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.

I holed up in the hotel for a few days. Nobody bothered to check in—except Austin.

I thought maybe my dad would remember I was still his daughter, maybe show up, say something. He didn't. Not a call, not a word. Like I didn't even exist.

Fine. If he didn't care, I wasn't clinging to that title either. From now on, I was done depending on anyone but me.

Come wedding day, I grabbed my dress and headed downstairs—only to find a whole lineup of luxury cars outside, turning heads left and right.

Austin stood next to a limousine, sharp in a tailored suit, practically glowing. He looked right at me and held out his hand.

"Mia, I'm here to take you home."

The way he smiled made my heart skip.

After we got in the car, we rolled up to the church. I slipped backstage to change while Austin went to handle the guests.

Just as I finished getting dressed and waved off the staff, that voice I hated rang out.

"Mia, why are you here all alone?"

Flora, of course—leading a pack like she was the main act. They closed in like they were front-row for a trainwreck.

Warren, arm slung around her like some smug prizewinner, smirked. "Told you she was bluffing. And look—she still showed. So, where's this mystery groom? Go on, bring him out. We're dying to see."

Cue the laughter behind him.

Flora faked a pity look. "Mia, seriously? You went and hired someone just to mess with Warren? Now look at you—awkward and alone. Worth it?"

Someone in the crowd snorted, "That guy who dipped earlier? Totally an actor. Bet she paid big."

"She blew cash on a limited-edition limousine and a full motorcade for the drama. Must've cost a fortune. No wonder he bailed—probably off settling the bill!"

"I've never seen anyone crash and burn this hard."

"If this is how she acts in public, imagine the mess she is behind closed doors. Total waste of space."

Flora was practically glowing, but kept up the fake concern. "Okay, guys, that's enough. You'll make Mia cry."

I looked around at all of them talking trash and said, "You done?"

I let out a dry laugh. "You've really been working overtime—plotting one minute, stalking me the next.

"But if I was really racing to return a rented car, would I still be here, fully dressed for a wedding? Think, guys.

"If someone's spreading that kind of rumor, their brain's gotta be soup. No wonder they think everyone else is as pathetic as they are."

Someone snapped, "You just rejoined the Montclairs. Where'd you get the cash for a limousine? Who knows where that money came from?"

I shrugged. "Didn't you hear me at the engagement party? The car belongs to my new fiancé."

Silence. No comeback. No receipts. Just awkward quiet as their weak attempt to drag me crashed and burned.

Warren's face twisted. He stomped up and grabbed my arm. "New fiancé? So now you're throwing yourself at the first rich guy you see? You disgusting—"

Smack.

The slap cracked through the room, snapping his head to the side.