1 I have been an echo since the womb.

When my brother wrapped the umbilical cord around his neck three times, I did the exact same thing, sending our mother to the emergency room in the dead of night to untangle us.

In elementary school, if a kid shoved my brother on the playground, I would chase that same kid down, demanding he shove me too, screaming until the boy was practically wetting his pants in terror.

Whatever Nolan did, I followed.

When Nolan devoted his entire existence to worshipping a billionaire heiress—becoming a hopeless, lovesick doormat—I naturally found my own billionaire heiress to worship.

Which brought me to today.

Sloan Montgomery was packing her designer handbag, entirely unbothered by the fact that I was on my knees on her imported Persian rug, gripping the hem of her trench coat.

I was crying, begging her not to leave me, pleading with her not to run off to comfort that manipulative little professional victim she kept on the side.

Right in the middle of my theatrical sobbing, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Nolan. “Nate. I’m done. From now on, your brother is a golddigger. I only want the money.

Screw the love.” I blinked. My hands instantly released Sloan’s coat.

Sloan stared down at me, her beautiful, icy features twisted in impatience. "How many times do I have to tell you? Asher is just a friend. He’s like a younger brother to me.

What is it going to take for you to leave him alone?" I stood up. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand.

The desperate, pathetic boy from three seconds ago vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow calm. "A million dollars," I said, my voice deadpan. "Give me a million dollars, and I’ll pretend your little pet Asher Reed doesn’t exist." If my brother was going to be a golddigger, then so was I. … Sloan froze.

The whiplash of seeing me go from a groveling, lovesick mess to casually demanding a payout left her speechless for a fraction of a second.

Then, a cynical sneer curled her lips. "Asher was right," she mocked. "You really are just a grifter.

You kept up the devoted boyfriend act for three years, and you finally couldn't hold back the greed." She turned on her heel, her Louboutins clicking against the hardwood.

I grabbed her wrist. "Hold on. You haven't paid me the million yet." Nolan had just told me on the phone earlier that he squeezed a million out of his girl.

I had to get a million too. Sloan’s dark eyes narrowed into slits.

She reached into her bag, pulled out her sleek Amex Centurion card, and threw it at my chest. "Max it out, for all I care." I picked it off the floor and shoved it right back into her palm. "No.

I want a wire transfer. One million in cash." "It's a matter of principle," I added.

Her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Since when do leeches have principles?" Before I could answer, her phone rang. "Sloan... the lightbulb went out in the hallway, and I was trying to change it, but I fell and twisted my ankle..." The voice on the speaker was soft, trembling, dripping with manufactured vulnerability.

Before Asher could even finish his performance, Sloan was in full protective mode. "Don't panic, Ash.

I'm on my way." She tried to pull away, but my grip on her wrist tightened. "Money." Sloan let out a breathless, angry laugh.

She ripped her arm away, pulled up her banking app, and aggressively typed in the transfer. The second I saw the confirmation screen, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I immediately took a screenshot of the deposit and sent it to Nolan. He texted back a second later: “Good job, little brother! That’s how we do it.

If they won’t give us their hearts, we’ll take their bank accounts.

We can't let three years of our lives be for nothing.” Praise from my brother always made me feel like I was floating. Ping. Ping. Ping.

Notifications flooded in from Sloan’s innercircle group chat. Asher had just posted a tragic, filtered photo of Sloan rubbing ice on his ankle.

The girls in the chat immediately started tagging Sloan. “Sloan, you ran off to baby your little charity case again? Aren’t you terrified Nate is going to lose his mind?” “Lmaoooo.

Let’s take bets. How long until Nate kicks down Asher’s front door?” “Give it thirty minutes.

Last time it only took him ten, and it scared Sloan so bad she bought Asher a townhouse on the other side of the hills just to keep them separated.” “Don’t underestimate Nate’s crazy.

I say ten minutes.” They kept tagging her, waiting for the drama.

