Chapter 2

Stella Vance POV

Atlantic City. The Luminary yacht.

A high-society charity gala was in full swing.

The glare from the crystal chandeliers made my eyes sting.

Dressed in an ill-fitting, cheap black dress, I stood stiffly in the darkest corner of the ballroom, holding a serving tray.

Once, I was the most dazzling princess of Atlantic City, the daughter of the Casino King.

This very yacht was my eighteenth-birthday gift from my father.

Now, the master of the ship had changed.

And I had fallen from the high-and-mighty heiress to the lowest server on board.

"Stella, Eva's shoelace is loose."

A deep, cold voice cut through the chatter, slamming into my eardrums with precision.

The entire ballroom went dead silent.

Every pair of eyes in Atlantic City's high society turned to me like poisoned arrows.

Those looks held mockery, pity, and the thrill of watching a train wreck.

My thin shoulders tensed.

I raised my head and looked across the crowd at the man sitting in the center booth.

Julian Thorne.

Once my father's most brilliant prodigy, and my childhood sweetheart.

Now, he was the king of Atlantic City, the man who had thrown my father into a prison hospital and swallowed the Vance family casino empire whole.

He leaned back on the velvet sofa, lazily swirling a glass of champagne.

Beside him sat a fragile-looking woman, Eva Sterling.

"Julian, don't do this. There are so many people here..." Eva murmured, her voice sweet and dripping with fake innocence, though a smug glint flashed in her eyes.

"She wants to do it," Julian said, his dark eyes locked onto me, completely ignoring Eva. A cruel smirk played on his lips. "Am I right, Miss Vance?"

I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted blood.

How could I want this?

I was Marcus Vance's daughter. My pride used to be higher than the heavens!

But my father was in the ICU, hooked up to a ventilator, and Julian held the plug to his medical fund.

"If you don't behave, I'll cut off your father's life support tomorrow." That was what he had whispered in my ear last night in the gentlest tone, delivering the most venomous threat.

I took a deep breath and set down my tray.

Under the gaze of a hundred elites, I walked toward the center of the hall, feeling like I was stepping on broken glass.

In those few yards, I walked over the shattered remains of my dignity.

I stopped in front of Eva and let my knees hit the cold marble floor.

Thud.

Whispers and muffled giggles erupted around us.

"Wow, she actually knelt..."

"A fallen peacock is worse than a chicken. She's not even worthy of polishing Eva's shoes now."

I blocked out the noise.

With trembling hands, I reached out and touched Eva's diamond-encrusted heels.

They were custom-made from Paris, a gift from Julian.

I tied the loose silk ribbon, my movements mechanical and numb.

There were no whips or physical blows, but this public stripping of my pride burned worse than a thousand cuts.

"It's done," I said, my voice dry and raspy.

I tried to stand, but Julian's long fingers gripped my chin, forcing my face up.

His eyes were like ice, devoid of any past warmth.

"Eva has a thing about germs. Your hands are dirty; you soiled her shoes," Julian said casually. "Wipe them with your dress."

My pupils dilated. I looked at him in disbelief.

"Julian, don't push me too far..." My voice shook, my eyes rimmed with red.

"Too far?" Julian sneered, leaning in so only I could hear. "When your father drove my mother to jump off that building, did he think about what was 'too far'? What you're feeling now isn't even a fraction of what I went through. Wipe them."

His voice carried absolute authority.

I closed my eyes, a tear slipping down my cheek.

I grabbed the hem of my cheap dress and slowly wiped the nonexistent dust off Eva's shoes.

At that moment, my heart died on this yacht that used to be mine.