“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you,” my father, stepmother, and Liam, my boyfriend, sang in unison.

Forcing a smile onto my face, I blew out the candles on the cake in front of me, wishing in my heart that there was a way to escape what was coming.

“Now darling, open your gifts.” My stepmother, Valerie, said, handing me a box covered in pink wrapping paper.

Pressing down the urge to fling the box across the room, I ripped it open, revealing a rectangular box with the words Cartier printed on it. Typical Valerie. On my last birthday, she had somehow managed to get me the rare Tiffany and Co tennis bracelet. I wondered what she had pulled from Cartier now.

I lifted the lid of the box to reveal another bracelet, this time with diamond-studded earrings.

“So, what do you think, huh?” she asked, waiting for my nod of approval.

“Yes, thank you,” I forced out.

Liam handed me a brown envelope with a wide smile on his face. “For you, babe.”

I opened it and pulled out the brochures inside. An all-expenses-paid trip to Bermuda. What the hell would I be doing in Bermuda?

My hands squeezed the empty envelope at my side as I put on my dramatic smile and said thank you. I wanted this over fast so I could face my father about what I had overheard last night.

“Now baby, I know you have everything you’ve always wanted, but this I know you’ve been looking forward to.” My dad dangled a key in front of me.

“What is that?” I asked, irritation leaking through.

“Keys to your new car, baby,” he said, dropping them on my lap. “It’s a Mercedes Maybach GLS.”

“Oh wow, thank you, Daddy. I think I’ll go to my room now. Liam, you can go…I’ll call you later.” I set the key on the counter and climbed upstairs.

My head was spinning as I flopped onto my bed. Two knocks later, my door opened noiselessly, and my father stepped inside.

“Aria, what’s the problem? You don’t look too happy about the gifts. Is it the car? Is it not the model you want? I can take it back and get you another one.”

“It’s not the car, Daddy!” My voice rose, quivering.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the marriage arrangements with Liam’s father? Or that next year I’ll be joining your business meetings?”

His brows shot up in surprise, I rarely raised my voice at him.

“Is that supposed to be an issue? You and Liam have been together for almost three years. You’ve known him since you were little. It’s only proper to take it to the next step.”

“I don’t want to get married. And I don’t want to go to business school or sit in on your meetings. I want to be an artist. I've been taking art classes with Charlie and I've gotten so good at it.” I said and handed him my sketchbook to take a look.

“You took art classes without my knowledge?” His voice hardened. “Artists are broke. No child of mine will be poor.” He tossed my sketchbook to the floor.

Tears burned my eyes, but instead of breaking, I stood taller. “I will be an artist whether you like it or not. And I will not be your sacrificial lamb and marry Liam just to cement your deals with the Roberts.”

The silence stretched before he finally spoke. “One year. I’ll give you one year to do whatever you want. But on my terms.”

Relief flickered in my chest, until he added, “Without my money. Without my name. You won’t be Aria Sterling while you do it. If after one year you can’t survive or show me something tangible, you’ll come back home and take your place in Sterling Corporation.”

And just like that, he left me standing in the ruins of my 19th birthday.

———————————————

I never thought my life would come down to a single ultimatum, but that’s exactly what my father handed me. One year to prove that my art could keep me alive.

No trust fund. No family credit card. No chauffeur. Just me, my paints, and whatever talent I thought I had. If I failed, I’d return home, marry Liam, sit in the boardroom, and train to be the perfect daughter he always wanted.

It was supposed to scare me. And it did. But it also set me free.

Which is why, at nearly midnight, I was dragging a scuffed suitcase up the narrow stairs of a rundown apartment complex that smelled faintly of old cigarettes and damp carpet. My whole life fit inside this suitcase, designer dresses I’d never wear here, a few canvases rolled into tubes, and the sketchbook I clutched like oxygen.

The suitcase caught on the top step and jerked backward. I gasped as it tumbled, colliding into a solid figure behind me.

“Watch it, Princess.”

The voice was low, irritated, and male.

I spun around. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair falling into his eyes and a scowl aimed directly at me. A toolbox dangled from his hand.

“Excuse me?” I snapped.

“You nearly crushed my foot.” He gestured at the suitcase between us. “What is this thing, filled with bricks?”

“It’s heavy because it’s mine. And don’t call me Princess.”

His smirk was slow, infuriating. “If the crown fits…”

I rolled my eyes, but he beat me to the suitcase, hauling it up the final steps with irritating ease. When he set it down in front of my door, 3B, he gave me a look that felt like he could see straight through me.

“You moving in?”

“No, I’m here for the view,” I muttered, fumbling with the key.

His laugh was short, but it chased me as I shoved the door open. “Welcome to the building, Princess.”

The apartment was tiny, outdated, and smelled of dust. The radiator clanged like it was protesting. Still, it was mine. For the first time in my life, this little box of peeling paint and creaky floors was mine.

Through the paper-thin walls, I heard his voice again. “Princess better not ruin my quiet.”

That was it. My first night of freedom, and already some arrogant, tool-carrying jerk was determined to make it miserable.

I pressed my hands into the mattress and hissed under my breath, “Oh, this is war.”