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The day Marcus Bennett got engaged to the real Kensington heiress, I sat in my car outside the Plaza Hotel with my foot on the gas pedal. All I had to do was floor it. Drive straight through those gilded doors. End it all—them, me, everything. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Through the massive windows, I could see the champagne tower, the string quartet, Isabelle in her perfect white dress. Marcus was laughing at something she said. He looked happy. He looked happy without me. I pressed down on the pedal. The engine roared. Then my phone started ringing. I ignored it. It rang again. And again. "What?" I finally screamed into it. "Ms. Kensington?" A woman's calm voice. "This is Dr. Patterson from Lenox Hill Hospital. Your blood test results came back. I'm calling to inform you that you're pregnant." The world stopped. My foot slipped off the pedal. The car went silent. "Ms. Kensington? Are you there?" "I'm... what?" "You're approximately six weeks along. We'll need to schedule a follow-up appointment to—" I hung up. My hand went to my stomach. Flat. Empty. Except it wasn't empty. Through the hotel windows, music started playing. The first dance. Marcus was spinning Isabelle around, and everyone was clapping, and she was laughing with her head thrown back. That was supposed to be me. I started the car. But instead of driving forward, I reversed. Turned around. And drove straight to JFK. I bought a one-way ticket to Portland with my credit card. As the plane took off, I watched Manhattan disappear below me, all those glittering lights getting smaller and smaller. The Kensingtons' fake daughter was gone, just like everyone wanted. I went to Portland, a city a thousand miles away where no one knew my name. I nearly died bringing my daughter into this world, but I survived. We both did. I never contacted any of them again. Not for four years. Until they showed up, one by one, back in my life. Chapter 1 I hadn't seen Ryan Carter in four years. Then there he was, outside Lily's preschool. I was holding my daughter's hand, listening to her chatter about the butterfly she'd drawn in art class, when another mom grabbed my arm. "Oh my God, Lily's mom—look across the street. Isn't that...?" She snapped her fingers, trying to remember. "That singer guy, what's his name..." I followed her gaze and felt my stomach drop. Ryan. "Ryan Carter!" The mom smacked her forehead. "That's him! The one who won all those awards! You know, the singer-songwriter? He's like, huge right now." I looked away. "Don't know him." She laughed. "Seriously? You don't listen to music? Girl, he's everywhere. And you know what's weird? You two have the same..." She squinted. "I don't know, something about the face. You're both gorgeous, actually." I forced a smile and kept walking, pulling Lily along. "Claire." His voice cut through the afternoon traffic noise. I didn't stop. Didn't turn around. "Claire! Claire Kensington!" Lily tugged on my hand. "Mommy, is that man calling you? " "He's confused, baby. Come on." We made it to the parking lot. I was reaching for the car door when someone grabbed my arm. I spun around. Ryan was there, breathing hard like he'd sprinted the whole way. His eyes were red-rimmed. "Claire, you're... you're alive?" I yanked my arm free and got in the car with Lily. "Mommy, who was that?" Lily asked as I started the engine. "No one, baby." I drove home, watching him tail me the whole way. I parked. He parked right behind me. Before I could get Lily out, he was walking toward us. "Lily, go straight to Emma's apartment. Don't wait for me." She ran inside. I turned to face him. He had his hands in his pockets, looking around at the worn brick building, the cracked pavement. "You live here?" he said. "In this... place?" "That's none of your business." "None of my—" He laughed, but it sounded wrong. "Claire, where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what—" "What are you doing here, Ryan?" Four years ago, when Nathan kicked me out of the Kensington mansion and Marcus wouldn't return my calls, I'd gone to Ryan. My blood brother. My actual family. I'd stood outside his record label building in a snowstorm for six hours. By the time he finally came out, I couldn't feel my feet. "Please," I'd begged. "I have nowhere else to go." He'd looked at me like I was trash on the sidewalk. "You know what I wish?" he'd said. "I wish you'd never been born. Then Isabelle wouldn't have been stolen from her real family. She wouldn't have suffered all those years because of you." "Ryan, please, I'm your—" "Sister?" He'd laughed. "You're