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M y entire life, I have navigated the balance between being forced into the spotlight by my father and hiding in the shadows cast behind him.

Don’t draw unnecessary attention. Don’t make a scene.

I was taught to be the perfectly behaved daughter who never spoke out of turn or had a hair out of place. But I suppose that’s what’s expected of a congressman’s only child and the future heiress of the Briarwood fortune.

That’s all he ever refers to me as in his interviews—his sole heir, his legacy. But perhaps that’s because that’s all he truly knows of me. I’ve barely seen or spoken to him since he handed me over to his three sisters just before my senior year of high school because I had become too much to handle alongside his work.

When I turned eighteen on my birthday, to be exact—I was diagnosed with POTS, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome.

For years, my dad and doctor had diagnosed my symptoms as anxiety. But they were wrong, and deep down, I knew it all along. Do I have anxiety? Yes, frequently. But that was certainly not the entirety of what I was going through.

It didn’t matter how doctors many I went to; they all gave me the same diagnosis. When my primary doctor retired and was replaced with a new one, I’d finally felt listened to for the first time ever.

My dad was deep in his congressional campaign amid my diagnosis, and I think it was all a bit much for him to handle. At least that’s what it felt like. Because two days after my appointment, his assistant had my bags packed, and my dad informed me that I would be going to live with my aunts for the rest of high school.

With a hug and tears streaming down my face, I was gone. He might not have been the most doting dad, but he was all I had, especially after my mom passed when I was seven.

He has always been emotionally unavailable, but it got so much worse after we lost my mom thirteen years ago. She was the sunshine to his shadows, and since she’s been gone, he’s been consumed by the darkness. He became ice cold, never showing any emotion, and the man I remember from my childhood is long gone.

As for my aunts—Flora Merryweather, Fauna Merryweather, and Freya Merryweather—they are the epitome of love and affection.

They all chose to bear their mother’s maiden name rather than their cruel father’s—a similar choice I have considered many times over the last couple of years.

Thankfully, they are nothing like my dad. Although they were raised under the same roof by the same parents, somehow, the three of them turned out to be compassionate, selfless, and kind.

The media would have you believe the same about Congressman Daniel Briarwood. A mourning widower who will never remarry out of the love for his wife. A father who misses his daughter every single day, but knew she deserved a life out of the spotlight, so he selflessly sent her away.

Although if that were true, he would have called or at least texted. The only correspondence I’ve gotten over the last couple of years are bank notifications from him sending money on my birthday and a few cards that were clearly sent from his assistants.

As a teenager, “ I love you” was only spewed when I had been acting up and needed to be reeled back in. He knew before I did that I thrived on praise and acceptance, and he knew exactly how to use it to mold me. He also learned over the last couple of years, that the love tactic doesn’t work on me anymore.

Most of our hugs were in front of a camera or crowd. Aside from the one on the day I left, when his assistant had to drag me from him as I cried, begging him not to send me away.

I can picture that moment so clearly. It still haunts me. The coldness in his gaze, the heartlessness in his touch. I didn’t know him anymore, not in the same way I used to.

He throws money at my aunts and me during every holiday, not bothering to attend himself—unless, of course, a news outlet is doing an exposé and he needs to once again paint the perfect family image.

Now, I am merely my dad’s asset more than his daughter, and only recently have I come to terms with that fact...for the most part at least.

Since then, I’ve been more comfortable tapping into my bank accounts and trust fund that became mine when I turned eighteen. My trust fund was set up by my mom, and no matter what, he can’t hold that over my head because he has no access to it. It’s solely mine, no guilt attached.

For the longest time, I could never treat myself or splurge because I knew the money came from him trying to buy my love. But that is just one of the many things that I’ve been working on over the last year or so.

After graduating high school, I took a year off before coming to Happily Ever After University. My acceptance had already been signed, sealed, and delivered before I was even born. I was a politician’s daughter and an HEAU legacy, so my application was more of a formality.

But I needed time first before going to school. I needed to spread my wings and try to find myself because I had no clue who I was and what I wanted out of life. To be honest, that’s still a work in progress.

But getting out of Avandale and away from the horrors of my senior year, something changed in me. I used to be shy and a pushover, taking anything the world threw at me with a smile on my face. The way my dad had taught me.

