Chapter 2

Alexis Lane's POV:

My soul followed the helicopter, watching it land on the private helipad of the canyon resort.

The rotors slowed to a rhythmic hum, and the dry dust they kicked up battered the floor-to-ceiling windows of the VIP lounge.

Bradley stepped out of the cabin first, unzipping his flight suit to reveal the cashmere sweater underneath.

Dylan and Hunter followed close behind, clinking their aluminum beer cans in celebration.

"Buddy, that was legendary!" Dylan laughed, slapping Bradley on the back.

"Did you see her face when you kicked her out? Absolutely priceless!"

"She probably chickened out completely and yanked the cord in a panic at six thousand feet," Hunter sneered.

"I bet she landed in a cactus field five miles out. She'll come crawling back crying any minute now."

Bradley walked into the climate-controlled luxury lounge, running a hand through his black hair.

"She needed to be taught a lesson," Bradley said indifferently, lifting a glass of whiskey from the bar cart.

"Alexis needs to understand that emotional weakness is her own choice. If she wants to be my wife, she can't keep acting like an injured stray dog."

Cecily glided in beside him, the diamond bracelet on her wrist jingling.

She reached into Bradley's open jacket pocket and pulled out the little black velvet box.

"Is this it?" Cecily asked, greed glinting nakedly in her eyes.

"That six-carat Harry Winston pink diamond you picked up in Geneva?"

Bradley took a leisurely sip of his whiskey and nodded casually.

"Yep. But she won't get it until she walks through that door and apologizes for her little tantrum on the plane."

Cecily opened the box with her flawlessly manicured fingertips.

The enormous pink stone caught the afternoon light, scattering a dazzling blaze of color across the leather sofa.

"Bradley, it's breathtaking," Cecily breathed, sliding the ring out of its velvet slot.

"Look at that cut. What a waste to put it on the hand of someone who wipes tables for a living."

"Try it on, Cecily," Dylan goaded with a wicked grin.

"Let's see what five million dollars looks like on a real society girl."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Cecily demurred, even as her finger slid halfway into the platinum band.

"If Lexi found out, who knows what kind of fit she'd throw."

"Wear it," Bradley said, swirling his glass without a care.

"Alexis refuses to quit her pathetic diner job. Her hands are red and rough from scrubbing other people's plates. She'd ruin the setting." Cecily pushed the ring down her slender finger to the base.

A perfect fit.

She raised her hand to the light, turning her wrist, a triumphant, radiant smile spreading across her face.

"Brad, it's like it was made for me," Cecily cooed, leaning into him, pressing her hand against his chest.

"Maybe you really should reconsider your standards. You built a billion-dollar empire from nothing—you deserve a woman who actually matches your worth."

Bradley looked down at the hand on his chest, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, arrogant smirk.

"Alexis took care of me when I had nothing," Bradley said, though there was no warmth in his voice at all.

"Her strong point is loyalty. That counts for something, I suppose. Once she figures out where her place is in our circle, she'll settle down."

I stood in the corner of the room as a transparent spirit, watching the man who had consumed five years of my youth.

There was no jealousy in my heart.

No anger, either.

My heart had died with my shattered body on the rocky riverbed at the bottom of the canyon.

I remembered the night three months ago, in our penthouse, when Bradley flung a plastic measuring tape into my face.

"Measure your ring finger," he commanded, without even lifting his head from his laptop.

"I need to send the size to the jeweler."

I told him then that I had been washing dishes for ten hours straight at a charity relief station and the diner, and my knuckles were badly swollen.

He just snorted coldly and mocked, "Then stop doing filthy low-class work. It's embarrassing."

And now, one full hour had passed since my fatal fall.

The clock in the VIP lounge ticked steadily toward five in the afternoon.

Dylan glanced at his Rolex and looked out at the dust-choked canyon road beyond the panoramic windows.

"Hey, Brad," Dylan set his empty can on the glass coffee table,

"the shuttle from the landing zone should've picked her up by now. She still hasn't called you?"

Bradley pulled the sleek titanium phone from his pocket and tapped the screen.

"No," he frowned impatiently.

"She's playing hard to get. Just trying to rattle me into sending a helicopter after her, to feed her pathetic little ego."

Angry, he typed out a text and hit send.

I watched the words appear on his glowing screen:

[Alexis, you have thirty minutes to drag your pathetic self down to the resort lobby. If you make us late for dinner, I'll give the pink diamond to Cecily tonight and cut off your mother's hospital payments. Don't test my patience.]

The message showed only a single gray checkmark.

It had been delivered to a shattered phone—one submerged in my congealed blood, pinned beneath three steel plates.

Bradley stared at the screen, waiting for the blue "typing" bubble that had appeared within five seconds every time before.

The screen stayed dead. Nothing.

The corner of Bradley's left eye twitched.

"Now she's really testing me," Bradley muttered, his voice tight.

I drifted beside his chair, looking down at that handsome, heartless face.

"I'm not coming back, Bradley," I whispered to the cold air.

The atmosphere in the room fell into an eerie stillness, broken only by the canyon wind outside, howling against the glass.