My older brother returned from his business trip in Paris with two shopping bags. One held an Hermès Birkin in classic gold togo leather. The other, a Chanel classic flap in black caviar. He went to my sister’s bedroom first. By the time he made it down the hall to my room, both shopping bags were gone. All that was left in his hands was a box of hazelnut chocolates you could buy at any corner drugstore. I wanted to tell my fiancé, Colin, about it. I needed to vent. But when I tracked his location to the boutiques on Fifth Avenue and walked in, I found him leaning against the glass display counters, agonizing over two necklaces. One was a Bulgari Divas’ Dream pendant. The other was a B.zero1 ceramic ring studded with diamonds. Which one should I give to your sister? He looked genuinely torn. My chest caved in. But I didn’t dare go home to cry. Instead, I hid in a quiet, marble-tiled alcove near the mall’s fitting rooms, pulling out my phone. I opened my messages and began typing through blurred vision to a guy I’d met in an online lobby six months ago. [My brother called me greedy, but I didn’t even ask for a bag. Am I really that greedy?] [Colin is supposed to be my fiancé, but he’s buying high jewelry for my sister. Am I just being petty?] The messages delivered. A moment later, a voice note popped up on my screen. “Why don’t you just be with me?” “However many bags, however many diamonds you want—I’ll give them all to you.” “I’d only ever give them to you. And I promise, no one would ever call you greedy or petty again.” 1 I froze. The sheer shock of it literally stopped my tears. For half a year, I had been chatting with this person whose screen name was simply “Gold,” their profile picture a blank white square. We had met through a co-op video game, and this was far from the first time I had cried to them. But usually, Gold only ever typed back, offering patient, quiet comfort. I had always assumed Gold was a gentle, soft-spoken girl. That was why I felt so safe pouring my heart out. But the voice that just played from my phone was undeniably male. It was a deep, unhurried baritone. Smooth and dangerously tender. A second voice note appeared. I pressed play. “More than that. If you were ever in danger, I’d save you. Only you. I can promise you that much,” the man’s voice murmured, a quiet gravity grounding every word. “Think about it.” I listened to it again. A sharp ache flared at the bridge of my nose. The tears I thought I had stopped suddenly spilled over my lashes, hot and heavy. 2 It wasn’t that I loved to cry. It was just that, most of the time, I didn’t know how to swallow the pain. When I was five, my parents divorced. To better care for my chronically ill older sister, Bella, my mother took her across the country to live in Los Angeles. My brother, Jon, and I were left in New York with my father. Three years ago, my father died in a multi-car pileup. Last year, my mother succumbed to breast cancer. But ever since Jon flew to California and brought Bella back to live with us in the New York townhouse, I realized I was no longer allowed to cry in my own home. “Mia, your sister’s heart condition acts up when she’s stressed. Are you trying to make her sick?” “What are you even sulking about? Crying like that—how do you think it makes Bella feel?” That was what Jon always said. After being scolded enough times, I didn’t even dare pull the covers over my head to weep in the dark. When the weight of it became too much, my only option was to flee the house and hide in the white noise of a crowded public space. Colin was the match my father had arranged for me before he passed. Our families moved in the same wealthy circles, and it was a quiet, understood agreement. In the beginning, Colin used to look out for me. When he found out Jon was bringing Bella gifts every single evening and ignoring me completely, he would hold my hand and say, “Why don’t we just get married the second you graduate?” “Once we’re married, whatever you want, I’ll buy it for you, okay?” When Bella took a liking to a wooden sculpture I had carved myself, and Jon screamed at me for refusing to give it to her, Colin had been furious on my behalf. “It’s your art. Why the hell should you have to give it up?” he had told me. “Mia, don’t you dare back down. You hear me?” That was how it was. Until four months ago, when Jon brought home a custom haute couture gown. I happened to be in the hallway when he handed the garment bag to Bella. I had only lingered for a second, my eyes catching on the intricate beadwork. Out of nowhere, Jon snapped. “Mia, have you ever lacked for anything in your entire life? Why do you always have to covet what belongs to your sister?” “Get out! Don’t come back until you figure out what you did wrong!” I sat on the limestone steps of our front porch for the entire night. The next morning, Colin came by to pick me up. Seeing me shivering in the autumn chill, he was immediately sympathetic. “It’s just a dress. How could Jon kick you out over that?” “Mia, are you crazy? Why didn’t you fight back?” But then, the heavy oak door opened, and Jon walked out—with Bella right behind him. Colin’s voice died in his throat. He stared. That was the very first time Colin ever laid eyes on my sister. He turned to me, blinking like a man waking from a dream. “Mia… is this your sister, Bella?” I gave a stiff, numb nod. And just like that, Colin’s tone completely shifted. “Oh. Well, then this is on you, Mia.” “You really should learn to compromise for her.” 3 I caught a terrible fever that day. My body ached so