Chapter 1

Claire's POV

The December wind cut through my thin cashmere sweater, but I didn't move from the balcony. Something about the cold air cleared my head. Below me, Boston Harbor stretched out, the water dark and choppy under the morning sky. I worked in Seattle most of the time and lived there too, but I also traveled to Boston occasionally for business trips.

I heard the sliding door open behind me.

"How long have you been sitting out here?" Richard's voice broke the silence. He reached for my mug and took a sip, then grimaced. "This tastes like someone washed an ashtray with water."

"It's just regular coffee," I said.

"That's the problem." He placed the mug on the table between us and loosened his tie. "Why are you up so early? It's barely seven."

I shrugged. "Body clock. Can't help it."

Richard looked at me with that expression I knew too well - half concern, half frustration. "You could have woken me."

"You looked tired."

The truth was I needed space. Last night I'd made a split-second decision to fly to Boston after a particularly tense board meeting. With the holiday season, every decent hotel was booked solid. I'd called Richard at midnight, and he'd arranged everything within minutes - securing the entire top floor of the Four Seasons and coming down to the lobby at 1 AM to greet me himself.

"I got us breakfast," Richard said, pointing inside. "And the paper."

He picked up a magazine from the side table and froze. His jaw tightened as he stared at the glossy page.

"Something interesting?" I asked, though I already knew what he'd found.

"When did you see this?" He turned the magazine toward me.

There on the entertainment page of People magazine was actress Olivia Thompson, draped in a glittering blue diamond necklace - my North Star pendant. My engagement gift from Richard. She leaned against a man whose face was pixelated, but I recognized Richard's watch and the sleeve of his favorite suit.

"I picked it up at the airport," I said, taking the magazine and dropping it into the trash can beside my chair. "It's just tabloid garbage."

"Claire." His voice softened in that way that meant he was trying to manage me. "If this bothers you—"

"Why would it bother me?" I met his gaze directly. "I don't love you, Richard. You don't love me. This is a business arrangement between our families. At the very least, we owe each other respect."

He flinched slightly. "I'm not completely tactless."

"I know." I sighed and looked back at the harbor. "Olivia's just being clever. She wore the necklace in public hoping to create drama. She wants everyone to know about your relationship."

"And that doesn't upset you?"

I laughed softly. "Her plan won't work. Our relationship isn't built on feelings or fidelity. It's built on mutual interest. As long as you're still Richard Pierce, we remain the most unbreakable couple in Seattle."

"I can have her career take a break for a while if you want. One call."

I felt a flash of anger but kept my face calm. "That won't be necessary. I'll wear it tonight at the charity auction. That should clear up any confusion."

Richard studied me for a long moment. "Six children, and you're the only one who lives up to your name."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Claire. Clear, bright." He sighed. "Everyone else is just trying to be William Stanton's child. You actually succeed."

I didn't respond. He was right. That was exactly what my father had hoped for when he named me. In the Stanton family hierarchy, I'd clawed my way to the top... As the third child, I was never supposed to be the heir, but I made myself the first in line for succession.

My eyes drifted back to the harbor. The truth was, I had no room for men in my emotional life. My focus was solely on my career. Men were just tools to pleasure my body when I needed release. Nothing more.

Richard looked frustrated, and he had every right to be. But you don't rise to the top of Stanton's six children by being genuinely gentle.

My father, William Stanton, had been married three times. First to Amy Walker, a politician's daughter who died young. Then to my mother, Margaret Wilson, who divorced him and moved to London. Now to Jessica White, a former Hollywood actress only four years older than me, who'd just given him his sixth child.

That evening, the Four Seasons ballroom glittered with Boston's elite. I sipped champagne, the North Star pendant cool against my skin, when shouting erupted near the restrooms.

"Why don't you just come in and watch me pee!" A pale, thin blonde girl yelled at a tall man in an ill-fitting black suit.

The man stood motionless, two red scratches marking his cheek like war paint. Easily 6'2", his shoulders strained against expensive fabric, every line of him coiled power barely contained.

His dark hair was military-short, but it was those eyes that stopped my heart—pale blue-gray like winter ice, devastating in their intensity. When his gaze found mine across the room, heat shot down my spine.

I traced the sharp cut of his jaw, watched his shirt pull taut across his chest with each breath. His forearms, visible where sleeves were rolled back, showed subtle muscle definition that made my mouth go dry.

Everything about him radiated barely leashed danger—the kind of man who could destroy you with those ice-fire eyes alone, and you'd thank him for it.

"Victoria, that's enough," he said, his voice low but firm.

"Screw you!" She tried to push past him, but he caught her arm.

"We're leaving. Now." He practically lifted her off the ground as he guided her toward the exit.

The woman next to me leaned in. "That's Victoria Reynolds, Robert Reynolds' daughter. Energy magnate."

"The one with the drug problem?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the bodyguard.

"Two years of rehab. Daddy keeps her on a tight leash now." She nodded toward the man. "That's her new bodyguard. Ex-Navy SEAL, I heard. Did UN peacekeeping missions in Syria and Somalia."

"Seems intense," I said, my eyes drawn back to his broad shoulders as they moved through the crowd.

"Word is she was trying to score drugs. The charity circuit is perfect for that."

I watched them disappear through the door, noting the way his hand never left her arm, the controlled power in his movements. Something about him caught my attention in a way no man had in years. Not just his obvious strength, but the complete indifference to the spectacle they were creating. I wondered how those strong hands would feel against my skin.

I smiled to myself. Thanks to Miss Reynolds and her intriguing bodyguard, this year's charity auction was already more interesting than last year's.

I took another sip of champagne and forced myself to turn away.