But not anymore.

If I have discovered anything this past year abroad, it’s that I’m done taking shit from anyone.

My blood boils as his face flashes in my mind—my tormenter, the dark and twisted villain of my story. The one who made every single day of my senior year a living, breathing nightmare from the moment I transferred to Avandale High School.

Malik Ravenwell. A name I will never forget, no matter how hard I try.

If my dad taught me the lovelessness in the world, then Malik taught me the cruelness. Over and over.

He is the reason I graduated high school two months early, the reason that I spent countless nights crying, and the reason I fled the country the second I could. I didn’t even want to be on the same continent as him. I still don’t.

But I’m done hiding from the villains in my life. I’m not a princess locked in a tower, waiting to be saved by some honorable prince. I’ll wield the sword and slay the dragon myself.

Besides, I know I won’t have to see him anytime soon—or ever if I can help it. The last I heard, he graduated from Avandale and had no plans on college. I don’t care what he’s doing as long as he’s far from me.

Tearing my mind from the running thoughts, Sunny, my golden retriever, stands up and stretches her cute legs as a big yawn overtakes her sweet face.

“Big stretch, baby girl,” I swoon, reaching over and running my fingers across that ultra-soft spot on her snout.

I’ve had Sunny since I graduated from high school—a gift from my aunts. While a lot of individuals with POTS don’t have service dogs, I’m lucky to have her. She’s able to detect an episode coming on before I can. But more than her gifts, she’s my best friend and my anchor. I don’t usually go many places without her, and I can’t imagine that changing much now that we’re here.

We are a package deal, and when I enrolled at HEAU, they were more than happy to accommodate, giving me a large corner room with a private, grassy, fenced-in area they’d installed, with direct sliding-glass-door access right inside my unit.

I’m a quiet person who enjoys keeping to myself. Well, Sunny doesn’t count; she’s a part of my soul. People always talk about finding your soulmate in love, but there is something special about meeting your soul-pet. The one who finds you when you need them most, who loves you unconditionally.

Sunny is mine.

Besides, she’s an active girl with loads of energy, and she needs more room to play around inside. Along with walks and enrichment activities.

I cried the first time she jumped into my lap. I’d never known I had a hole in my heart for her to fill until it was bursting at the seams with love. She’s not only my best friend, but my protector too.

She’s trained to detect if my heart rate and blood pressure are starting to get too high. She will nudge my hand with her head and even bark and signal me by sitting on my feet if I don’t notice her first attempt.

I also have my watch that I wear if I don’t have Sunny with me, but aside from a handful of situations, she’s typically with me so I don’t need to use it.

When she signals, I know I’m at risk of a flare-up. Once she lets me know, I get my water and find a good place to sit down, preferably a place where I can put my legs up to avoid blood pooling in my feet.

Sometimes, my body will regulate itself after a few minutes. And sometimes, my body makes it feel like it’s fighting against itself. It can be frustratingly unpredictable. Both in its longevity and its symptoms.

POTS patients’ experiences can have similarities, but each still unique.

Everyone has a different journey with POTS. Some have various triggers or stressors that I don’t, and I have struggles that others don’t. I think that’s what can be most frustrating with the invisible illness—there’s no simple solution for any of us. We just have to listen to our body and let it be our guide, whether we want to or not.

I mean, of course, some of our symptoms are the same—muscle fatigue, brain fog, body temperature regulation, a risk of fainting, and more.

One of the most frustrating parts of getting diagnosed is learning how it affects you because there isn’t a handbook built just for your symptoms and body. You have to teach yourself how to navigate it, listening intently to your body.

Luckily, a few pills help me regulate my symptoms for the most part, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have bad days. Days that require me to lie in bed with my feet elevated, resting until the episode passes. Sometimes, it’s just a few hours, sometimes an entire day, and occasionally, it’s multiple days. But thankfully, I haven’t had a flare-up that bad in quite a while.

But the biggest misconception of POTS is that a lot of people assume that we just pass out when we stand up or get lightheaded. Although that may occasionally be true, that is the tip of the iceberg. I’ve only lost consciousness a handful of times over the last year.

It was worse when I was first diagnosed, until I learned how to manage my symptoms. And until I got on medication to help regulate my heart rate.