not my sister. The Kensingtons don't want you anymore, so now you're trying to guilt-trip me with biology? Pathetic. I don't want you either." Then he'd walked away, leaving me standing there in the snow. Now he was looking at me with those same eyes, except they were searching instead of cold. "That kid," he said slowly. "Lily. She's Marcus's, isn't she? That's why you left? You were pregnant?" "She's my daughter." "Claire, come on. She looks exactly like him. Did you really think—" "She's mine," I cut him off. "Just mine. And before you start spinning some story about me trying to trap Marcus or whatever, don't. I left. I stayed gone. I'm not interested in your life, Isabelle's life, or any of it." His mouth opened, closed. "We're strangers, Ryan. You said it yourself four years ago. So let's keep it that way." I headed for the stairs. "I need to get Lily." "Wait." He grabbed my wrist. "Just... wait." "What?" His jaw worked like he was trying to force words out. "Why did you leave? I mean, yeah, people were talking, but you're a Kensington. You were always so... you had everything. Why would you just run away?" I stared at him. "And with a baby," he continued. "You didn't know how to do anything. You'd never worked a day in your life. How did you even..." His voice cracked. "How did you survive?" Chapter 2 Ryan's eyes were red. From anger, I told myself. He must hate that I'm still alive—a threat to Isabelle's perfect life with the people who were supposed to be mine. How did I survive? Someone traded their life for mine. But Ryan didn't deserve to know that. The old Claire—the one who'd never touched a dish sponge or written a resume—she would've cried and begged for help. The new me? Claire Foster didn't beg anyone for anything. "Jesus, why won't you answer?" Ryan ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. A neighbor walked past carrying a grocery bag. "Hey, Claire! Haven't started dinner yet?" I smiled at her. "Just about to, Janet." "Well, don't let me keep you. Tell Lily I found that butterfly book she wanted!" "Will do. Thanks." Ryan stood there watching the exchange like he was trying to solve a puzzle. The easy way I talked to the neighbor. The way I fit here. I headed for the stairs. "I need to get Lily." "Hold on—" He followed me, and then his eyes caught on something. The wall of mailboxes next to the stairwell, rows of little metal boxes with names on labels underneath. I saw the exact moment he found mine. "Foster?" He turned to me slowly, pointing at the label. "Claire Foster?" I kept walking. "You changed your name?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "To Foster? Who the hell is Foster?" "I really need to—" "Did you get married? Is there some guy? Is that why you—" "That's none of your business." "Like hell it's not! You're my—" "I'm not your anything." Each word came out hard and clear. "What I'm called, how I live, who I am now—none of it concerns you, Ryan." He couldn't exactly make a scene. Not when he was famous now, not with neighbors watching and phone cameras always ready. I climbed the stairs to Emma's apartment. Through the stairwell window, I could see Ryan still standing there in the parking lot, looking lost. Four years ago, he'd never cared where I was or if I was okay. Now he was confused because I wasn't falling at his feet anymore. Funny how that works. I'd burned every connection I had to get Ryan his first real break. I'd called in favors, begged people I barely knew, humiliated myself at parties I wasn't wanted at—all to get my struggling artist brother a shot at his dream. I'd even gotten him signed to his current label. The best in the business. Because he was my brother. My blood. He'd grown up poor while I'd lived in luxury that was never meant for me. I thought I owed him everything. He'd thought I was trying to manipulate him. Trying to use him to make Isabelle miserable. "Mommy?" Lily looked up at me as we walked back to our apartment. "Was that man your family?" My chest tightened. "No, baby. Why would you think that?" "You look like him." Family. Nathan's face flashed through my mind. My brother—no, not my brother. Never really my brother. I used to think blood didn't matter, that Nathan would always be my family no matter what. Then Isabelle fell down the stairs—or I should say, threw herself down the stairs—and Nathan had carried her past me without a second glance. "Claire, you disgust me," he'd said, not even looking back. "As of today, you're not a Kensington. You're not my sister. Isabelle is my only sister now." I'd grabbed his leg, sobbing, swearing I hadn't pushed her. He'd shaken me off