profoundly I had no choice but to hide in my room, quietly wiping away tears while texting “Gold” about how much it hurt. But crying didn’t change reality. Because after that day, the frequency of Colin’s visits to our townhouse suddenly spiked. His family was incredibly wealthy. Whenever he brought me a pastry or a gift, he suddenly started bringing a matching one for Bella. On my birthday, he gave me a pair of diamond studs. He bought a second box for her. He’d say, “Mia, I only get Bella things because she’s your sister. Don’t overthink it.” But last month, Jon took Bella and me up to a luxury cabin retreat in the Catskills. Colin tagged along. The entire drive up, Colin’s eyes were glued to the rearview mirror, checking on Bella. He asked her if she was cold, if she was hungry, if the winding roads were making her dizzy. He didn’t ask me a single question. Later that evening, everything went to hell. A group of heavily intoxicated locals crashed the resort, starting a brawl and smashing the outdoor patio heaters. Colin immediately shielded Bella with his body. “Don’t look, Bella. I’ve got you,” he kept whispering. Jon didn’t even hesitate. While physically holding back two aggressive drunks, he yelled over his shoulder, “Colin, get Bella to the SUV! Go!” They rushed her to the car. Just as the heavy door slammed shut, one of the drunks lunged, grabbing my arm so hard I felt the bruise blooming instantly. Jon saw it happen. But he put the car in drive anyway. He rolled down the window just enough to shout, “Mia, wait right there! Let me get your sister to safety and I’ll come right back for you!” They never came back. When the men started smashing glass and throwing punches at the staff, a good Samaritan finally called the cops. In the end, it was a police cruiser that drove me home. When the officer dropped me off, the townhouse was completely silent. I was too terrified to go inside. I stood on the sidewalk for a long, long time, texting Gold, letting the digital text ground me. When my breathing finally steadied, I limped my way up the steps and unlocked the door. I braced myself for the chaos. But the house was dead quiet. Bella was sick. The “shock” of the evening had triggered her palpitations. She had taken her medication and was fast asleep in her plush bed. Colin had just left half an hour ago. And Jon was sitting in a velvet chair by her bedside, keeping watch. No one was looking for me. When Jon stepped out into the hallway and saw me standing there, bruised and shivering, his expression barely shifted. “Glad you made it back safe,” he said, keeping his voice to a low whisper. “Keep it down, don’t wake your sister. Go wash up and go to sleep.” The tears I had fought so hard to keep back nearly shattered the dam right then and there. 4 When I went looking for Colin today, it wasn’t actually to complain about Jon not giving me a Chanel bag. I was fine without it. Lately, I had been fine with having nothing at all. But yesterday, Jon had called me into his study. “Mia, the Carmichaels are a powerful family. Colin isn’t the primary heir, but he holds his own in our circle,” Jon had said, swirling a glass of scotch. “You’re still young. There’s no rush for you. But your sister’s health is delicate, and I can tell Colin genuinely cares for her. I think it’s best if you step aside and let Bella take this marriage arrangement.” It wasn’t a discussion. It was an eviction notice from my own future. I went to the mall today to ask Colin a simple question: Was this Jon’s idea, or was it his? But Colin had been distracted from the second I found him. Even while holding the two luxury necklaces, he had asked: “Mia, which one do you think Bella would like more?” Standing under the harsh, brilliant lighting of the jewelry boutique, looking at his conflicted face, I suddenly had my answer. “Why don’t you just buy both?” I told him quietly. “Give them both to her.” And now, sitting in the shadowy corner of the mall, listening to the deep, steady voice of the man on the phone. I wiped the dampness from my cheeks. My heart settled into a strange, terrifying calm. I pressed the microphone button. “Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s be together.” 5 By the time I dried my eyes and took an Uber home, dusk had fallen. Colin and Bella were standing on the front porch. The amber glow of the gas lamps stretched their shadows long, blending them into one. I watched from the bottom of the steps as Colin, his face flushed, handed her the velvet Bulgari boxes. What was he saying to her? I was too far away to hear. Then Bella spotted me. Her face lit up with a practiced, radiant smile, and she practically glided down the steps toward me. “Colin, you bought these beautiful necklaces for me, but what about Mia?” she asked, her voice light and teasing. “Did you get anything for Mia?” Her cold, manicured hand reached out and grasped mine. She hadn’t taken the boxes from him yet. She was performing the role of the protective, generous older sister. Colin froze. A beat of awkward silence hung in the air before he awkwardly reached into his tailored coat pocket and pulled out a flimsy, velvet pouch. “Of course. I got something for Mia, too.” Bella’s smile deepened, as if she were genuinely thrilled for me. She took the pouch, pulled out a thin silver chain, and draped it over my wrist, fastening the clasp. