PROLOGUE<br><br>

Ivanna Peterson’s eyes drifted down towards her feet. They were shod in beautiful pearly pink shoes that cost a fortune, but her father insisted that she was worth the cost. She didn’t even look at the price tag at the time of purchase, but the woman at the counter’s expression was enough to tell her that regular people did not usually buy such things on a whim. 
They felt tight on her feet, and a little blurry. Speaking of her father, he was sitting across from her with a wide smile. “I’m so proud of you,” he said quietly, reaching out to take her hand in his.<br><br>
Of course he was proud, she did everything that daddy said. When daddy told her to date Michael Swanson, she dated him. When daddy told her to accept his proposal, she did so without  argument. When Michael left her for Diane Evans, she did not complain, but collected on half of Michael’s fortune just as daddy foresaw. When daddy invited her places, she went. When daddy told her she was getting fat, or droopy eyed, or thin lipped, or something else physically displeasing, she gladly went under the knife and changed herself. She didn’t even question where her mother was, all this time. Beatrice Peterson had been a beauty, so Ivanna was told. Her absence in Ivanna’s life was not so very noticeable.<br><br>
Ivanna was a princess, her father told her. Even now, his twinkling blue eyes were smiling. She smiled back, and slowly leaned her head against the glass table where they had been seated. The world spun, and unnoticed to Ivanna Peterson, a thin silver blade sliced into her neck from behind; severing through muscle, bone, and nerves, it spilled her lovely blood into a carefully placed receptacle, and daddy’s princess was left to drain.