It’s the little things that affect me the most. Watching what I eat so my sugar isn’t too high, making sure I always stay hydrated, listening to my body, even when I don’t want to. The headaches, the muscle fatigue, the lightheadedness—I could go on and on.

I know I’m one of the luckier ones when it comes to POTS, and I’ll never take that for granted, even when it feels impossible.

I don’t think it’s very common for individuals with POTS to have service dogs, but I’m grateful for Sunny nonetheless.

My aunts planned on getting me a puppy when I graduated, and when they found out that there were POTS service dogs, they knew they had to follow that path. But I can say that since I’ve had her, the episodes are so much smoother.

She can detect it in me far faster than I can. She’s made all the difference during our time together, especially easing my transition of moving here.

Stress can be a big trigger for my symptoms, and having her to keep me company has been the biggest blessing. And when I go on adventures without her, I wear my watch that keeps my heart rate.

We moved into our room three days ago, and I’m finally unpacked. Instead of keeping the small twin bed they usually provide, I had a queen bed brought in since I have so much extra space.

Besides, Sunny needs her spot next to me. We’ve never spent a night apart. And fitting us both in a twin bed would have been snug .

The rooms here may be excessively large, but I’m not complaining. And it’s part of what HEAU is known for—the opulence and extravagance threaded into every inch of the campus.

But I suppose when your student body is composed of some of the wealthiest families in the world, money isn’t hard to come by.

Besides, I also needed room for my piano so I can play every chance I get. It would have been much more of a hassle to walk to the music hall every day for practice.

Music has always been tied to my being, feeling like an extension of my heart and soul. It’s been the one consistent part of my life.

I brought all of Sunny’s things along, including a few new additions—a lofted pink princess dog bed with a custom-embroidered rug with her name positioned beneath it. I spoil her—I can’t help it.

Sunny happily pads across the comforter, licking my cheek, and I giggle.

“Did you have a good nap?”

I talk to my dog incessantly even though she can’t talk back. We talk about everything and anything. Like I said, she’s my best friend.

Her fluffy golden self jumps off of the bed and onto the fluffy pink rug, and I follow suit, stepping into my slippers. She needs to go potty—her usual habit after waking up.

Wrapping my cream-colored throw blanket around me, I walk over to the sliding glass door and unlock it, letting her run outside, across the patio, and onto the lush green grass beneath the starry sky.

It’s chilly out tonight, but I suppose it’s the end of August, and we’re moving into fall, so I should be prepared for the drops in temperature. Especially being in Evermore, Washington, located in the very northern part of the state.

“Go potty,” I tell her, watching her bound around the big yard, enclosed by a seven-foot privacy fence.

No one can see inside, which is my favorite part. I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to stick their hand in to pet her or feed her something she shouldn’t have.

Zoomies hit her almost instantly, and she starts doing figure eights, pure happiness in every leap and bound of her stride. A cool breeze blows over me, and I shiver, goose bumps breaking over my arms.

“Hurry up, baby,” I tell her before stepping back inside and closing the door behind me. I’ll watch her from here, where it’s nice and toasty.

As she continues to race around the grass, my mind drifts to thoughts of classes starting in two days. I am so ready.

I’m double majoring in business and music, which is definitely a heavy load, but I’m confident I can handle it. If I set my mind to something, nothing can hold me back.

Business is boring, and I don’t really care for the course load, but I know the knowledge will be useful to have. Especially when it comes to investments and managing the Briarwood fortune when the time comes.

Our money goes back generations, and it takes a lofty staff to help manage all of the assets. From hotels and properties to stocks and airlines, we have our hands in a lot of cookie jars, and I don’t want to be blind to the responsibility of it all when I take over.

But my true passion, the one I’ve always had, is music. Playing my piano is what fills me with purpose and joy. But even more than that, it’s my gift. I’ve been musically inclined since I was very young.

My aunt Flora always says that I got that blessing from her. But from the times I’ve heard her sing or play, I can’t help but disagree with her.

The one thing I can thank my dad for is providing me piano lessons since I was four years old. I was a prodigy, the keys a mere extension of my fingers. Even though he might have financially supported my musical endeavor, he insisted that my passion for playing remain out of the spotlight, no matter how much I pushed and begged.

