The Billionaires Poisonous Canary Chapter 1

It has been seven years since my brother died.

In that time, I have become the most pampered "canary" in the gilded cage of Everett Lowell, the crown prince of New York’s old-money elite.

Society calls me a sycophant. They say I’m a shameless social climber who traded her soul for his black cards and his family’s terrifying influence. And on the surface, they’re right. I act as if I want his money, his power, and the protection of the Lowell name.

But they don’t know the truth.

I’ve stayed by his side for five years because I don’t want his wealth. I want his life.

Seven years ago, my brother, Emmett, was an aspiring stage actor. During a gala performance, he wore a dress for a Shakespearean piece that caught Everett’s eye. Everett offered him a single, appreciative smile.

That smile was a death sentence. It ignited a psychopathic jealousy in Everett’s childhood sweetheart, Seraphina Sutherland. To appease his "Golden Girl," Everett stood by while his men cornered Emmett. They forced industrial-strength sulfuric acid down his throat.

The acid burned through his tongue, his throat, his esophagus, and finally his stomach.

As he lay dying in agony, Seraphina reportedly leaned over him and tutted, "Oh, it’s just a man in a dress. How revolting."

When they finally found me, they pointed to a charred, unrecognizable corpse and told me, "Your brother was thirsty. He accidentally drank a bottle of cleaning acid. A tragic mistake."

But my brother lived for the theater. He treated his voice like a holy relic; he wouldn't even touch a soda to protect his vocal cords. He would never "accidentally" drink acid.

They thought they were lying to a helpless child. They had no idea they were creating a monster.

* * *

Seraphina Sutherland, the "Princess of the Hamptons," has finally returned from her years in London.

For a month, Everett hasn't called me. He hasn't touched me. He hasn't even sent a text.

Online, the tabloids are screaming. Every video of Everett escorting Seraphina to charity galas or high-end auctions is flooded with comments directed at me.

“A placeholder is just a placeholder. No matter how hard Jade Quinn tries to mimic the real thing, she’ll never be Seraphina.”

“The Queen is back to claim her throne. Jade’s days of playing house in that penthouse are officially over.”

“Haven't seen Jade in weeks. She probably got her walking papers the moment Seraphina’s plane touched down at JFK.”

I scrolled through the vitriol with a blank face. Then, I quietly posted a photo to my Instagram. It wasn't a selfie or a luxury bag. It was my newly minted Professional Diving Instructor certification.

My small but loyal fanbase jumped in immediately.

“Jade, you’re incredible! You never stop learning!”

A hater replied instantly: “Please. This is just another pathetic ploy to get Everett’s attention. Everyone knows the Lowell family spends their summers diving in the Mediterranean. She’s just desperate to stay relevant.”

“At least she’s capable,” a fan shot back. “Jade has more certifications than a library. She’s got her pilot’s license, her pastry chef degree, her yoga instructor cert… she’s a diamond compared to Seraphina, who just got her degree deferred again for failing every class.”

The supporters were the minority. Most people just wanted to see the "homewrecker" fall.

And they weren't wrong about one thing: I was a fox. I had spent five years meticulously dismantling Everett’s defenses, making myself indispensable to his lifestyle.

To please him, I climbed mountains. I skied the Alps. I jumped out of planes. I learned to cook five-star French cuisine and studied nutrition. Every certificate I earned bought me a few more weeks of his attention.

For five years, I was his shadow. I was the woman who understood his silences and fueled his adrenaline. I was the one who welcomed him into my bed without the demands of a socialite.

Compared to Seraphina—a woman who defined her existence through tantrums and fragile tears—any man with a brain would choose me.

Women admire power. Men, however, are addicted to the peace a woman like me provides.