Vanessa Cross was not used to losing.

For her entire life, she had used her stunning looks and sharp manipulation tactics to climb the social ladder. Preston Whitmore was supposed to be her golden ticket. He was handsome, incredibly wealthy, and stupid enough to believe she actually loved him.

But as she sat in her luxury high-rise apartment, watching the news of Preston’s firing scroll across the television screen, panic set in.

Her phone buzzed. It was Preston. She sent it straight to voicemail.

He’s broke, she thought frantically. A broke, disgraced man is of no use to me.

Vanessa rushed to her walk-in closet and began frantically pulling designer bags, diamond jewelry, and expensive watches off the shelves, throwing them into a large silk suitcase. If she left the city now, she could pawn these items, lay low in Miami, and find a new billionaire.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Vanessa froze. She crept to the door and looked through the peephole. Two men in dark suits stood in the hallway.

Thinking it was Preston’s security, she ripped the door open. “Tell him it’s over! I’m not going down with his sinking ship!”

“Miss Vanessa Cross?” one of the men asked. He held up a badge. “I’m Detective Miller. This is a court-ordered eviction and asset seizure notice.”

Vanessa blinked. “Excuse me? Eviction? Preston pays for this apartment!”

“Actually, ma’am,” the detective said, handing her a thick stack of papers, “the Saint Claire Trust owns this building. Your lease was terminated an hour ago for violation of the moral turpitude clause. Furthermore, a civil lawsuit has been filed against you by Mrs. Emily Whitmore for assault, battery, and emotional distress.”

Vanessa felt the blood drain from her face. “Lawsuit? I didn’t hurt her! It was a tap!”

“The security footage says otherwise,” the detective said coldly. “Because you are deemed a flight risk, the court has frozen your bank accounts pending the trial. Everything in this apartment purchased with Whitmore or Saint Claire funds must remain here.”

“But these are mine! They were gifts!” Vanessa shrieked, clutching her diamond necklace.

“Take it off, ma’am,” the detective warned. “Or we will arrest you for theft of seized property.”

An hour later, Vanessa Cross stood on the cold sidewalk of New York City. She wasn’t wearing her white cashmere coat; it had been seized. She wasn’t wearing her diamond bracelet. She was holding a plastic grocery bag containing two pairs of sweatpants and her cheap, pre-Preston cosmetics.

Her phone rang. It was an unknown number. She answered it desperately. “Hello?”

“Vanessa,” a soft, calm voice spoke on the other end. It was Emily.

Vanessa’s face twisted with rage. “You! You ruined my life! You think you’re so smart?”