Chapter 2

I stand up to leave. Shane grabs my wrist.

"You're really throwing a tantrum over something this small?"

"Look, I promise — once I work through this, I'll throw you a whole new engagement party. Deal?"

He pulls a stapled document out of his bag. A prenup.

"Read it. If you sign, we can be engaged by next week."

I flip through it. My eyes narrow.

Post-engagement: no marriage license may be requested for five years.

If the bride initiates the marriage license process, she forfeits her trust fund payout and any claim to Vaughn family assets.

I almost laugh out loud.

The Vaughn family's whole net worth isn't even a fifth of what my family has for pocket change.

Pete slams the table, cackling.

"Damn, Shane, this is genius."

"Ivy, you've been screaming 'wedding, wedding' for months. Everybody knows you're just after the Vaughn family control."

"So sign it. Prove you're not in it for the money."

I look at him. Cold.

"Me? After the money? Let me clear something up for you."

"This engagement party — the seven-figure catering bill? I paid for every penny."

"You Vaughns are so rich? Great. Tell me — what did you actually put on the table tonight? Zero?"

Sienna rolls her eyes.

"Doesn't matter how loaded your family is. Nobody wants you anyway."

"My brother has childhood trauma. Marriage terrifies him."

"You've been holding weddings over his head like a gun to his head. You're trying to break him!"

I close my eyes. I hear my father's voice.

He always said Shane was flighty. Unreliable.

He said the day I got married for real, he'd sign Sharp Industries over to me.

So I went all in. I busted my ass to prove Shane was worth betting on.

Turns out — I lost.

I laugh bitterly. Right then, Sloane's phone buzzes.

She looks at the screen — and collapses straight into Shane's arms.

"Shane, it's my ex. He's stalking me again."

"We broke up months ago and he won't stop... Shane, I'm scared."

She clutches her chest, gasping like she's dying.

Shane — the same Shane who was just crying "marriage trauma" thirty seconds ago — snaps into action.

He drops everyone. He crouches in front of Sloane, cradling her face.

"Baby, don't be scared. I'm here."

"If he touches you one more time, I'll take you down to City Hall myself tomorrow morning."

"You want a home? I'll give you a home. Right now."

The whole room goes dead silent.

Sixty-six tables of relatives just watched that. Nobody says a word for me.

They just sit there, chewing popcorn on the inside.

I grab the pitcher of ice water off the table. And I dump it straight over Shane's head.

"Shane. Thought you had 'marriage trauma'? Guess it's selective, huh?"

I nod.

"Great."

"If you can hand her a ring on the spot, then this engagement is officially dead."

I get home. My mom rushes to the door, worried sick.

"Ivy, honey, Shane just called me. He said you two had a little argument at the hotel."

"What on earth happened? He cancelled the whole engagement?"

Shane has the nerve to fish for info through my mother.

I laugh, dry. I'm about to tell her everything when my phone explodes with notifications.

Sienna dumped my entire text history with Shane into the family group chat.

Both sides of the family are reading every desperate message I ever sent.

"Shane, what color plates for the head table?"

"Send me the guest list, I'll book cars for pickup."

"Can you swing by the jeweler after work about the engraving?"

Every single text — hours of me trying to get things right. Hours of me trying to make him proud.

Sienna posts a voice message in the group. Laughing.

"Look at this. Who plans an engagement like she's running a hostage negotiation?"

"Checking in twenty times a day about napkin colors? I'd lose my mind."

The group chat erupts. Every Vaughn relative piling on.

"For real. Some girls have zero self-respect."

"Throwing yourself at a man like that — nothing good ever comes of it."

And Shane himself? He reposts one of the screenshots.

His caption: "I literally can't breathe. Let me exhale."

I stare at the screen. My hands are shaking.

Seven years. Seven years I gave that man. And to him, all of it was just one long clingy joke.

I take a deep breath.

It's fine. I still have Damien Cross.

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