At my engagement party, Flora—my adopted sister—grinned and said, "Warren's never been married, right? I should marry him first so he gets the hang of it. Sounds good?"

Everyone was just waiting for me to fall apart.

I didn't care about them. I cared about him.

Warren laughed. "Let her have fun, Mia. Don't kill the vibe."

I smiled. "Sure. But if it's about fun... one wedding won't cut it.

"If you're gonna get married, make it forever."

I waved the butler over without missing a beat and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Tell my dad Flora's marrying Warren. They can have the wedding next month."

Dead silence. Like someone hit mute on the whole party.

Warren blinked like I'd slapped him. "Mia, you're not serious."

Oh, he wasn't upset for me. He was just humiliated.

Flora fake-laughed, hand over her mouth, then draped her arm around me like we were besties. "It was just a joke, sweetie. Chill. If I were you, I'd just say yes. No need to embarrass Warren like this."

Whispers exploded.

"Exactly."

"She's so plain. Where's this confidence coming from?"

"You didn't hear? She and Warren were engaged as kids. Then she vanished. Her mom's dying wish was to bring her back. They just brought her back."

"But her dad already has Flora—the pretty one. Why would he care now?"

"No wonder he never shows her off."

Every word stung—until I went numb.

All those years gone, I clung to one thing: coming home. That dream kept me alive.

But when I did?

Everything was upside down.

Mom was gone. Dad only saw Flora.

Warren—my fiancé—acted like she mattered more. Anytime I needed him, one call from Flora and he was gone.

She was the golden girl. Perfect match for him.

Me? I was the weird one they dragged back.

No one saw what she was really like—sweet in public, cruel when no one was watching. She'd turn the staff on me, lock me out, humiliate me for fun.

She told me straight up: snitch to Dad, and she'd ruin me socially.

When I told Warren, he just shrugged. "She's used to being treated like a princess. You're overreacting."

To him, she was cute and "fun."

But when I talked about our future? He'd cut me off—"Why's it always about YOU?"

Ask him what he wanted? He'd act like I was speaking another language.

Just like now.

He shot me a glare. "Mia, stop making a scene."

I laughed, ice cold. "I'M making a scene? Didn't you say not to kill the vibe?"

He slammed his glass down, jaw tight.

Flora jumped in, all syrupy sweet. "It's my fault, Mia. If I hadn't joked. I forget how serious you—"

I smiled. "No, you're right. Warren's a joke. You two should totally marry—great practice run. I'm over him. Time for an upgrade."

Flora was practically buzzing, dying to stir the pot. She fake-gasped. "Wow, jealous much? You even dragged a guy here just to mess with Warren."

"Jealous? What right does she have to be jealous?" Warren didn't even look at me. He pulled out a ring box, strutted up to Flora, and grabbed her hand. "Babe, put this on me."

Flora lit up. "I could... but this ring? Ew. Looks like it came out of a gumball machine."

She popped open her box—bam, glittery ring blinding everyone.

"Wear the one I had custom-made."

That sparkle? Definitely not a last-minute move. She'd planned the whole thing.

"Perfect. Love it. Thanks, babe." Warren tossed the ring I gave him and stuck out his hand.

Once it was on, he wiggled his fingers in my face. "Way more me, right?"

"Totally. Rings are like people—wrong fit's still wrong."

They cracked up.

And people? Actually clapped. Like it was their big day.

"Flora's got taste. That ring's fire."

"No lie. That old one looked ancient. This one slaps."

Every word hit like a punch.

Pushed aside, I pulled out my phone and called the one number I could dial in my sleep.

One ring.

"Groom's bailed. Ready for pickup."

Silence slammed the room.

Then a low voice, no hesitation: "Name your price. You're mine."

"Mia!" Warren yanked his hand back. "You seriously brought a guy just to screw with me? That's low. Try being more like your sister—have some self-respect."

I looked him dead in the eye, smirking. "You mean like hitting on her sister's fiancé? That kind of self-respect?"

His jaw clenched. "Whatever. This is still our engagement party. Don't make a scene."

I glanced at Flora clinging to his arm. "Oh, now it's OUR party? Where was that energy when she was playing bride?"

The laughter faded. Whispers kicked up. Some people even tried to smooth it over.

I didn't care. Scooped up the ring he'd ditched, turned to the crowd. "You all saw it. Warren Anderson just broke the engagement. I'm not marrying a guy just because my mom arranged it before she died."

Then I stared him down. "Sure, it's not flashy. It's taaffeite—super rare. My family heirloom. But yeah... you're right. You don't deserve it."

The room froze.

Warren stood there, stunned—like it finally hit him what he'd thrown away.

No one moved until I walked out.

Then Flora's voice cut through. "Really, Mia? Making up some taaffeite ring story? Dad didn't even give ME one—why would he give it to her?"

The crowd jumped on it.

"Yeah, right. Like that ring's real."

"She even paid some guy who sounds just like Austin Anderson—the guy who basically runs the Anderson empire. Bet that cost a fortune."

Warren finally relaxed, smirking. "Please. Like she could ever land my uncle? No one else would even want her. Just being dramatic. Give it a few days—she'll be begging me to take her back."

Laughter burst out again, all the tension gone.

"Told you. She's obsessed with Warren."

"She'll drop the drama before the wedding."

***

The wind hit hard as I tried flagging a cab.

Then a sleek car rolled up.

Window down. Him.

Sharp jaw. Clean lines. Cool like he didn't even try.

"Get in." Calm voice. Zero room for debate.

I slid in. "Mr. Anderson."

He laughed. "That formal? Think I'm skipping out before payday? Relax. I keep my promises. Just call me by my name."

I did. That's when he nodded—like that's what he'd been waiting on.

He didn't bring up the scene back there. Maybe he was being nice.

He drove me straight to what should've been my future with Warren. But the second I saw those stupid flowers—[Warren Anderson and Mia Montclair Forever]—I felt sick.

This was supposed to be my home. Now it made my skin crawl.

The wallpaper? Loud and ugly. Flora's "forest vibe." Warren went with it, no questions.

She hated portraits, so our photo got swapped for some bland landscape.

She trashed my lavender garden. Warren turned it into a dog park—for her dog.

The more I saw, the worse it felt.

Right in front of Austin, I ripped the flowers off the wall, grabbed our photo, and cut Warren out.

"This isn't my home anymore."

I threw my stuff together, ready to crash at a hotel.

Austin had been leaning on the door, arms crossed, quiet. Then he stepped in, grabbed whatever I couldn't reach.

"If you need anything, say it. You don't have to handle this alone—not with me here."

I mumbled a quick thanks. Didn't push him away.

He packed fast and carried my suitcase like it weighed nothing.

The whole ride, I braced for him to drop me at the Montclair estate. My stomach was a mess.

But he didn't.

He pulled up to the city's most expensive hotel. Booked the presidential suite.

"I'll come by on the wedding day."

Then he handed me a black card. Eyes soft. Shadowed lashes. A hint of a smile that made me wonder if he was waiting for an invite in.

My heart skipped—I bolted.