men out of her bed.” His voice hardens. “Which I would’ve done anyway because I love her.”
Anger boils through my veins. I could easily direct it at both of them, but I bare my teeth at Cole. “You disappeared for over four years. You died! And you didn’t want me to find happiness again?”
Cole turns away, a hand splayed over his mouth. His posture coils tightly, and he releases a low growl, full of warning.
Before I can blink, he spins around and slams a fist into Trace’s face.
Trace falls back but remains on his feet. As blood trickles from his lip, he doesn’t move to wipe it away. With his arms at his sides and his expression blank, he shows no signs of fighting back.
Cole, on the other hand, rears back his arm again.
“Stop!” I ram a shoulder into his rigid body, causing his strike to hit air. “You were dead! You had no claim on me!”
“You thought I was dead,” Cole seethes, flexing his fists at his sides. “But Trace knew.”
My mind spins as the last six months tumble into a new light.
What would your fiancé think about the dipshit you were with tonight?
I’m not going to fuck you.
It’s just not in the cards for us, sweetheart.
If Cole was in this room right now, where would I fall? Would you shove me aside to get to him?
Trace chased away every man who came near me. He purchased the restaurant I danced at. Set my schedule so I never had a weekend off to date. Refused to date me himself. Pushed, pushed, pushed me away, all while being overly-fixated on my attachment to Cole.
Because he was watching me for Cole. And at some point—long before I met him—he fell in love with me.
Under the malicious waves of comprehension, it dawns on me. The set up with Marlo wasn’t to hurt me. It was a last-ditch attempt to stop himself from stealing his best friend’s girl.
Only it didn’t drive me away. None of it did. Because I love him, too.
My heart sinks beneath an impossible realization.
I love two men, and they’re both here, staring at me with the kind of desperation that destroys a person.
“You knew Cole was alive?” I whisper and lift my gaze to Trace.
Heartache drains the light from his beautiful blue eyes. “I knew there was a chance.”
SURVIVAL OF THE RICHEST
SKYE WARREN
TRUST FUND
Chapter One
POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL
I learned early not to trust men or money. Both of them have a way of disappearing when you need them most. There must have been some hope left, though.
Because it’s my stepbrother who breaks me completely.
Salt hits my tongue before the driver opens the door, splashing the sleek leather interior of the limo with watercolor light. This dock homes the most expensive boats in Boston, outfitting them with caviar and champagne before they set sail.
The driver’s face is in shadow, sunshine forming a halo around him, but I already know he’s expressionless. Like that time I sweet-talked my way into the flight attendant’s lounge? He showed up in his black suit and bland smile, having searched the whole airport with security.
Like every part of my father’s life, he’s cold and predictable and expensive.
Gravel shifts beneath my sandals. I have to squint my eyes against the brightness. Seagulls swoop above me as I step onto the long deck, searching for their breakfast, completely oblivious to the thud of my heart against my ribs.
I would know which yacht belongs to Daddy even if I hadn’t seen it before. It’s the biggest one, the best one. The one that gleams the brightest, with Liquid Asset in bold letters.
The silhouettes of three people split the sunlight.
Three people, not one. Disappointment hitches my breath. What did I expect?
Last year Daddy’s new wife got so drunk she threw her champagne flute in the air. It came down in a splash of pale liquid and bubbling despair. After the steward mopped up the broken crystal, once the wife had gone belowdecks to sleep it off, Daddy sat looking out at the dark sea. I sat beside him. “Why?” I asked, unable to keep the question in. After so many years it came out. “Why do you keep getting married to these people?”
He had been a little drunk himself. Not enough to play volleyball with the drinkware, but enough that his eyes had gleamed with a distant sadness. He pulled me close, and I nestled against him the way I had as a little girl, breathing in the cedar-salt