Sloan finally replied, her tone arrogant even in text: “Ten minutes.” The chat erupted in laughing emojis, telling her to hire a bodyguard for her precious Asher so I wouldn't put him in a headlock again.

I ignored the chat entirely. Nolan had just texted me to go shopping.

I practically hummed as I changed into a fresh outfit, meticulously styling my hair for my date with my brother. The truth was, I didn't care about Sloan Montgomery. I never had.

The only reason I used to act like a lunatic—kicking down doors, slapping Asher, throwing him down a flight of stairs—was because that’s what Nolan did.

Nolan loved Vivian Croft to the point of absolute madness. He couldn't stomach the sight of another man breathing her air.

When he found out Vivian was keeping other "companions" around, he went feral. And as a terminal copycat, an echo of my older twin... whatever Nolan did, I executed to perfection.

But now? Nolan was a sugar baby. Which meant, so was I. 2 Ten minutes passed.

My phone vibrated in the cup holder. “Nate, you there yet?” “Bro probably has the gas pedal pressed to the floorboard right now lmaoooo.” “Where’s Sloan?

Probably loving the fact that two grown men are about to brawl over her.” I was already sitting in the passenger seat of Nolan’s Porsche.

I didn't care about their highschool drama. I flipped my phone to silent and shoved it deep into my pocket. I looked over at Nolan.

We were wearing the exact same charcoal buttondown shirt. A deep, settling satisfaction washed over me. I leaned in and sniffed the air. "Smells good.

You changed your cologne?" Nolan handed me a heavy glass bottle from the center console. "Yeah. Bergamot and cedar.

Been meaning to switch it up." I sprayed my neck and wrists heavily, soaking myself in Nolan's new favorite scent. In the past, whatever fragrance Vivian liked, Nolan wore.

And whatever Nolan wore, I wore. I was a mirror. I took pride in it. Nolan merged onto the highway, the engine purring. "Let's hit Rodeo.

Might as well use the cards they left us." "If they want to call us golddiggers, we're going to give them a masterclass in draining accounts," he said, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the radio.

Meanwhile, the group chat was spiraling. Sloan finally sent a message: “Nate isn’t here.” The collective shock of the girls lit up the screen. “No way.

He’s usually breaking windows by now. It’s been fifteen minutes.” “Did he finally give up?” “I told you guys it would take at least a halfhour.

Traffic on the 405 is brutal.” “Wait, you don’t think he’s actually over it, do you?” Sloan’s reply was dripping with scoffing confidence: “Impossible.

He literally begged me for money today. You think a leech is going to walk away from his host?” Asher chimed in, the textequivalent of a trembling lip: “She’s right.

Guys like that never let go of their meal tickets. He’ll be here in thirty minutes to terrorize me. Sloan... I’m scared.” Sloan: “Don’t be.

I won’t let him touch you.” Thirty minutes ticked by. Sloan stared at Asher’s front door. Nothing. Her perfectly arched eyebrows pulled together. Knock, knock, knock.

The sound of a fist against wood. Sloan didn't even realize the tension bleeding out of her shoulders as she stood up.

Asher grabbed her elbow, leaning heavily on his "injured" ankle. "Sloan, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have fallen in love with you.

I shouldn't have put you in the middle of this. If Nate wants to hit me, just let him.

Maybe if he gets it out of his system, he'll leave us alone..." Sloan patted his shoulder, though her touch was entirely absentminded. "I told you, I'm not going to let him hurt you." She walked quickly to the door, muttering under her breath, "Why is he knocking so quietly for once?" Asher gritted his teeth, a flash of pure resentment in his eyes.

He noticed how her steps had quickened, how eager she seemed to finally open that door.

Sloan turned the deadbolt and ripped the door open, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Nate, have you lost your damn—" The words died in her throat.

It was a Postmates delivery driver, holding a bag of Thai food.

In the group chat, her friends were getting restless. “Sloan, he seriously didn't show??” “We wanted a show!” “It’s been almost an hour.