like I was nothing. "That man's not family," I told Lily. She looked disappointed. "I thought maybe you had someone besides just us and Uncle Will." "We're enough, baby girl. You and me." "But Uncle Will is gone..." Her little face crumpled. "I miss him." "I know, sweetheart. I know." Better to never have something than to have it ripped away. Better to not depend on anyone than to learn they never really cared. I knew that now. Chapter 3 Lily spiked a fever at two in the morning. I grabbed my keys and drove to the ER in my pajamas, my daughter burning up in the backseat. By the time we got there, she was whimpering, her little face flushed red. "Viral infection," the doctor said after what felt like hours. "We need to keep her overnight for IV fluids." I didn't sleep. I sat in that uncomfortable hospital chair watching the IV drip, drip, drip into my baby's arm while she finally slept. By dawn, her fever broke. But she was still weak, barely keeping her eyes open. "Come on, sweetheart." I lifted her onto my back. She was getting too big for this, but she wrapped her arms around my neck and let me carry her. The morning air was cold. Fog hung over the streets as I stopped at a corner market, Lily still clinging to my back. I grabbed some chicken, vegetables, the cheap stuff that would stretch for a few meals. I was fishing cash out of my wallet when someone's hand reached over and took the grocery bags. A man's hand. Long fingers, expensive watch. I looked up. Through the fog, I saw Nathan's face. "Nathan?" The word slipped out before I could stop it. My exhausted brain couldn't process why he was here, in Portland, at a farmers market at seven in the morning. Then I remembered. He wasn't my brother anymore. "Mr. Kensington," I corrected myself quickly. His jaw tightened. Something flashed across his face—anger? Pain? "Let me help." His voice was soft. Too soft. "I'm fine." I reached for the bags, but Lily shifted on my back and made a small sound of discomfort. "Claire." He caught my arm, stopping me from grabbing the bags. "Don't be stubborn. Let me drive you and Lily home." Claire. Not "you." Not some cold, distant thing. Claire. Nathan hadn't called me by my name in four years. Back then, before Isabelle came back, I was always "Clairebear" or just "kiddo." The Kensington parents were always traveling—London, Dubai, Tokyo, wherever their business took them. Nathan practically raised me. And yeah, he'd spoiled me rotten. Someone once asked him, "Aren't you worried she'll get into trouble with how much you let her get away with?" Nathan had just shrugged. "Let her get into trouble. I don't care what she does. I'll handle it." But then Isabelle came home. At first, Nathan promised nothing would change. "You're still my sister," he'd said. But every time Isabelle started something—snide comments, little sabotages, playing the victim—Nathan would pull me aside. "She's been through a lot, Claire. Just... let it go. For me." We need to make it up to her, he'd say. So I let it go. Over and over. Because he'd been my brother for twenty-four years, and I wanted him to be happy. Until he believed Isabelle's lies about me pushing her. Until he cut me off without a second thought. Until I realized I'd been a fool to depend on him. Now I sat in the passenger seat of his Mercedes, Lily asleep against my shoulder, and tried to figure out why he was here. Ryan must have told him. Nathan probably flew out immediately, worried I'd come back to Manhattan and ruin Isabelle's perfect life. Was he going to threaten me? Pay me off? Take Lily away because she was Marcus's daughter and the Kensington-Bennett alliance couldn't handle that scandal? My head throbbed. I held Lily tighter. I didn't notice Nathan watching me in the rearview mirror, something like longing in his eyes. "Claire..." I looked up. He looked older. Lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Four years ago, we all thought you were—" "Dead. I know." I cut him off. "You can keep thinking that if it's easier. I'm not coming back to compete with Isabelle. Everything was hers anyway. I'm not interested in any of you. I just want to live quietly with my daughter." I took a breath. "And Lily stays with me. She'll never contact Marcus. I swear on my life I won't use her to mess up Isabelle's relationship. You don't need to worry." I looked him dead in the eye. "I mean it." He went very still. "That's not why I—" "Or are you worried I'll use the Kensington name for something? I won't. I changed it. I'm not—" "Claire!" His voice cracked. "That's not— I'm not here to threaten you." His eyes were red. "I want you to come home."