Chapter 1
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Crystal chandeliers cast their glow over the well-dressed elite, highlighting smiles as polished as they were insincere. The air hung heavy with designer perfumes and premium champagne—every breath tasted of money and privilege.
And I, Eve Sullivan—supposedly the bride-to-be at my own engagement party—had been cornered like a defendant awaiting sentencing.
“Evie, darling, don't be difficult.” My stepmother Melissa swirled her wine with practiced elegance, her voice honey-sweet while her expertly lined eyes remained glacial. “Your mother's treatment costs a fortune daily. Just sign this share transfer agreement, and your father and I promise she'll have the world's best doctors and medications.”
Beside her, my half-sister Sophie clung to my fiancé William's arm, her voice sickeningly sweet: “Really, sis, why make things difficult? That 10% stake is useless to you anyway. William says once you sign, he'll transfer his riverside property to you after our engagement—as compensation, of course.”
Compensation?
I stared at Sophie's face—a mask of false sympathy barely concealing her triumph—and at William's features, once so beloved, now twisted with greed and impatience. My stomach turned.
This was my engagement party, yet I wasn't the bride. My fiancé stood with my sister, using my dying mother as leverage to strip me of the only protection she'd left me.
Could there possibly be a crueler joke than this?
I gripped my clutch until my knuckles whitened. “Melissa,” I said, dropping the pretense of familial terms, “my mother's will is crystal clear. These shares only become mine to control after marriage. So back off.”
“Marriage?” Sophie laughed theatrically, drawing the attention of nearby guests. “Look at yourself, sis. The disgraced Sullivan heiress—who would dare marry you now? Who would even want to? Let's be real, you can barely cover your mother's medical bills as it is.”
William finally spoke, his voice dripping with condescension: “Eve, don't make this harder than it needs to be. Break up with me, sign the papers, take the money and disappear. That's your best option. Otherwise…” he paused for effect, “one call from me, and your mother loses her hospital bed tomorrow.”
His words hit me like a physical blow.
Ice flooded my veins. I looked past them to where my father, Howard Sullivan, held court across the room. He was laughing with business associates, deliberately ignoring the drama unfolding in the corner. To him, I was nothing but a disposable pawn in his social climbing game.
My heart plummeted.
I was trapped. They had me cornered, and they knew it.
Melissa saw the defeat in my face and pounced. She slid the contract and a gold Parker pen across the table.
“Sign it, Evie,” she cooed. “Sign, and we can all stay one big happy family.”
The stares around me felt like needles in my skin. A few held sympathy, but most contained mockery and schadenfreude. I could practically hear their thoughts: Poor little Sullivan girl, how pathetic she looks now.
My hands began to shake uncontrollably.
Was I really about to surrender my last shred of dignity for my mother's sake?
Just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, my gaze drifted to the bar in the corner.
And there stood a man.
He wore a standard server's uniform—black vest, white shirt—that stood in stark contrast to the opulence surrounding him. Head down, he methodically polished a wine glass with a white cloth.
His movements had a mesmerizing rhythm, as if he weren't simply cleaning glassware but performing some sacred ritual. The overhead lights caught his broad shoulders and straight back—even the cheap uniform couldn't hide his athletic build.
Perhaps he felt my stare, because he suddenly stopped and looked up.
Our eyes locked.
In that moment, time seemed to stop.
His face was all sharp angles and clean lines. High cheekbones, straight nose, thin lips pressed together in natural detachment. But his eyes—his eyes were something else entirely.
Deep and fathomless, they were utterly calm yet seemed to pierce right through me. When he looked at me, the room's noise faded to nothing. His gaze held no sympathy, no pity, no curiosity—just pure, cold assessment.
He seemed like an outsider who had accidentally wandered into this world of wealth and status, coldly observing our ridiculous drama.
A wild, impossible thought suddenly blazed through my mind.
Like a stubborn weed sprouting from a cliff face—desperate, determined.
I glanced from the contract on the table to his stern face.
Time to gamble.
If I lose, I'd just be slightly more screwed than I already was.
But what if… I won?
I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage I possessed. Under the bewildered stares of everyone present, I snatched up the contract and pen, then walked deliberately toward the bartender.
My heels clicked against the marble floor—tap, tap, tap—each step feeling like it landed directly on my thundering heart.
Every eye in the room followed my path.
Sophie and William's faces registered confusion and contempt. Melissa's perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together in suspicion.
I ignored them all.
I stopped at the bar. Across the cold marble counter, I caught his scent—clean and simple, like fresh soap—so different from the expensive colognes worn by every other man in the room.
He looked at me, a flicker of confusion finally breaking through his stoic expression.
Without a word, I pulled a black credit card from my purse and slapped it down on the counter alongside the marriage contract. The sound echoed in the sudden silence.
The entire room went deadly quiet.
Meeting his questioning gaze, I forced my voice to remain steady, though I couldn't quite hide the tremor.
“One million dollars,” I said, each word forced through clenched teeth. “Marry me. Put on a show. Sign this, and the money's yours.”
