Prologue

PROLOGUE

Lorelei

" Y ou look lonely." The deep, familiar voice rumbles through me as his shadow swallows me whole.

Sucking in a deep, hopefully calming breath through my nose, I close my eyes and pray for strength.

I love my best friend dearly. She has been hands down the best person who has ever entered my life. But the world she inhabits, the people she is connected with…yeah…not exactly my type.

I come from nothing, and despite working my ass off to try and better my life, I already know that I'll leave this Earth with exactly the same as I entered it. Unlike those currently surrounding me.

Watching Tatum get married was…a headfuck.

She looked beautiful—beyond beautiful. She was a vision wrapped up in the most incredible dress. She was so perfect that no one else in the room would believe that she was suffering from the effects of our drinking session last night.

She wanted to be good, but I'm pretty sure she was lying to herself from the second she thought about those intentions, let alone said them out loud.

She was marrying her brother's best friend. A jerk she's spent her entire life hating. A man her father handed her over to in his will. And if she wants to secure her inheritance, then she has to see it through for a year.

Crazy? Yeah, totally fucking crazy.

But also…

Some might say it's romantic in a way—secretly, I might just be one of them.

They've been enemies their whole lives, both doing anything they can to rile the other up. Now they've been brought together in a way they never expected, and well…who knows what the future will hold?

The sparks are already flying—and not just the angry ones.

They're hot together. Anyone with eyes can see that.

Disappointment niggles inside me, but I don't have time to focus on the fact I'm here as Tatum's only bridesmaid, alone.

Instead, I straighten my spine and attempt to prepare myself for turning toward Kingston's best man, his younger brother Kian.

"Not lonely, just…taking a moment," I say coolly.

Refusing to look at him, I track the closest barman's movements in the hope he can feel my burning stare and supply me with something that will help me get through the next few minutes.

But it never happens—he's too busy with a group of pretentious older men who are drinking top-shelf whiskey as if it's water.

The overt show of wealth makes my skin crawl.

"Well, you look too good to be having a moment alone. Care if I join you?"

But it's too late, he's already sitting on the stool beside me as if there isn't a chance in the world of me saying no.

I guess that's the kind of ego you grow when ninety-nine percent of the female population wants to screw your brains out.

Well, Kian Callahan, welcome to the one percent who would rather scratch their eyes out with a corkscrew than worship at your stupidly expensive shoes.

Schooling my features, I finally spin on my stool to face him.

"Seems like a pointless question, don't you think?" I ask, dropping my eyes down to where he's sitting.

If I didn't know that his navy suit had been tailored to fit him to perfection, then it wouldn't be hard to figure it out. The way he wears it…well, it's probably the only positive thing I can come up with about him, if I'm being honest.

That and just how fucking good-looking he is.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek.

It's not fair. In fact, it's really fucking unfair that, not only was he born into one of the wealthiest families in the country, enabling him to walk straight into a high-profile, well-paying, and powerful job, but he was also gifted with model-like looks.

How are the rest of us mere mortals meant to compete with the likes of him?

A rush of copper fills my mouth as bitterness floods my veins.

"I'm amazed I'm the first to try and join you," he says smoothly before looking in the direction of the barman and immediately getting his attention. Of course.

It physically pains me not to roll my eyes.

"Macallan, please," Kian orders. "And another—" He glances over at me for confirmation of what I'm drinking.

I refuse to comply or allow him to buy me a drink. Buy—what a joke. Of course this wedding includes an open bar. Other than watching my best friend say her vows, it's the best part of the whole day. Hopefully, if I drink enough, I'll be able to ignore the stench of pretense that permeates the room.

You could leave , a little voice says.

Tate has gone. Kingston literally dragged her away to celebrate their nuptials alone.

Lucky her…

"I'm fine, thank you."

Kian's eyes narrow in irritation before his hand darts out, stealing my glass from the bar before me.

"What are you?—"

"Porn star martini," he says to the barman after sniffing my glass. My chin drops. "She'll take another."

"H-how did you…" I stutter like a fool once the barman has retreated.

He smirks, making perfectly symmetrical dimples pop in his cheeks before he winks cockily.

Jesus.

"I'm not just a pretty face, Lorelei," he rasps, his smirk growing.

His voice flows through me, and damn him if my thighs don't involuntarily clench.

It's a natural reaction to a virile man , I try telling myself. It has to be that because there is no way on earth I'm in any way attracted to this arrogant jerk.

"Debatable," I mutter under my breath as I turn my attention back to the bottles lining the bar. They're almost as pretty, and they certainly contain less bullshit.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," he says, shifting his stool closer so that the heat of his arm warms mine.

"Yes, you did," I say confidently. "Was there something you wanted other than to interrupt my peace, Kian?"

I don't look over to see his reaction. I don't need to. The reflection of the gold trim that covers the bar does the job perfectly well.

His nostrils flare and he sucks in a sharp breath as his lips part in surprise.

I mentally give myself a high five. I'm not sure it's often anyone gets the upper hand when it comes to any of the Callahan brothers.

"I don't feel like we got off on the right foot," he says, attempting to turn this back around again.

"Is that right?"

We've actually met a few times over the years, thanks to our mutual friends, but I don't know him. I've never cared to.

He exudes more than enough of everything I hate to put me off for a lifetime.

I guess it should be expected that he's forgotten we're already acquainted. He was with some fake blonde bimbo the first time we met, and he was as big an asshole that night as he has been every other time I've met him.

"I was merely pointing out that it's tradition that the best man and Maid of Honor hook up at a wedding if they're single."

"Then I guess it's good that I'm not single, isn't it?" I retort as our drinks are placed before us and my feet hit the floor.

"If that's true, then he isn't worthy of you."

Walk away.

Just walk away.

"And why is that?" I ask, unable to follow my own advice.

Spinning on the balls of my feet, I find myself at eye level with him. Many would cower the second his eyes locked on theirs. But while I may not be as powerful or as important as him or anyone else in this room, I refuse to bow down to them.

Money doesn't make you more important. Your job title doesn't make you more or less worthy of anyone's time or attention.

The only thing that matters is the kind of person you are. And the one staring back at me with a mixture of mirth and expectation lighting up his green eyes is a selfish jerk who only cares about his reputation.

"Because a beautiful woman like you should never be attending an event like this alone if you're not single."

I raise a brow but keep my expression neutral.

"It's a huge risk when, instead of missing him…" he explains before throwing his whiskey back and pushing to his feet, moving closer. He towers over me even in my heels, forcing me to raise my chin to keep eye contact. "You could be spending your time getting to know me better."

His alcohol-laced breath rushes over me and his eyes bounce between mine as if I'm meant to be…what? Impressed at that pathetic attempt to pick me up?

"Fortunately for him, it's a risk he doesn't need to worry about. Goodnight, Kian. Good luck with your next victim." And with those words hanging in the air between us, I walk away, making sure I put as much sway into my hips as possible.