Captive Princess

Isabella stood at the bottom of the stairs in a simple white dress, the picture of fragile innocence.

She spotted me, and a brilliant smile spread across her face. "You must be Sophia. I'm Isabella. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

I didn't answer, just stared down at her.

Don Romano emerged from the living room. Seeing Isabella, a rare look of paternal affection crossed his features.

"Isabella, you must be tired from your journey. Have Sophia show you to your room."

"Thank you, Uncle Romano," Isabella replied sweetly.

"Take Sophia's room. It gets the best light, perfect for your recovery," Don Romano announced.

I turned to him. "My room?"

"From now on, it's Isabella's room. You can move to the third floor. There's an empty guest room up there."

A cold laugh escaped my lips. "No, thanks."

I went back upstairs and began to pack.

Thirty minutes later, I was dragging my suitcase down the stairs.

Don Romano saw my luggage and frowned. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm leaving," I said without looking back. "Since I'm no longer a Romano, there's no reason for me to stay here."

"Sophia!" he yelled after me. "Your wedding is in two weeks! Don't be ridiculous!"

"I know." I pulled the door open. "I'll be at the wedding to fulfill our agreement."

The door slammed shut behind me. I drove away from the Romano estate without a second glance.

My first stop was the most expensive hotel in Manhattan—The Plaza.

"I'd like your most expensive suite," I told the concierge.

"For how many nights?"

"Two weeks. "

When I paid, I used the supplementary credit card Don Romano had given me. It had a five-million-dollar limit that I had rarely touched.

Today, I was going to max it out.

Once in the suite, I immediately began my revenge spending.

I contacted Vera Wang's private couturier and ordered three bespoke wedding gowns, each worth a hundred thousand dollars.

Then I bought ten sets of high jewelry and two limited-edition Rolexes.

In a single day, I spent nearly four million dollars.

Soon enough, Don Romano's call came through.

"Sophia! Are you out of your mind? You spent four million in one day!"

"What's wrong?" I asked, lounging on the hotel's plush leather sofa. "I'm being shipped off to Boston. A girl has to make a good impression."

"You need to spend that much to make an impression?"

"Of course," I said, sipping my champagne. "I'm marrying the heir to the Sterling family. I can't look cheap, can I? Besides, the Sterlings are paying five hundred million for this alliance. A few million is pocket change."

"You..." Don Romano was sputtering with rage.

"Father—oh, wait, I should call you Mr. Romano now," I laughed. "You already disowned me, so it's not right for me to spend your money. How about this: as soon as the alliance funds arrive, I'll pay you back immediately."

I hung up and continued my shopping spree.

My plan was simple: drain the Romano family's liquid assets before the alliance money came through. Then, the five hundred million would go directly into my account. If Don Romano wanted it, he'd have to come begging.

Let's see if he'd still favor that mother and daughter then.

Just as I was about to make my final round of purchases, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from Vincent. "You haven't been to the compound in three days. Is something wrong?"

I stared at the message, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

But I quickly composed myself. Vincent just hated it when his orders were disobeyed. That's all this was.

I replied: "Family stuff. It'll be sorted out in a few days."

Vincent didn't write back.

The next morning, as I was heading out to continue my sartorial assault, the hotel concierge stopped me. "Miss Romano, I'm terribly sorry, but your account has been frozen. You cannot continue to charge to your room."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll need to settle your bill immediately, or..." He paused delicately. "We'll have to ask you to leave."

An hour later, I was standing on the sidewalk outside The Plaza with my luggage.

Penniless and homeless.

I couldn't bring myself to sell the luxury goods I'd bought. I needed them as my armor for Boston.

I thought about calling a friend, but then I realized I didn't have any. The people who flocked around me were only there for the Romano family's power and influence.

Now that I'd been cast out, who would bother with me?

As dusk fell, I dragged my suitcase aimlessly through the streets.

Finally, I found an empty bench in Central Park and sat down.

The night grew deep. The park was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.

I hugged my knees, counting down the five days until the wedding. I couldn't live on the streets until then.

As I worried, a few drunk men staggered toward me.

"Hey, beautiful. All alone?" one of them slurred, reeking of cheap booze.

I stood up warily. "Stay away from me."

"Don't be like that," the man said, reaching for me. "C'mon, have a drink with us."

I stepped back, but the bench blocked my escape.

Just then, a low, menacing voice cut through the air.

"She's with me."

I turned. Vincent was stepping out of the shadows, his face a thunderous mask of fury.

The drunks took one look at his imposing presence and scrambled away.

Vincent strode toward me, his gaze taking in my suitcases, then the bench.

"Homeless, and you still won't come to me?"