Did he finally grow a spine?” Right at that exact second, Sloan’s phone began vibrating violently. Not texts. Banking alerts. Charge approved: Cartier, $145,000.

Charge approved: Rolex, $82,000. Charge approved: Tom Ford, $43,000. Millions of dollars, bleeding out in realtime. 3 “Tsk, tsk, Sloan.

Looks like Nate is just throwing a tantrum with your credit card.” “Asher called it. He really is just a golddigger.

Three years of playing the devoted housewife, and now he thinks he owns your bank account.” Asher limped over to the kitchen island, peering at her glowing screen. "He didn't spend a dime for three years, and now he’s blowing millions in a single afternoon," Asher whispered softly. "He's doing it on purpose, Sloan.

He wants you to get angry and chase after him." Asher’s eyes were rimmed with red.

He looked up at Sloan, making sure she saw the unshed tears, before quickly looking away as if trying to be brave. "You should go talk to him.

I'll be fine by myself." Sloan’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in her cheek. "That manipulative bastard.

He really thinks playing hard to get is going to work on me." Sensing the mood shifting from dramatic to genuinely volatile, Sloan's friends quietly excused themselves.

As they walked to their cars, the whispers started. "It's weird, right? Every time Sloan gives Asher the time of day, Nate goes absolutely nuclear.

Why the radio silence?" "He's getting smart. He's playing the long game to force a marriage proposal. If he gets a ring, he gets access to the real money." "He's an idiot.

Sloan despises golddiggers. If he had just kept playing the selfless martyr, he might have actually gotten her to commit." Back in the house, Asher pressed his lips together.

Watching Sloan glare at her credit card statements, a quiet, satisfied smile ghosted across his face. Sloan hated men who used her for money.

Nate blowing her cash meant that within three days, she would dump him permanently. Across town, Vivian Croft kicked open the doors of a private VIP lounge to find Nolan.

She demanded to know why he was racking up millions on her cards. Nolan didn't yell. He didn't cry. He looked at her coldly, and he broke up with her.

Vivian, a woman used to owning the world, sneered. "Fine. Then get the hell out of my house." Nolan didn’t look heartbroken.

He grabbed my arm, marched us straight back to Vivian’s sprawling Beverly Hills estate, and made a phone call.

Ten minutes later, a fleet of massive moving trucks idled in the driveway. He instructed the crew to pack every single thing that wasn't bolted to the floor.

The designer furniture, the art, the electronics. Whatever couldn't fit in the trucks, he ordered them to sell on the lawn for pennies.

He didn't stop until Vivian’s multimillion dollar mansion was stripped to the drywall. Standing in the empty echoing foyer, Nolan turned to me. "Come on, kid.

We're going on a vacation." I grabbed his sleeve. "Wait. Hold on.

I have one more thing to do." Nolan raised an eyebrow. "What?" I smiled, wide and bright. "You broke up with your girl.

So I have to break up with mine!" I walked over to the foreman of the moving crew and handed him a slip of paper with Sloan’s address. "Hey, man.

Can you send a second crew to this address? We're doing a double move today." Nolan laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. "Smart boy." I practically floated to the car.

Of course I was smart. I was his mirror. Whatever Nolan said was law. Whatever Nolan did was right. But I did have a little bit of tactical awareness.

Knowing that Sloan might rush back to her house before I could properly gut it, I made sure the movers cleared out her villa before I sent the breakup text.

Once the last velvet sofa was loaded into the truck, I pulled out my phone, opened the group chat, and typed: “Sloan and I are officially over.” Then, I hit 'Leave Group'.

Flawless execution. Sitting in Asher’s living room, Sloan stared at the notification. Her entire body went rigid.

She stabbed her finger against her screen, typing furiously to my private number. “Nate, are you out of your damn mind?

You realize your little psycho jealousy routine was bad enough, but this pushandpull game is pathetic.” “You spend millions of my money this afternoon, and now you want to break up?

