**Chapter One** Jericho Grayson — my villain, my monster, my ruthless rebel… Leaning back in the plush leather of the club chair, I pressed my phone against my ear, adrenaline coursing through me. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Knight's voice sliced through the air, smooth yet commanding, the unmistakable hint of a French accent coloring his words. “You put the paparazzi on Bastian, didn’t you?” A smirk crept across my lips as I glanced down at the newspaper spread out on the glass-topped table before me, its bold headline gleaming like a trophy: *Bastian Grayson exposed for his sexual relations with Governor Teddy Jameson’s seventeen-year-old daughter.* The accompanying picture of Bastian, sprawled naked in bed with Lana Jamison, was a decadent cherry atop this scandalous sundae. The club lights flickered mischievously, illuminating the damning words as the bass-heavy music shifted to the ominous beat of "Your dirt will come back to screw with you." Feigning innocence, I replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But I knew better than to expect Knight to buy it. For the past twenty-nine years, every attempt at deception had fallen flat in the face of his unwavering scrutiny. He could smell guilt on me like blood in water. As the scandal erupted across national news and the evening press, I anticipated his call. Knight was not just my superior in the Grayson empire; he was my brother, and he bore the heavy weight of responsibility like a mantle draped across his shoulders. He often took on the role of the moral compass, a self-appointed guardian to my chaotic exploits, making him all the more intolerable. But deep down, I knew he envied the reckless courage that ran in my veins. “Jericho, I know it was you,” he pressed, his voice firm but tinged with an undertone of resignation. He should have known better; I was the king of calculating chaos. Of course, it had been me. Just like in war, you eliminate obstacles. My mission? Claim my birthright — the billion-dollar legacy that came with the Grayson name, the CFO position at the Park Avenue branch, and thirty percent ownership of the company. Sure, I was a senior investment analyst and infrastructure architect at Grayson Inc., but my responsibilities often overlapped with Bastian's position in finance. Months prior, he had made the mistake of threatening to expose dark secrets that could ruin Knight's marriage to Aurora. So, I retaliated, deftly capturing the incriminating evidence of Bastian’s affair with a minor and wielding it like a sword above his head. “Look,” I began, my grin widening, “I didn’t engage with a minor. That’s on him — and the Governor, for letting his daughter get into such a situation.” Luc, my friend sitting beside me, snorted in amusement, understanding the depths of our fraternal discord. Knight exhaled heavily, “This might come back to bite us.” I chuckled darkly, addressing the divide that always lingered between us. Beneath our similar black hair and towering frames, we were worlds apart. Knight’s vigilance often made him hesitate; I acted first and dealt with consequences later. “Dear brother,” I said, sardonically, “neither Bastian nor Father can harm us. They’re more afraid than ever with that sex tape in my possession.” “I know, but you have to acknowledge the unpredictability of their reactions,” Knight warned. “Believe me, they won’t dare act. Bastian trapped himself when the press caught him in bed with Lana. He dug his own grave and laid in it cheerily, oblivious to the danger.” Without a doubt, neither Bastian nor our father had the audacity to come after me, not when they knew I’d come back like a vengeful phoenix if provoked. More troubling, I suspected that Bastian had been with Lana before she turned seventeen — and in New York, that kind of escapade could lead to ruin. If I found a piece of evidence to substantiate that, he’d face charges. “I suppose you’re right,” Knight conceded, his worry lifted somewhat. “Exactly. So do me a favor and stop fretting over it. I’ll see you at work in the morning.” “Fine. See you then.” As I hung up, my attention shifted back to Luc, who had been quietly observing. With a sly smile, he leaned forward, “I won’t bother asking for specifics. I imagine it’s the kind of fucked-up shit that would get me into trouble.” “Better left unsaid,” I replied, sliding the newspaper out of sight. “One more secret pushed under the rug.” His laughter punctuated the air. “We both know you revel in making such choices.” Luc had been a loyal friend since childhood, sharing the carefree days of summer before my life had spiraled into the tumultuous world of high stakes and family legacies. He had navigated the Ivy League landscape alongside Knight and made a name for himself in the NHL, even as the stakes in my life grew exponentially. “On to more pressing matters,” Luc said suddenly, pulling a folder from his bag. “I have some intriguing candidates for your wife.” “Better show me,” I leaned in. His grin broadened as he displayed a meticulously compiled list of potential women, each more attractive than the last. Finding a wife was the last thing I wanted to do, yet it was a requirement if I desired to claim my legacy — not just any wife, but a rented one whose existence would be a convenient illusion. Luc’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he flipped through the pages, showcasing headshots that bore promise. “Beautiful, indeed. But none of them pulse with life,” I remarked, feeling an unsettling hollowness in my chest. We convened at Club Edge, a high-end gentleman's club famous for its discretion — a suitable backdrop for our scheming. I had just eight weeks to find a wife for a charade that would forever change the course of my destiny. Luc knew my grandfather's rigid rules all too well. A quick marriage could lead to the coveted CFO position, but my grandfather expected me to find true love in the process. Ironically, it was the last thing I had ever wanted. “If you don’t mind me asking,” Luc raised an eyebrow, “what if your grandfather finds out you're not in it for real love?” “He won’t find out,” I replied, my tone more confident than I felt. The stakes were high, and I couldn’t afford for this façade to crumble. “Good luck, then.” Luc lifted his glass in a toast. “To success.” “Success for both of us.” I clinked my glass against his, uncertain if I could trust the woman to come, much less the lie I was about to live. As the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, revealing an aerial performer with crimson hair twisting gracefully midair, my thoughts drifted. The performance was captivating, but my attention faded as I noticed something unsettlingly familiar about her movements — reminiscent of a woman I had known intimately before the world had come crashing down around us. When the ambient noise of the club crescendoed, the performer’s face finally came into view, and it was as if time itself warped around me. My heart sank, and all the air escaped my lungs as recognition slammed into me like a heavy wave. River St. James. After eight long years, there she was, dancing in a strip club, the very girl I had once loved fiercely. The shock on her face mirrored my own as memories flooded back with a force I couldn’t ignore. “Oh my God,” Luc whispered into the charged silence, but I didn’t need to look at him to know what he was staring at — the echo of my past, dancing right before my eyes.