Counterfeit Heiress

Chapter Two

Sloane sighed, sprawling out across the plush sofa in the apartment the Stewarts had provided for the duration of the contract. After a moment, she felt a familiar warm hand patting her arm gently.

Turning her head to the right, the girl smiled when her Nana seemed to have joined her from nowhere.

"Are you ready to tell me what's bothering you now?" the older woman asked, her hand resting on Sloane's forearm as she leaned against the sofa, sitting serenely on the floor.

Sloane shrugged, gazing up at the ceiling. "It's just- Something is weird."

"What is?"

"I-"

Sloane scrunched her nose as she pondered. What was it that felt so off to her?

"I just have a weird feeling," she answered quietly.

Her Nana hummed gently. "Well, in my experience, gut feelings should always be listened to."

The two fell into silence, and Sloane ran the last few nights over in her head. The main thing she couldn't stop thinking about was the man who saw her even when she was silently standing across the room. The intense grey eyes that followed her all over every room they found her in, and she had no idea what to make of it. She didn't dare tell her Nana either.

All she could think about when her mind returned to the man called Marcus Livingston - a nouveau riche billionaire, from what she'd gathered from Marlow - was a certain part of the legend of her blessed ancestor:

The Fae had blessed the young bride so that only her true love could see her without sound or touch.

Did that mean this man was supposedly Sloane's true love?

She scoffed inwardly. True love? There's no such thing. People are cowardly and selfish creatures.

Besides, she wasn't really in a position to worry about something as cliche as love. Too much else was going on around her.

With a sigh, she clasped her Nana's hand in hers and smiled brightly at the older woman, sitting up on the sofa.

"I think it's about time I got ready for the party tonight," Sloane said, pushing herself to her feet and pulling Nana along. "Will you help me get ready?"

"Always, my dear."

Later that evening, Sloane found herself once again dressed to the nines and entering a cocktail party. Tonight's number was a slinky evening gown that hugged all her best curves, a sparkling deep black color with off the shoulder sleeves and a low back. Her stilettos were the same glimmering black color, as was the small clutch she held in her hands as she entered the large banquet hall. This was a party being held by Marlow himself, and once she noticed him across the crowd, she started to make her way over.

Suddenly someone bumped her hard, and she had to reach out and steady herself on the wall close by. "Excuse me," she mumbled, irritated, as the stranger who bumped into her with such force it almost sent her teetering to the floor just pushed away from her and hurried away, disappearing into the throng of people.

Sloane took a deep breath to calm her nerves and started into the crowd once again, but she stopped when she felt a strange burning sensation in her left side. Passing her clutch to her right hand, she felt her waist and gasped sharply when her hand came back with blood streaked across her palm.

Her mind suddenly went blank, then a million thoughts zoomed through. Did that person stab me when they fell against me? Was this an accident or on purpose? Assassin? Does that actually happen in real life? Why would someone try to kill me? Or are they trying to kill Stella? How did they even find me?

Suddenly her vision started to dim, and the last thing she saw before it went black was Marcus's familiar face, full of uncharacteristic worry.

Marcus had been at this stupid party for what felt like ages when he saw her walk in. Everywhere he went, everyone had something to say about Stella Stewart, and none of it was flattering. He usually didn't judge someone before meeting them, but this seemed like a resoundingly open and shut case.

But then he met her.

She was gorgeous - none of the rumors could have prepared him for the moment he actually laid eyes on her. She wouldn't leave that asshole Marlow's side for most of that night, and a weird, possessive feeling had flared up inside him. It was ridiculous, the entire thing. Marcus kept having to remind himself that she was an engaged woman.

Then, as he interacted with her and watched her interactions with others from the sidelines over the course of the next few nights, he realized all the other rumors - the ones regarding her personality - were completely unjustified. She was contemplative and well spoken. Her voice was clear as she contributed to multiple conversations going on around her, and her words were concise and intelligent. Marcus continued to watch her, even to the point of forgetting some of his own business.

Tonight was no exception. Marcus had seen Stella come in the door of the Whites' private banquet hall, looking just as beautiful as she had the first night he saw her. He stayed back, across the room, sipping on a flute of champagne and half-ass listening to some senator talk his ear off on the side.

Then it happened. It was terribly fast, but Marcus had experienced something similar before, so he knew something was wrong, seemingly before Stella did. He launched in her direction, stalled by the swarm of people desperate to land in his good graces, but he pushed through them, making it to Stella just as she started to collapse.

There were screams as she started to go down, and Marcus couldn't help shouting, "Stella!" right as he managed to catch her before she hit the floor.

His outburst had caught the attention of the hosts, and Marlow and his mother appeared through the crowd that had formed around Marcus and the unconscious Stella. Marlow stooped to try to take her, but Marcus's eyes narrowed. Before he could stop himself, he hoisted her up into his arms, a full on princess carry, and said to Marlow, "Just tell me where to bring her."

He could see Marlow's jaw clench, but the other man didn't fight him over her. He just nodded and led the way through an innocuous door off to the left of where they were. Mrs. White stayed behind to handle the situation, and Marcus followed Marlow through the house to an extravagant bedroom.

When Marlow gestured for him to lay her down on the bed, Marcus couldn't do anything but comply. Thankfully a doctor was kept in residence, and he came in the door just after Marcus laid Stella down, immediately getting to his examination.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Livingston," Marlow said to Marcus, his entire demeanor dismissive. The two men made eye contact. "You may leave."

Marcus grit his teeth, but there was nothing he could do. So he bowed his head respectfully and strode out, hoping he would be able to hear more about her condition later.

Somehow...