Chapter 1On our wedding day, Quinton Ashford livestreamed his heartfelt confession to millions:
"Happy wedding day, wifey."
The next second, he ripped off my veil with a cruel smirk plastered across his face:
"Happy DIVORCE, Ember."
My tears of joy froze on my cheeks.
The entire venue erupted in laughter.
As I stood there, completely blindsided, he pulled his secretary—dressed head to toe in bridal white—into his arms and said to me:
"If you hadn't thrown that tantrum last week and fought her over that necklace, I wouldn't have to do this to you.
"When you finally apologize and she forgives you? Then MAYBE I'll actually marry you."
But he'd forgotten one crucial detail—that necklace was my mother's heirloom. The only thing I had left of her.
I became the internet's punching bag overnight.
Meanwhile, Quinton and his secretary's "relationship" went viral, with shippers going absolutely feral.
After he'd finished gallivanting around the world with her for three months, he asked casually:
"So, has she apologized yet?"
"Sir... Miss Ember's... already married."
...
"Uncle, HE's the one who didn't want to have this marriage."
The study was dimly lit when I walked in.
Quinton's father sat slumped at his desk, every wrinkle on his face carved deep with disappointment.
He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head:
"I really thought... with our families being so close all these years, that maybe our kids could also...
"But forget it. Just forget it.
"I guess you can't force people to love each other, can you?"
Then he slid the marriage contract across the desk toward me, the word VOID stamped across it in bold red letters. A blank check followed right behind it:
"Go ahead and leave, sweetheart. Write in whatever number you want on that check."
I walked out.
And left the check behind.
Look, our families had history—the kind where arranging an engagement between Quinton and me actually made sense.
Sure, there was the whole "good match on paper" thing, the business alliance aspect.
But here's the thing—aside from Quinton being a complete ass? His family had actually been decent to me.
I wasn't about to take their money on top of everything else.
As I stepped out of the villa into the blazing afternoon heat, I couldn't help but remember the first time I met Quinton.
It had been another scorching summer day just like this one.
He'd seemed so untouchable back then, like something out of a movie. I fell hard and fast.
But he'd just looked me up and down with this cold, disgusted sneer:
"Pretty enough, I guess. But here's some advice—don't go reaching for things that'll never be yours."
Naive me? I thought he was talking about the family money.
Turns out he meant his heart.
So I spent three whole years trying to prove I wasn't some gold-digging opportunist.
And then Vivette Thorne came back from her year abroad, and he practically tripped over himself hiring her as his personal secretary.
That's when reality finally smacked me in the face—he'd been warning me off from day one.
Still, I held on. Clung to that stupid engagement contract like my life depended on it, unable to accept that I'd wasted three years for nothing.
But now?
I ripped that contract to shreds and tossed it in the nearest trash can without a second thought.
My phone buzzed. A new text:
[I'm leaving town soon. If you're really sure you won't say yes to me, then this is it. We'll never see each other again.]
My fingers moved:
[I'll do it.]
Less than a minute later, my phone rang.
"You're not just doing this to piss him off, right?"
"I swear on my mother's grave—I'm dead serious."
I could hear him take several sharp breaths on the other end, like he was trying to process what I'd just agreed to.
Finally, his voice came through, quiet but steady:
"I'll treat you right. I promise."
I smiled despite everything.
Coming from this man? That WAS the biggest romantic declaration he was capable of.
Chapter 2
The plane ticket came through within the hour.
Departure: tonight.
I headed back to the villa to pack my things.
But the second I pushed open the door, I found Quinton waiting for me—which was weird as hell since he was NEVER home.
"So? Made up your mind yet?"
His voice cut through the darkness, ice-cold:
"You gonna give her that necklace or not?"
My hand flew up instinctively, clutching the necklace at my throat.
"Vivette grew up with nothing, you know. She only started getting nice things these past couple years.
"She doesn't hold it against you that you basically stole the life that should've been hers. All she wants is ONE necklace. What, that's too much to ask? You really THAT greedy?"
