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BILLIE

I tuck the box under my arm and unlock Asher’s loft with the key he gave me. Our schedules are hectic, and we’re constantly working weekends with no time off, but we’re making the best of it.

When I walk in, I close the door and lock it behind me. After I drop this gift, I must return to Bellamore for a fitting.

“Ash?” I say loud enough for him to hear if he’s inside.

I almost expect him to walk out of his bedroom, wearing that sexy grin he reserves just for me. I wait a few seconds, but it’s complete silence. I hope he went and visited his sister’s grave today. Harper mentioned in passing he’d never gone once. She also reminded me of the anniversary.

I set the box down on the counter, smiling at the big white ribbon placed on top.

He’s going to love it.

Giggling, I wiggle out of my panties and take them off, hooking the red silk lace on my finger as I walk into his bedroom. This is one reason I love wearing skirts—easy access.

His bed is made, and sunlight shines through the sheer curtains. I place them on his pillow and smile, knowing today, he’ll arrive home first. I imagine him walking through the door, removing his jacket, tie, and shirt, then stopping when he sees my lingerie on his pillow. A precursor for what will happen later. When I turn, I notice a leather folio sitting on his nightstand.

The edges are worn, and I vaguely remember him always carrying something like this at Stanford. I sit on the edge of the mattress, staring at it like it’s a deadly cobra that will strike.

“This is ridiculous,” I tell myself as I reach forward and flip it open.

My eyes dart toward the glass slipper icon and the words Project Glass Slipper .

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I turn the page, seeing Asher’s neat handwriting that could be its own font.

Project Glass Slipper

Never let her break.

Phase 1

Protect: shield her from harmful external threats.

Phase 2

Grow: empower her reputation and creativity.

Phase 3

Soar: no longer surviving but leading.

Billie Calloway isn’t the future. She’s a revolution.

My fingers fly through the pages. Asher wrote details dating back thirteen years, when we met at Stanford. Some of it’s written in code, and I’m not sure what it means. Every conversation we’ve had, each time we’ve run into each other—it’s all here, noted in journal entries.

I blink rapidly as disbelief travels through me like ice water in my veins. Asher’s handwriting is immaculate, calculated. My fingers tremble as they trace over timelines. For thirteen years, he has meticulously documented every milestone in my life. Even my social media updates were dissected down to their subtext, which he got right.

This man knows me better than I know myself, and that scares the fuck out of me. Based on this, I’m convinced Asher can predict my every move, reply, emotion before it even happens.

A bitter laugh escapes me, sharp and hollow, as I read how my brother’s approached him to watch over me. The reason I went to Stanford was to escape them and their prying eyes. I was so na?ve.

When I realize this project is just another one of Weston’s obsessive strategies and Easton’s relentless drive for control over me, I snap. Anger floods out of me knowing my brothers have orchestrated every aspect of my existence, down to who I fell in love with.

I’m stunned, unable to read another word as tears sting my eyes.

Was I nothing more than a project? A to-do list with phases and bullet points?

I slam the folio shut, my jaw clenching tight. I tuck it under my arm and text my driver. I’m sick and tired of Weston and Easton interfering in my life. My rage takes over as I rush to Calloway headquarters. I’m let out in front of the building, and paparazzi wait for me and snap pictures as I step inside.

I give them go to hell looks, officially feeling like I’m watching my villain origin story play out.

Weston likes to think that he’s Batman. Yeah, well, today, I’m the Joker, and I will be both of their worst fucking nightmares. I press my thumbprint against the keypad, and the elevator shoots me up to their floor. My heart rapidly beats in my chest, and I try to suck in deep breaths, but it’s no use.

“Ms. Calloway,” their secretary says .

I walk past her, ignoring her every step with my hands squeezed tightly into fists.

“You can’t go in there!”

“Fuck off,” I tell her, moving into Easton’s office.

He glares at me, livid, and then Weston turns to me. Beside him are familiar broad shoulders and messy hair.

Everything feels like it moves into half speed when Asher turns around and his golden-brown eyes meet mine. Confusion and betrayal settle in my expression, and I’m hurt.

My jaw clenches tight as I look at the three of them. Asher sees the folio in my hand and tenses. My brothers see the rage swirling in my eyes. I’m ready to explode, a ticking time bomb full of rage.

“I told you not to interfere in my life. You refused to respect my wishes,” I say, my voice steady.

