Part 3Four Billionaires Light My Fire

The battle over the bedroom ended in their total capitulation.

Not because their consciences suddenly awoke, but because I pulled out my phone and dialed the direct line of the city's most ruthless tabloid editor right in front of them.

"If you think I'm being unreasonable, I'm sure the press would love the exclusive," I had said, holding the screen toward Franklin. "I already have the headline: "Ellington Heiress Returns from the Grave, Evicted by Biological Parents to Protect Counterfeit Socialite."

Franklin valued his family reputation above God Himself. He crushed the porcelain teacup in his grip, but by midnight, Serena was weeping as she dragged her designer luggage down the hall to the guest bedroom on the far end of the second floor.

Before she closed her new door, she made sure to turn to me, eyes red-rimmed: "Corinne, as long as it makes you happy, I'll give up anything for you."

The next morning, a sharp knock rattled my bedroom door.

"Miss Corinne, the mistress requests your presence downstairs for your wardrobe fitting," the butler announced. His posture was impeccably formal, but the quiet sneer in his eyes was impossible to miss.

After freshening up, I walked down the grand staircase. The living room was transformed into an atelier, filled with rolling racks of designer gowns and jewelry cases. Cynthia was sitting on the sofa, holding Serena's hand as they giggled over fabric swatches.

The moment I stepped into view, Cynthia's smile vanished.

"Corinne, come here," she ordered, her tone brisk and condescending. "Tomorrow evening is the official debut gala we are hosting for you. The entire high-society circle will be in attendance. You cannot show up in your unrefined rags and embarrass this family."

She pointed toward a garment rack tucked away in the corner.

"Serena personally had her designer alter this piece for you. Put it on."

I followed her finger. Hanging on the rack was an atrocity—a garish, neon-pink ballgown. The silhouette was five seasons out of date, the cut was painfully unflattering, and the bodice was smothered in cheap, blinding sequins. Anyone with an ounce of taste would know that wearing it into a room full of Manhattan's elite would turn the wearer into an immediate laughingstock.

"Corinne, it really suits your complexion," Serena said, stepping forward with wide, innocent doe eyes. "I know you don't usually wear makeup, so I picked a bright shade to give you some color. I helped design the neckline myself. I truly hope you like it."

She emphasized the word "myself", practically daring me to reject her generous "gift."

I looked at the hideous dress, then glanced at the racks of genuine haute couture meant for Serena.

Stripping away my dignity, dressing me up like a court jester to ensure their golden girl looked like a radiant queen—this was their idea of maternal care.

"Mrs. Ellington," I said quietly, looking at Cynthia. "Are you certain you want me to wear this tomorrow night?"

Cynthia frowned, clearly irritated by my lack of gratitude. "It's a gift from Serena! Stop being so picky. What could a girl from the sticks possibly know about couture? Listen to us, and you won't make a fool of yourself. If you try to cause any scenes tomorrow, I will never forgive you."

I nodded slowly, offering no resistance. "Alright. I'll wear it."

I took the neon-pink monstrosity off the rack and headed back up the stairs.

Behind me, Conrad's dry, mocking voice drifted up the landing: "At least she knows her place. With her posture, even royal silk would look like a tablecloth."

The moment my bedroom door clicked shut, I dropped the pink gown directly into the metal trash bin beside the vanity.

Did they really think I was a marionette waiting for them to pull the strings?

If they wanted a spectacle, I would give them a masterpiece.

I retrieved my phone and dialed the private encrypted line to Gabriel Rhodes.

"Corinne," Gabriel's deep, velvet baritone came through the speaker, carrying an immediate undercurrent of protective warmth. "Are the Ellingtons giving you trouble?"

I leaned against the glass of the balcony, watching Cynthia and Serena sip Earl Grey in the manicured gardens below.

"Trouble? No. Just boring." I smiled faintly. "Gabriel, are you coming to the welcome gala tomorrow night?"

A low chuckle vibrated through the line, laced with lethal authority. "The crown jewel of the Rhodes empire is being treated like a peasant by a third-tier family. Did you really think I'd miss the party? Maddox, Lawrence, and Felix are already polishing their cufflinks. They've been pacing the floor all morning."

The corners of my mouth curled. "Tell them to dress sharply. The stage is set, and I need my best co-stars."

After hanging up, I walked to the darkest corner of the walk-in closet.

Hanging inside a protective garment bag was a custom, one-of-a-kind black velvet gown I had brought from the Rhodes penthouse—the final, unpublished masterpiece of an iconic Parisian couturier.

Serena wanted to paint me in neon pink to make me a joke.

I was going to wear absolute, midnight black, and give the Ellington family a funeral they would never forget.

A sharp knock broke the silence.

"Corinne, open the door. We need to talk."

It was Pierce Campbell.

I unlocked the door, finding the heir to the Campbell fortune standing in the hallway. Tall, classically handsome, and dripping with generational wealth, his posture was stiff, and his eyes burned with undisguised contempt.

"Say what you came to say," I said, leaning against the doorframe without inviting him in.

"I'm warning you right now," Pierce said in a low, icy voice. "Do not try to humiliate Serena tomorrow night. I don't care how you bullied her into giving up her bedroom, but in my heart, my only fiancée is Serena. If you try to pull any stunts at the gala, I will personally ruin you."

I stared at his self-righteous, chivalrous posturing, finding the entire display utterly pathetic.

"Mr. Campbell, do you genuinely think you're a prize?" I let out a soft, amused scoff. "You look at yourself and see gold. I look at you and see Serena's hand-me-down."

"What did you say—"

Before he could finish his sentence, I slammed the heavy wooden door straight in his face.

"Bang."

His outrage echoed uselessly against the thick mahogany.

Enjoy your final hours of unearned glory, little prince. Because after tomorrow night, high society won't have room for any of you.