ring my boyfriend, Alexander, and I had personally designed six months ago at Van Cleef & Arpels in Paris.

…

I sat there frozen for a long time.

Long enough for my screen to go dark on its own.

Just one hour ago, Alexander had looked down at Chloe, who was “dead drunk” in his arms, and frowned.

“Bella, look at her. She’s completely wasted. I'll have the driver take you home. And I'll make sure she gets back safe”

I hadn’t actually drunk that much.

The second the New York night air hit me, I sobered up.

Out of habit, I nodded.

I even reminded him to text me once Chloe was settled.

But during that thirty-minute ride home, every call I made and every message I sent disappeared into nothing.

Now, staring at Chloe’s post, I finally understood.

She was sober.

Very sober.

Even the drunken act had been carefully planned.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Alexander popped up.

“Your Highness, your bestie is home safe.”

“Your knight is on his way back to you. At full speed.”