Page 1 of Beautiful Revenge

CHAPTER ONE

AMERICAN ROYALTY FROM HELL

Harlow

Waiting for your life to unravel before your so-called family, friends, and the sensational press is not what a woman dreams of the day before her wedding.

Even for me, an American Princess.

That’s what I was dubbed by the world when I was thrust into the limelight as a teenager.

“And with that, I speak on behalf of my beloved Patrick, Harlow’s father, who could not be here with us today, and myself when I ask you to raise your glass to a beautiful life full of joy and prosperity for our daughter and the love of her life, Albert. The Madisons and the Humphries will forever be united as family. Cheers, my loves.”

Daughter.

Joy and prosperity.

Forever family.

Loves.

My stomach turns.

It’s all I can do to keep down the lobster tail and wagyu beef tenderloin. And both were divine no matter how sour the company might be.

Albert’s lips touch the delicate skin of my ear as his handbrushes my bare back. “Drink, sweetheart. Everyone is watching. One more day and she’ll slither back to New York and leave us alone.”

Guests clap.

I’d consider this a crowd, even though it’s only the rehearsal dinner. The rehearsal itself was short and painless, but Janie insisted that if guests traveled all the way to Winslet, we needed to feed and entertain them every moment they’re here.

Otherwise known as throwing money around to impress the masses. Guests were required to sign the wedding version of an NDA since Stonebridge Capital’s public relations department signed an agreement with the media. Just one more thing the mothers insisted on.

The mothers.

Just notmymother.

If my mom were alive, she would have saved me from this spectacle.

Janie Madison has been my stepmother since I was the delicate age of thirteen. To the rest of the world, there’s nothing “step” about our shallow relationship that plays out on major holidays and at corporate events. But when you’re the only child born to a self-made billionaire, the rest of the world only knows what it’s told by the family’s PR team.

Hell,PR machineis more accurate.

And they’re squeezing every ounce of publicity they can from my impending nuptials to contract with the media for exclusive access, photos, and interviews. The world is waiting with bated breath for a glimpse of Albert Humphries and Harlow Madison and the wedding that’s been in the works longer than I ever knew.

Much, much longer.

Pop singers, actors, politicians…

Who are they?

They have nothing on the Madisons. The Humphries are a close second.

We might as well be American royalty.

But, you know, from hell.

As much as I don’t want to think about it, Albert is right. Everyone is watching, so I lift the crystal champagneflute that was placed in front of me when the toasts began—it feels like yesterday at this point—and sip through a small, forced smile as I gaze lovingly at Albert.