Already, I felt the headache pressing. The sharp shooting pains behind my eyes. Ever since that day, I’d suffered the aftereffects of death, along with the knowledge that I might’ve been a fifteen-year-old child, but overnight, every asset, obligation, and untold secret patents that Snowflake Corp was involved in became mine.

So I did what any logical, broken teenager would do and got the hell out of there.

“Ladies, my, my, what a fabulous turnout!” A man’s voice crackled through the speaker system, floating with a rich baritone through the luxury garden. Whipping around, I scanned the crowd of women. Some pretty, some not so pretty, some in dresses, some in jeans. But all of us had one thing in common thanks to the pink invitation in our hands.

“I have to go, Frank.”

“No, wait—”

“Thank you so much for accepting our offer to attend the Ember Wellness Retreat Weekend. With our grand opening next month, you’re an integral part of helping us find the areas of improvement that may arise. Because your feedback is so valuable, the entire weekend is on us—including unlimited massages, beauty treatments, and access to the many hot pools and ice baths within the estate.”

Everyone smiled at each other, clutching their bags packed with the essentials for a weekend at a five-star spa.

My headache started to fade, knowing that the moment I hung up the phone, I would once again be a nobody. A twenty-two-year-old slacker who had no ambition, no agenda, and had successfully become one with the art of doing nothing.

That was how I’d ended up at the right place, at the right time to receive an invitation.

I’d only just arrived in London from a month in Thailand. After so much sun, sand, and bright teal sea, I wanted to bundle myself up in sweaters and eat fried food in front of a fireplace in a thousand-year-old pub.

Two extremes. Two experiences.

That was what made up my life—just a constant drift toward the next stress-free moment with a single rucksack to my name—so when a handsome man approached me at said pub, asked if I was free this weekend and wanted to be pampered, I took it as a nudge from the universe to relax after my flight and agreed.

Of course, I wasn’t entirely stupid.

I might be one of the richest women alive and had long since lost the tangible value of money—seeing as it kept pouring into my account faster than I could give it away to charities—but I’d been put to work in my parents’ company when I was just twelve for a reason.

I’d been called smart. A prodigy of some sort. I didn’t believe it. Whatever was going on in my head was probably the reason I suffered such awful migraines—my brain was either malfunctioning or functioning at a level that caused it to overheat. Either way, I researched the name of the spa, called the one man I allowed to keep tabs on me for security purposes, and had him check it out too.

And everything came up roses.

Which was why I had to get rid of Frank so I could enjoy it.

“Where are you?” Frank asked, no doubt clinging to his phone for hints. “Ember Wellness Retreat? Where is that? Did I hear an English accent?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m turning my phone off now. You don’t need me, Frank. I gave you power of attorney over every decision, and I trust you.”

“But I don’t trust me. I need you. Tell you what. After the weekend, I’ll have the jet come collect you, alright? You could fly in, spend a few days with me going over everything, and then you can go back to the nomadic lifestyle.”

“I trust you,” I repeated. “Bye bye.”

“Rook Snowden, don’t you hang up on me—”

Too late.

Powering off the hated device that I only kept for maps and booking accommodation, I shoved it deep into my tatty rucksack and moved into the thicker part of the crowd.

Beneath my feet, polished white marble gleamed, flanked by immaculate hedgerows and archways, guiding the eye toward a gatehouse that towered above the small stage where a suited man stood with his microphone.

The three large coach buses that’d brought us here from downtown London rested quietly on the outskirts of the huge gravel roundabout. A water fountain of a huge peacock, with its splayed tail covered in twinkling crystals, crowned the centre.

According to my bodyguard—who got to guard me only if he could chase me down—the owner of this spa was a company named Ember Health. They were newish to the wellness scene, but they’d hosted trial days like this one around the world—doing their best to provide a six-star experience by taking the time required to test their market, request feedback, and create something magical.

This one in particular was being hosted on the grounds of the infamous Cinderkeep estate. Rumoured to be over two thousand acres with natural hot springs, multiple lakes and rivers, and woodlands wild enough for fairy folk to dwell in, it rivalled even the English Crown in wealth and decadence—not that anyone had ever explored the grounds or even gotten past the gate.

Which was yet another reason why I was here.

Privacy and peace.

No responsibilities equalled plenty of time for curiosities, but all I wanted to do when they finally let us inside, was take a cat nap in a puddle of sunshine—preferably by one of those fabled rivers.

“Right, ladies, I’m sure you’re as anxious as we are to begin your weekend. As we stated when you were issued with an invitation, there are only thirty spots available so—”

“Hang on a minute!” A pretty redhead with pink-framed glasses flung up her hand in indignation. “If there’s only thirty spots, why did you bring so many of us?” Turning on the spot, she did a quick count. “I reckon there’s at least eighty or so here. What are you playing at?”

“Yes, you’re quite right.” The man nodded along, slightly condescendingly even if his smile seemed genuine. His thick dark hair greyed at the temples, but his trim physique and pampered skin made him almost ageless. “I apologise for the inconvenience. You are correct that we’ve invited one hundred women to partake in the initial screening—”

“One hundred?” a Chinese girl moaned. “That’s not fair.”

“So only thirty of us get the weekend?” An English girl pouted. “False advertising!”

“You should’ve clearly stated that instead of wasting our time!” A tall woman scrunched up her pink invitation.

“We understand your frustration.” The man nodded with that swarmy smile. “But if you read the fine print on the invites you’re holding, you’ll clearly see that we’re looking for a certain kind of person to provide feedback at this stage.”

Every woman dropped their eyes, scanning the pink paper.

I copied them, flipping over the card and reading:

Thank you for participating in the Ember Wellness Retreat. Please note, this invitation must be validated by a quick questionnaire along with further confidential testing to be conducted on site. Only thirty will be selected.

I sighed.

My chances of getting in were thirty percent and I wasn’t what people called lucky.

Ah, well.

Yawning, I shoved the invite into my jean shorts pocket and stretched. My light grey cable knit kept out most of the English summer chill but after a month in the tropics, I wasn’t exactly warm.

But at least I had nothing else to do, nowhere else to be. The beauty of having no responsibilities, no family, pets, friends, or lovers meant zero stress.

If I got in, great.

If I didn’t, fine.

I’d just mosey on back to London and find a hotel to—

“Well, count me out!” a cross Black woman grumbled. “I’m not interested anymore.”

“To appease your disappointment, you’ll all receive a gift bag with organic skin care and luxury items valued at over five hundred pounds,” the man said. “We’ve also arranged suites at the Waldorf tonight for all those who are unsuccessful.” He grinned, his eyes scanning the sea of women. “All you have to do is help us with some paperwork and then you’ll either be shuttled to the Waldorf or whisked inside Cinderkeep. Sound good?” The man beamed, putting it on a little thick, but...one by one, the women thawed and nodded.