Beautiful Revenge (The Manor #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

AMERICAN ROYALTY FROM HELL

Harlow

Waiting for your life to unravel before your so-called family, friends, and the sensational press is not what a woman dreams of the day before her wedding.

Even for me, an American Princess.

That’s what I was dubbed by the world when I was thrust into the limelight as a teenager.

“And with that, I speak on behalf of my beloved Patrick, Harlow’s father, who could not be here with us today, and myself when I ask you to raise your glass to a beautiful life full of joy and prosperity for our daughter and the love of her life, Albert.

The Madisons and the Humphries will forever be united as family. Cheers, my loves.”

Daughter.

Joy and prosperity.

Forever family.

Loves.

My stomach turns.

It’s all I can do to keep down the lobster tail and wagyu beef tenderloin. And both were divine no matter how sour the company might be.

Albert’s lips touch the delicate skin of my ear as his hand brushes my bare back. “Drink, sweetheart. Everyone is watching. One more day and she’ll slither back to New York and leave us alone.”

Guests clap.

I’d consider this a crowd, even though it’s only the rehearsal dinner. The rehearsal itself was short and painless, but Janie insisted that if guests traveled all the way to Winslet, we needed to feed and entertain them every moment they’re here.

Otherwise known as throwing money around to impress the masses. Guests were required to sign the wedding version of an NDA since Stonebridge Capital’s public relations department signed an agreement with the media. Just one more thing the mothers insisted on.

The mothers.

Just not my mother.

If my mom were alive, she would have saved me from this spectacle.

Janie Madison has been my stepmother since I was the delicate age of thirteen.

To the rest of the world, there’s nothing “step” about our shallow relationship that plays out on major holidays and at corporate events.

But when you’re the only child born to a self-made billionaire, the rest of the world only knows what it’s told by the family’s PR team.

Hell, PR machine is more accurate.

And they’re squeezing every ounce of publicity they can from my impending nuptials to contract with the media for exclusive access, photos, and interviews.

The world is waiting with bated breath for a glimpse of Albert Humphries and Harlow Madison and the wedding that’s been in the works longer than I ever knew.

Much, much longer.

Pop singers, actors, politicians…

Who are they?

They have nothing on the Madisons. The Humphries are a close second.

We might as well be American royalty.

But, you know, from hell.

As much as I don’t want to think about it, Albert is right. Everyone is watching, so I lift the crystal champagne flute that was placed in front of me when the toasts began—it feels like yesterday at this point—and sip through a small, forced smile as I gaze lovingly at Albert.

God help me, this has to be over soon. How many toasts can one couple be given?

My fiancé presses his lips to my temple, tosses his linen napkin to the table, and stands. One of the waitstaff hurries to hand him a microphone, because, yes, there are that many people at our rehearsal dinner.

And this is nothing compared to the spectacle that our wedding will be tomorrow.

The event that will forever bind the Madisons and the Humphries.

Albert Humphries proves he’s from a long line of articulate, well-trained, pedigreed aristocrats when he addresses our guests.

There are times I can still see what I saw during our first encounter, a chance meeting in a small village in Costa Rica.

We were both there on business, even though our roles couldn’t be on further ends of the spectrum.

Albert was representing his family enterprises, making deals, turning millions into billions … and so on and so on.

I was there in an effort to spend my family’s money, the more the better. Stonebridge Capital funds the foundation my father established in my mother’s name with a generous annual budget. And I spend every penny.

Albert’s fingertips touch my chin to force my gaze to meet his as he addresses our guests. “When I say I stumbled upon Harlow in an open-air café in Costa Rica, it’s the truth. I almost fell on my face when I tripped on the strap of her backpack.”

The crowd laughs.

I bite my lip at the recollection I found endearing ... until I didn’t.

Albert’s gaze never breaks from mine as humble, self-deprecating words spill from his lips.

“I was a mess, and not from the fall—well, not completely. I had been trekking through coffee bean fields for hours with our Central American team to expand our interests there. Harlow was on a break from doing what she does best—giving her time and talents through her mother’s foundation.