He’s always kept my talents from the public. He said that people would use it to extort us. To turn my love and passion into hatred. That keeping my gift private was for my well-being. For the longest time, I believed him. I mean, he was my dad, so what else was I supposed to think?

But the older I got, the more I began to question a lot of what he said and did, wondering who he really made his “thoughtful” decisions for—us, me, or just him?

Sunny bolts toward the door, yanking me from my thoughts, and I slide it open as she slows down and bounds inside. I lock it behind her and close the curtains.

Wiping her paws clean with one of her wipes, I let her go, and she jumps right back up onto our bed, nestling and relaxing on my heated blanket.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I tell her, tossing my blanket onto the bed next to her, leaving me in my super-soft, short-sleeved pink button-up with matching shorts set. I can tell she wants to come along when her body stiffens up. “Just wait here.”

Grabbing my key fob and phone, I step into the hallway and secure the door behind me, hearing the automated lock slide into place.

The marble floor glistens under the soft, warm light from the sconces on the walls and small chandeliers, which hang from the tall ceiling every ten feet.

I could have gotten my own place off campus, but to be honest, I wanted this experience. I’ve been dreaming of college for years. It doesn’t matter that this fate was constructed by my dad since I was little; I’m here for me, not anyone else.

This is the best school in the country. Getting handed an HEAU diploma is a fast pass to success in life. Which is why the application process is so grueling and invasive and only the smallest portion of applicants are selected.

I know my last name got me into this school, but I worked hard to make sure that I earned it with my own merit as well. That I was a perfect applicant regardless of my dad and his more than charitable donations over the years.

The room and setup they provided is perfect, and I couldn’t extend enough gratitude when I moved in. Although I’m not sure if their generosity is because of Sunny and their excitement for my attendance or because of my dad’s position.

After using the bathroom and washing my hands, I smile politely at a few girls who walk past me before heading back to my room.

Turning the corner, I bump into a tall, hot guy with wandering eyes, dark hair, and a cute smirk.

“Shit, sorry about that,” he grumbles, his voice low.

“No problem.” I smile politely.

He spins, walking backward as he strolls away from me, biting down on his bottom lip. “See you around, pretty girl.”

My heart flips in my chest, and I giggle lightly, feeling my cheeks warm. I know it’s ridiculous how good his compliment made me feel.

But most of the ones I’ve gotten were in proximity with my dad, and it was hard to tell if they were genuine or just coming from people trying to gain his favor. Which has happened more times than I’d like to admit.

Besides, I’m not on the hunt for a guy. I’m focused on my music and Sunny. There’s no time for unnecessary distractions.

Without a word, I continue to my door, unlocking it with the fob and stepping inside, inhaling the sweet cinnamon-and-apple air freshener. The door starts to swing shut behind me, and I yawn as I kick my slippers off, ready to crawl into bed with my girl and watch a movie.

Footsteps race down the hallway toward my door, and I instinctually spin around, just in time to see it fly open with force as someone deeply calls out, “Coming in!”

Voices echo down the hallway behind him, laughter and anger intertwining into a slew of curse words and shouts.

He quickly ducks behind my door and slams it shut with his back to me as he tries to catch his breath and look out of the peephole for whoever is chasing after him.

A cold, spine-chilling snake slithers up my back and wraps around my throat, constricting tightly as that familiar, unsettling voice registers in my brain.

My gaze travels from his black hair to his bare strong arms, every other inch of the taut skin scattered with black-and-white tattoos. His fitted T-shirt outlines his strength and impressive physique, and my breath gets caught in my throat from fear.

Sunny brushes against my leg, standing guard at my feet, more so out of curiosity than anything. She isn’t trained to be protective, but maybe she can sense the enemy in the room.

His shoulders rise and fall rapidly as images of our past start to flash in my mind. I’m frozen in place, unable to move a finger as shock rocks through me to my core.

“You fucker! Where’d you go?” someone yells in the hallway.

It’s not him. There’s no way it could be him. Right?

The six-foot-three monster, with ruffled black hair and haunting purple eyes, turns around, his gaze locking with mine. And as much as I try to fight it, I can’t ignore the truth any longer. Standing in my room is the cruel and menacing man I hoped to never see again … Malik Ravenwell .