If you want my attention, learn how to ask for it without acting like a child!” She fired off paragraph after paragraph. Finally, one of her friends texted her privately. “Um...

Sloan? Nate actually dropped out of the chat. I don't think he's reading your messages.” 4 Sloan tried to call me.

When the automated voice told her the number was unreachable, the reality of the block finally registered.

Boiling with rage, she grabbed her keys, ready to storm home and rip me apart.

She only made it two steps before Asher’s tearchoked voice stopped her. "Sloan..." She paused. "Do you really think...

Nate is capable of walking away from you?" The question acted like a bucket of ice water over her head. She stopped in her tracks. She thought about the last three years.

No matter how cruel she was, no matter how many times she left him standing in the rain, I always came running back like a kicked puppy.

The group chat had migrated to a new thread without me, and they were buzzing with the same doubt. “There is zero chance Nate is serious.” “Please.

The guy is pathologically obsessed with her. Someone is coaching him.” “Obviously. He drained a trust fund’s worth of cash today.

He’s trying to establish dominance so she’ll marry him.” “Grifters never let go of the golden goose.” Sloan stared at her phone for two long seconds. "Call the girls," she told Asher. "Tell them to meet me." Asher’s stomach knotted.

He hated that she was dedicating this much mental energy to me. But he swallowed his panic—after all, Sloan loathed men who played games with her money.

When the girls met up with Sloan at a local cafe, she demanded their phones to call me. Every single one of them was met with a disconnected tone.

I had blocked the entire social circle. Her friends looked at each other in shock. "Wow. He’s fully committing to the bit.

You usually have to block him." "How many days until he comes crawling back?" one of them asked. Sloan let out a harsh, arrogant laugh. "Days? You're giving him way too much credit.

I give it twentyfour hours, max." She was so confident because every time she had blocked me in the past, I would literally break into her house just to steal her phone and unblock my number.

But Sloan didn't understand the fundamental truth of my existence. I only did that because I was copying Nolan. If Nolan was done, I was done. My phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number. “Nate. Stop throwing a tantrum and come home.” “I know you’re just trying to get a reaction out of me.

You have ten minutes to get back here, and I might forgive this.” “I’ll deal with Asher. We’ll talk about boundaries.” I hovered my thumb over the screen, considering a reply.

Then I glanced over at Nolan. He was staring out the window, completely ignoring his phone, which was lighting up with Vivian’s name.

I instantly swiped left on Sloan’s text, blocked the burner number, and shoved the phone in my pocket.

Nolan glanced at me and smirked. "Late affection is cheaper than dirt, Nate." "Good horses don't eat the grass behind them," he added.

I nodded solemnly. "You're always right, Nolan." Back in Los Angeles, Sloan was losing her mind. Usually, if she texted, I replied in milliseconds.

It didn't matter if I was sleeping, eating, or bleeding—if Sloan called, the world stopped turning. Now? Blocked and ignored.

She kicked the tire of her GWagon in frustration. "Damn it." She dialed her mother’s executive assistant. "Helen. Track Nate’s phone.

Tell me exactly where he is." Leaving her gossiping friends behind, Sloan floored the gas pedal, weaving recklessly through traffic until she reached her hilltop villa.

She shoved her key in the lock, threw open the front doors, and froze. The sprawling, Europeanstyled mansion was a hollow cavern.

Every piece of furniture, every rug, every painting—gone. They had even taken the stainless steel refrigerator out of the kitchen. "NATE!" Her scream echoed off the bare walls.

She slammed her fist into the doorframe. Her phone rang. It was Helen. "Ms. Montgomery, Nate boarded an international flight a few hours ago.

He's at a private luxury resort in the Caribbean." Sloan pulled the phone away from her ear, taking a deep, shuddering breath to stabilize the tremor in her voice. "Helen.

Book me a jet." She hung up, spun around, and drove straight to the airfield. She was coming to hunt me down.