The Grayson Crowne was whispering secrets and kissing me, and he’d just confessed he was a virgin to me. What was worse, I was kissing him back. I was kissing him back even after knowing those secrets weren’t for me—these lips weren’t mine.

It made me want them more.

I’d grown up in the basement of this palatial home, and I knew soul-deep the difference between me and him: those who were born with the right to have, and those with the right to want.

With his lips on me, I didn’t care. I clawed at his shoulders, willing it to be different.

“More,” I breathed into his kiss.

His grin stretched against my lips. “I like that word from your mouth.” His tongue swept my lips, hot, demanding.

Then all at once, like a douse of scorching fire, the lights turned on. The bright-yellow light burned. I knew the moment it hit Gray, when he realized I wasn’t the person he’d meant to kiss. I couldn’t begin to describe the emotions that swam across his face. Anger, of course. Shock. Disgust.

They cut old scars anew. One time, I’d let myself believe I could fall in love with a prince. I still haven’t recovered from the cuts those glass slippers made when they shattered.

“Gray?” At the voice, he tore his eyes from mine. I blinked out of my foggy pain, following his line of sight.

A silhouette was illumined in the doorway, and it took only a second to recognize her. Charlotte “Lottie” du Lac. She looked kind of like me, if there was a better, billionaire heiress version of me.

My eyes were stony hazel, and hers were a warm dark chocolate. She was slightly taller, but the extra inch slimmed her waist and made her legs go on for miles. Her chestnut skin glowed from within, and I was lucky if I got a day without a blemish. Today our hair was similar…but where my curls were without direction, pulled back to get out of my face, hers were piled high, beautiful and natural.

Gray did a double take, turning from her then back to me, who was trying to huddle and disappear into the shadows.

Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know why I believed you.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “This is cruel, even for you.”

With that Charlotte turned and left, red-soled heels clacking down the hallway.

“Charlotte, wait—” Gray started, then paused, eyes finding mine once more. The heat, the gentle desire, was extinguished. In its place was nothing save coldness. He looked down the hall, as if torn between chasing her and smashing me beneath his shoe.

He chose me.