” He brushes my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

“The Effie Madison Foundation. I wish your mother could see you now, sweetheart. She’d be so proud. ”

I don’t care what anyone thinks. I pull away from his hold and stare at the crystal flute in my sweaty hand.

He brushes the hair away from my face, wraps a firm hand around my shoulder, and continues to tell the story I’ve heard more times than anyone should in the span of six months.

“I guess you can say I fell fast and hard—literally and figuratively. We knew exactly who the other was. How could we not? We were both raised to think we were opposites … even adversaries if our last names are anything to go by. But we were both so shocked to see the other in such a remote and beautiful location—paradise, really—we couldn’t help but put that out of our minds.

She invited me to join her for a cup of Arabica to apologize for my fall.

It was the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something since the Humphries like their coffee. ”

Like their coffee.

I want to roll my eyes. They’re the second-largest importer of coffee beans in the U.S. behind the Seattle one that’s on every street corner. But unlike the retail giant, they make their money as middlemen.

And we all know the middleman is where it’s at when becoming a billionaire. The only thing better than being a billionaire is being a billionaire in the shadows where no one gives you a second thought. All the benefits with none of the risk.

Albert pauses to enjoy his joke’s applause before he continues the tale that started the spiral of my life.

“After that cup of coffee, I convinced her to have dinner with me. Somehow, I talked her into sharing our next nine meals together. When I couldn’t delay my return to work any longer, I fell to my knees and begged her to continue what was born in paradise when we got home.

Lucky for me, she set aside the animosity that’s run rampant in our families for decades.

” He brushes his knuckles gently over the apple of my cheek.

“It’s no longer a plague for our generation.

We fixed that, didn’t we? You and me—we’ve been inseparable ever since. ”

I smile. At this exact moment, I have no other choice.

He shoots me a wink.

The sour feeling in my belly churns. I hope I don’t throw up.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he continues. “Tomorrow, you’ll become my wife. And I’m never letting you go. We’ll be together for the rest of our days.”

He’s utterly sure of that sentiment. I can see it in his eyes.

I take his hand in mine. It’s the least I can do since I don’t plan to make any declarations today. I’ll save those for our wedding when it matters.

But I do press my front to his side and push up on my vintage Pradas to kiss him. The shoes were my mother’s.

Applause rings around us, echoing through the wooded trees and bouncing off the pristine water of Lake Winslet.

The Manor at Winslet stands behind us in all her glory as it awaits its first wedding since the new owner renovated it.

It took years. I heard they really had to kick it into high gear to make sure the finishing touches were perfect before the Madisons and Humphries descended on it like the diamond-dripping vultures we are.

Albert tries to deepen our kiss, but before the applause can change to whoops and cheers, I fist his shirt and push away.

He doesn’t frown, but his eyes narrow. I catch the look on his face and the judgment that accompanies it.

I lift my champagne flute to our guests and mentally kick myself for the millionth time for being blind to the truth.

I thought I was better than that and don’t know where I went wrong. I am a Madison, after all. I’m fluent in English, French, and bullshit.

Albert picks up his stemmed crystal and holds it up to mirror my stance as we stand arm-in-arm at the head table that’s the center of attention for hundreds of guests.

“To my wife.” He stresses that last word with a possessiveness that isn’t at all romantic or sexy before he looks down at me. “May we be rich in all the fortunes—health, happiness, and longevity.”

I sip my champagne and smile for the cameras. I know what I have to do. It wouldn’t be the first time my father’s corporation has sold off the rights to our private lives to control the narrative.

Another short applause before an army of waitstaff marches from the sidelines, pushing trays and trays of decadent desserts. We might be the manor’s first big affair, but it doesn’t show. The service is impeccable as our personal server places selections in front of us before we can take our seats.

“Coffee, Ms. Madison?” he asks as we sit back down.

I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

“It’s the family brew, Harlow,” Albert mutters after the server leaves. “The least you can do is accept a cup.”

“You know how I feel about waste.” I break my spoon through the sugar-crusted crème br?lée and catch a raspberry with the custard. “There will be enough excess this weekend, don’t you agree?”