He descended the stairs and leaned in close, his face inches from mine:
"Or do you WANT me to actually call off this engagement for good?"
That used to be his ultimate threat—the one thing that could make me cave every single time.
I used to feel so damn bitter about it all.
Like I had dibs on him just because our families arranged this first.
Sure, Vivette met him before I did, but she never actually LOVED him.
Otherwise, why the hell would she have married that old rich guy?
And why would she divorce him the SECOND she found out she wasn't in his will, then come running straight back to Quinton?
But now? I just laughed.
"Wouldn't that be exactly what you want?"
I met his eyes dead-on.
His brow furrowed.
Then he turned and picked up two plane tickets from the side table.
Around-the-world tickets.
One had his name on it.
The other one...
My heart seized in my chest—
It had MY name on it?
I froze.
I'd mentioned once, forever ago, that I wanted to travel the world before getting married.
Did he actually remember that? Did he buy these for US?
The next second, he ripped both tickets clean in half.
He tossed the pieces in the air with a casual flick of his wrist. Scraps of paper rained down on my hair, my shoulders, like the world's cruelest confetti.
He pulled out his phone:
"Yeah, I need to book new tickets. For me and Vivette.
"Right. Changed my mind."
When he hung up, his eyes dragged over my shell-shocked expression, and his lips curved into the most condescending smirk I'd ever seen.
Then he brushed past my shoulder and walked away without looking back.
Chapter 3
The fact that Quinton bought tickets with my name on them? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was just for show—something to parade in front of his dad to prove what a "loving couple" we were.
A man who hated my guts would NEVER do something nice for me on his own.
I touched the necklace at my throat.
Then I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
This was the only thing Mom left me.
The one piece of our family legacy that had been passed down through generations.
There was NO WAY IN HELL I was giving it to anyone.
Carefully, I unclasped the necklace and placed it in its velvet box, then tucked it deep inside my suitcase.
I'd planned to leave tonight, but then an email notification pinged on my phone.
A digital invitation.
To a memorial concert marking the fifth anniversary of my mother's death.
They were inviting me—her only living descendant—to perform one of her signature pieces.
I hesitated for a second, then called Davian Locke:
"Is it okay if I come a couple days late?"
Silence on the other end.
Then: "Are you having second thoughts?"
"God, no," I said quickly. "I just have something I HAVE to take care of first."
"...Alright. I trust you. And I'll wait for you."
Warmth spread through my chest.
I smiled. "Thank you."
The concert was in two days.
During that time, I didn't send Quinton a single text.
And true to form, he didn't reach out either. He never did.
Fine by me. I threw myself into practicing Mom's piece.
Even though I could play it in my sleep by now, I still wanted to give the best possible performance at her memorial.
The morning of the concert, I woke up early, did my hair and makeup with extra care.
But when I opened the red velvet box, my heart dropped straight through the floor.
The necklace was gone.
Panic shot through me like ice water.
I knew. I KNEW who took it.
I called Quinton immediately.
The second he picked up, I could hear a concert hall in the background—the acoustics, the murmur of a crowd.
My entire body went rigid.
"You're at the music hall? Did you take my necklace?!"
Quinton's voice was maddeningly casual:
"Vivette's never gotten to perform at one of these fancy venues before. She's always dreamed of being on stage, you know, but her family could never afford lessons.
"You, on the other hand? You're music royalty. You've had a million opportunities like this handed to you.
"Vivette's birthday is coming up. Consider this your gift to her."
"QUINTON!!"
My scream echoed through the empty room.
But all I got in response was the flat beep of a disconnected call.
I tried calling back. It went straight to voicemail.
I drove to the venue like a bat out of hell, breaking probably half a dozen traffic laws.
The second I got out of the car, music drifted out from inside the hall.
And my blood turned to ice.
Oh God. NO. She CANNOT play that piece here—not at THIS event!
