Chapter 1

Courtney

The air in the vestibule is thick with the scent of a thousand white lilies and old money. It’s a heady, suffocating perfume, the official fragrance of victory.

My victory.

I stand perfectly still, a statue carved from ivory silk and ambition, the train of my Vera Wang gown pooled around my feet like liquid moonlight. Every detail has been calculated, from the priceless heirloom veil gifted by the Dawson matriarch to the subtle, star-shaped beauty mark my makeup artist accentuated above my right eyebrow.

My best friend and campaign manager, Lena, makes a final, unnecessary adjustment to my veil. Her short, magenta-dyed hair is a slash of vibrant rebellion against the cathedral’s staid elegance. "You look like a goddamn queen about to execute a corporate takeover," she murmurs, her eyes scanning me with the same critical intensity she applies to polling data. "You sure you don't want me to hide a shiv in your bouquet? The Dawsons look like the type to appreciate a woman who comes prepared."

I let out a soft, controlled laugh. "The only thing getting gutted today is my single-woman tax deduction."

"Hilarious." She doesn't smile. "Just… be careful, Court. This family plays for keeps."

"So do I," I say, and the steel in my own voice is absolute.

Lena nods, her expression softening for just a second. She squeezes my arm before stepping back as my father appears at the doorway, resplendent in his tailored tux.

Control the narrative, Courtney. Always.

My father’s mantra echoes in my head, the same words he whispered before my first debate, before my LSATs, before I accepted Jonathan’s proposal. Today is the culmination of that control. Today, I acquire the final piece of the puzzle. Marrying Jonathan Dawson isn’t just a wedding; it’s a political merger, a strategic masterstroke that secures my path to the mayor's office and solidifies my place in a dynasty that has run this city for a century.

My father’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They’re doing that thing they always do before a big win—scanning for threats, calculating odds. "They say a bride’s wedding day is the happiest day of her life," he says, his voice a low rumble.

I offer him the smile I’ve perfected for fundraisers and hostile city council meetings—calm, confident, unbreachable. "Happiness is a fleeting metric. Victory is quantifiable."

He chuckles, a low, proud sound, and squeezes my hand. His skin is warm, a familiar anchor in the dizzying swirl of the moment. "That’s my girl. Your mother would have…" He trails off, the name a ghost  between us. My mother would have hated this. She would have seen the parallels to her own life, another ambitious woman married off to secure a legacy. A marriage that looked perfect on paper and was a hollow, gilded cage in private. Her memory is a cautionary tale, the very reason I’m walking into this with my eyes wide open.

My stomach is a knot of something colder, tighter. It isn't doubt. Doubt is an indulgence, a luxury I’ve never been able to afford. It’s… anticipation. The final, exhilarating moment before the checkmate.

I think of Jonathan waiting for me at the altar. Charming, handsome, impeccably pedigreed Jonathan. He’s not the love of my life. I’m not even sure I believe in that particular fantasy. Love is chaos. Love is a variable you can’t control. My parents’ quiet, bitter war, fought in the silent spaces of our pristine home, taught me that. I’m not making their mistake. Jonathan is a good man, a kind man, and he understands the game. We will be a formidable team. A power couple the likes of which this city has never seen. A partnership. It’s more than my parents had. It’s more than enough.

My thumbnail finds its familiar place, tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against my front tooth. Tap. Tap. Tap. A final review of the board. The key donors are in the front pews. The governor is in attendance. Every major news outlet has a camera crew positioned in the back, ready to broadcast the coronation. My rival, Councilman Miller, is probably choking on his canapés at whatever sad little fundraiser he’s at today, watching my ascent on his phone.

Fuck you, Miller. The thought is a satisfying, sharp little spike in the perfumed air.

From beyond the ancient oak doors, the organ music softens, shifting into the majestic, sweeping notes of the processional. This is it. The signal. My heart gives a single, hard thump against my ribs. My father gives my hand one last squeeze and offers me his arm.

"Showtime," he murmurs.

The heavy doors groan as the ushers begin to pull them open. A sliver of brilliant light cuts through the dim vestibule, widening into a breathtaking vista. The sanctuary of St. James Cathedral is a masterpiece of gothic architecture, its vaulted ceilings soaring into the heavens, its stained-glass windows throwing jewel-toned light across a sea of faces. Hundreds of them. The city's elite, all turned in their seats, their gazes fixed on me.

I lift my chin, my public smile locking into place. The walk down the aisle is a calculated performance. Each step is perfectly paced, my gaze fixed on Jonathan. He looks every bit the handsome prince, a reassuring smile on his face. I reach him, my father places my hand in his, and we turn to face the Bishop. The deal is almost sealed.

The Bishop’s voice, deep and sonorous, fills the cathedral. He speaks of unions, of devotion, of two becoming one. I keep the soft, beatific smile on my face, my mind a million miles away, already planning the press release, the talking points, the victory tour.

Then comes the moment. The final hurdle.

"If anyone can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together," the Bishop intones, his voice echoing in the cavernous space, "let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

A profound, sacred silence falls over the congregation. One second. Two. Three. I allow myself the smallest, most private exhale of relief. It’s done. Checkmate.

A voice from the back of the cathedral shatters the silence.

"STOP THE WEDDING!"

The words are a raw, desperate tear in the sacred air. A collective gasp, a tsunami of whispers, the sound of hundreds of heads swiveling in unison. A figure is stumbling down the main aisle now, a mess of rumpled clothes and wild, panicked eyes. He is a stain on the perfect canvas of my wedding day.

My blood turns icy. Every phone in the cathedral is out, a hundred tiny glass eyes turning from me to him, recording the exact moment my life implodes.

He points a trembling finger at Jonathan, his voice cracking with a ragged sob that is audible to every single person in the room.

"He's already married—to me!"