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Ring! Ring!

Beep.

"The person you have called is not available. Please try again later or leave a voicemail."

I sighed, lowering my phone. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen frustrating minutes of calling Rick with no response. This wasn’t the first time, and deep down, I knew what it meant, but I wasn’t ready to face it. After all, we were getting married soon.

The chill in the air wrapped around me like a warning. I shivered, standing outside the restaurant where my friends had been gathering for over an hour, celebrating a long-overdue get-together. Rick was supposed to join us. But, of course, he had called last minute, claiming some urgent business matter had come up. Convenient.

To make matters worse, it had started raining, and I had neither a car nor an umbrella. Rick had promised to pick me up, a promise he had clearly forgotten. Again.

I leaned against the wall of the building, watching the rain pour down. Why was I still in this relationship? It wasn’t like the signs weren’t there. I mentally ticked off the reasons.

One: I was twenty-seven, and in my mind, that was over the acceptable age for marriage.
Two: Rick had been the only man I had ever dated.
Three: Our families had already met and were deeply invested in our relationship.
Four: The wedding was less than a month away.
Five: I knew we didn’t love each other anymore. But wasn't it better to marry someone familiar than a complete stranger?

Rick and I had known each other for twelve years. Twelve long years. Cutting ties seemed impossible now, even if things had been deteriorating for a while. I had hoped marriage would fix things—that maybe the commitment would push him to change. But I couldn’t ignore the growing sense of resentment that had begun to fester.

My sister, Rachel, had urged me to endure. “Mutual understanding is what makes a marriage work,” she had said, parroting some half-baked wisdom. But understanding felt more like an excuse for avoidance. And I was exhausted from avoiding the truth.

I sighed again, my breath fogging in the cold. I was beginning to hate lawyers. Not just Rick, but the job itself—the endless demands, the constant prioritization of work over life. Rick had been so supportive of my modeling career when we were younger, but now it seemed all he cared about was talking about start-ups, investments, and hotel management. He had encouraged me to take over the family business, but I refused. Running events every month? It sounded exhausting. And Rick’s job was already a beast on its own; he couldn’t even remember to pick me up.

A car pulled up to the curb, its headlights cutting through the rain. It was sleek, a BMW M76, the kind of car that turned heads. A man stepped out, holding an umbrella. His silhouette was dark, but even from a distance, I could tell he was dressed in an expensive suit, his shoes polished to a shine. As he approached, I glimpsed his watch—Graff. And those shoes... definitely Italian. He didn’t look like someone who needed an entourage, but he carried himself with the air of someone important.

I watched as he came closer, unsure of why he was heading toward me. It must have looked like I was checking him out, and I felt a sudden wave of embarrassment. I dropped my gaze, noticing how my toes were curling from the cold, trapped in my soaked shoes. The scent of his cologne hit me before he spoke—rich, heady, intoxicating. Whoever he was, he exuded wealth and power.

Without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and showed me a message. I blinked in surprise as I recognized the number. It was my father’s. The message contained the restaurant’s address and instructions for when I was supposed to be picked up.

What in the world?

I looked up at the man, confusion swirling in my mind. Did my father send this stranger to escort me? Why?

Before I could say anything, he offered his hand, wordlessly inviting me to follow. Hesitantly, I took it, feeling warmth radiate from his palm despite the cold night. He led me to the car, opening the door with a practiced grace. As I slid into the back seat, I finally got a proper look at him. His features were obscured by the darkness, but those sapphire-blue eyes... they stood out, piercing through the shadows. I quickly looked away, trying to regain my composure.

The man joined me in the back seat, and that’s when I noticed there were two others in the car—a driver and another man in the passenger seat, who I assumed was his assistant. The assistant turned his head slightly.

“Where to, sir?” he asked.

“To my in-laws,” the man replied in a deep, velvet-smooth voice. His tone was commanding but relaxed, like someone accustomed to being in charge.

I froze. In-laws? My mind raced. Was he... Rachel’s fiancé? My brother-in-law?

When did this happen? And why hadn’t anyone told me?

The realization hit me like a cold gust of wind, leaving me momentarily speechless. What the hell was going on?

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