I am the calm before the storm, the one where I decimate them entirely off the planet.

“Billie, what is your fucking problem?” Easton spits out just as Stormy enters behind me.

My nostrils flare, and I realize no matter how many times I’ve asked them to leave me alone and not meddle in my business, my brothers have never listened. They’ve always done whatever they want, playing by their own game.

“You’ve continued forward with controlling me and my business whether I was on board or not,” I say, whispering. “For the last fucking time, I don’t want any of your help.”

“Billie,” Asher says behind me as angry tears stream down my face.

“Don’t talk to me,” I bark out, needing to escape the suffocating room.

I step onto the elevator, and he chases me inside. The doors slide closed, and when I look into his eyes, the elevator feels like it’s free falling.

I need air. I need to breathe. I need to calm down.

“I can explain everything,” he says, slapping his hand against the Emergency Stop button. We’re suspended by nothing more than wires and time. “You’re in your head.”

“I don’t want to hear another one of your fucking lies,” I say, acting cold, like the Ice Queen he believes I am.

He takes a step forward and smirks, like he’s enjoying it.

“The very last thing you should be doing right now is looking at me like that. This isn’t a joke.”

He gives me a cocky grin, amused. It makes me angrier.

“On a scale from one to ten, how fucking enraged are you, Ice Queen?”

“One billion.”

“Ah, luckily, I can work with billions,” he says, cupping my cheeks in his hands and sliding his warm mouth against mine.

I instantly relax and melt into him; my body has always been a traitor when it comes to him. It still is.

He’s a traitor.

I push away from him. “You can’t just kiss me like that. You tricked me into falling in love with you.”

He bursts into laughter. “Yeah, right. Give yourself more credit than that. Falling in love with me wasn’t a trick, princess. It was a full-ass treat.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I say between gritted teeth.

“Ah, you know I love seeing you at your limit. It’s my kink. Your heart rate climbs, and your breasts rise and fall with each ragged breath. That, combined with the swirling disdain in your eyes that drown me each time I look into them, is almost too much. And that mouth. Mmm. Fuck, that smart-ass mouth of yours. You know, the other day, I was wondering if the ruthless Ice Queen still existed. Thanks for confirming she does. You’ll need to let this version of you appear when we’re in London.” He shrugs, unbothered by me and my eternal anger.

“I am not seeing you in London.”

“How many shit sandwiches do you want to eat? I’ll see you in London because you can’t fucking resist me, Billie. The heart wants what it wants,” he says, way too confident.

“Yeah?” I step away from him, creating much-needed space. “And what does your heart want, Asher? More under-the-table favors from my brothers?”

His face softens. “You. Just you. Always you.”

“Because I’m your glass slipper.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Because you’re the only one it fits.”

I reach over and press the button. The elevator jolts and continues its descent to the ground floor.

“I know you’re upset with me, and you have every fucking right to be. But please give me a chance to explain. Afterward, if you never want to speak to me again, I’ll make sure your wish comes true.”

I meet his eyes, seeing the resolve behind his gaze.

“You’d pretend I didn’t exist?” I ask.

“If that’s what you want.”

I hold up the folio. “Truly riveting information.”

“Give it to me,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Not a fucking chance. This is now mine. Hope you have your plan memorized,” I sneer.

The elevator doors slide open, and as I move to walk away, he gently grabs my elbow, pulling me back to him. The smell of his cologne and the lingering taste of his lips on mine nearly do me in.

“I promise I had your best interest in mind,” he whispers in my ear.

I don’t know if I want to kiss or smack him. “Fuck off, Banks.”

He laughs, and I hate that I love the sound of it. “Great. Am I still seeing you tonight at around eight for dinner?”

I glare at him, feeling hurt and pissed, and then walk away. As I glance over my shoulder, to see if he’s following me, I see the elevator doors slide closed. Asher is returning to my brothers, to the puppet masters of it all.

As I step out into blinding sunlight, paparazzi swarm me, like vultures circling fresh prey. Their cameras flash relentlessly, capturing every fractured emotion etched across my face—anger, heartbreak, determination. Everything I am has always been laid out for the public to scrutinize. Why would now be any different?

I slide into the car that’s waiting for me and zoom toward Bellamore.

Right now, I don’t know who to trust. Considering how my heart flutters when Asher’s near, I can’t even trust myself.