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me. “Isn’t it pretty? It suits Mia so perfectly. Do you love it, Mia?” “No.” A wave of intense, suffocating humiliation crashed over me. This bracelet. Three months ago, for my birthday, Colin had given me the exact same one. He had told me then that he had spent hours picking it out. But today, standing at the jewelry counter, I had seen the truth. It was a promotional gift-with-purchase. The boutique had a whole drawer of them. You got one if you bought a necklace. You got one if you bought a watch. You got one if you bought earrings. The $30,000 diamond bracelet Colin had gifted Bella on my birthday—the one she was currently wearing on her left wrist? That was fine jewelry. The identical promotional freebie now resting against my skin was an afterthought. Bella had to have known. She shopped at these boutiques constantly. Colin definitely knew. 6 I didn’t want the bracelet. I undid the clasp, pulled off the one I was already wearing from my birthday, and threw both of them into Colin’s chest. As I turned and ran up the steps into the house, I heard Bella’s soft, distressed sigh behind me. “I’m so sorry, Colin. Mia didn’t accept your gift. If I take these necklaces now, it’ll just upset her even more…” I wasn’t an idiot. I could hear the subtle, poisoned needle hidden in those words. But I just didn’t understand. If she wanted to play hard to get with Colin, why did she have to use me as the stepping stone? Even though our parents had divorced, whenever I spent my summer vacations in LA when we were little, she had been so sweet to me. When our mother scolded me for being messy, Bella used to hide me in her closet and read me stories. Why had everything changed the second she moved into my house? I slept with my head buried under the duvet that night. When I woke up, my eyes were swollen to the size of walnuts. I was sitting in the kitchen pressing cold spoons against my eyelids when our housekeeper, Martha, came rushing in. “Mia, there are guests here to discuss marriage arrangements. Mrs. Carmichael is here!” “Hurry, go take a look.” Mrs. Carmichael. Colin’s mother? I blinked, confused. Martha was already pulling me up from the stool. Martha knew about the unspoken engagement my father had arranged with the Carmichaels. But she didn’t know Jon was planning to swap Bella in my place. And she certainly didn’t know Colin had already shifted his affections. Sure enough, when I reached the top of the grand staircase and peered into the living room, Mrs. Carmichael was seated on the velvet sofa. But she wasn’t alone. Sitting opposite her was an incredibly elegant, strikingly beautiful woman I had never seen before. Seeing me on the landing, Mrs. Carmichael’s smile turned brittle and strained. “Oh. Mia is home, too.” At her words, the other woman’s eyes lit up. A warm, genuine smile broke across her face. “Are you Mia?” I nodded slowly, my eyes sliding past the two matriarchs to look at Jon. I had never seen my brother look this ecstatic. He was practically vibrating with excitement, though he was trying hard to maintain a veneer of corporate humility. “Well, we are in the twenty-first century now. We don’t believe in arranged marriages in the traditional sense,” Jon was saying, adjusting his cuffs. “An alliance of this magnitude… I really must consult with my sister first.” He turned to Martha. “Go upstairs and bring the eldest Miss Davis down.” The elegant stranger immediately held up a hand, halting him. “The eldest?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “No, no, there’s been a misunderstanding. The girl our family is here to propose to is Mia.” Mrs. Carmichael sat frozen, staring into her teacup, a humiliated flush creeping up her neck. A sharp prick of shock hit my chest. I instinctively looked at Jon. Jon’s triumphant smile faltered. He looked incredibly displeased that Bella wasn’t getting to choose between two elite suitors. He frowned at the elegant woman. “Mrs. Astor, are you absolutely certain you mean… Mia, and not Bella?” Before she could answer, a cold, authoritative voice drifted in from the grand entryway. “We are certain.” I whipped my head around. A man stood in the foyer. Dressed in a sharp black overcoat and tailored trousers, his features were strikingly handsome, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The woman I want,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “is Mia.” 7 Theo Astor. The sole heir to the Astor dynasty. There wasn’t a single person in New York high society who didn’t know his name. His father was the Chairman of Astor Holdings. His mother was old-money New England royalty, a direct descendant of the Vanderbilt line. They were, without question, one of the top three most powerful families on the East Coast. Gold… was him? I stared blankly at the man walking into my living room. He was breathtaking. Broad shoulders, narrow waist—he looked like he had stepped straight out of a Tom Ford campaign. He stopped at the base of the stairs, looked up at me, and offered a soft, private smile. “We meet again, Mia.” The breath finally caught in my lungs. It was him. The voice was exactly the same. I lowered my eyes, my fingers gripping the mahogany banister to hide my trembling. “We meet again…” Theo’s dark gaze flicked to my swollen, red eyelids. For a fraction of a second, his jaw tightened. When he turned to look at my brother, the smile remained on his lips, but the warmth in his voice was completely gone. “Mr. Davis, do you have a problem with my judgment?” Jon offered a sycophantic, nervous laugh. “No, no, of course not.” “Then why did I just hear you question whether Mia was the one I wanted? Did you assume I’m incapable of recognizing the woman I have feelings for?” His tone was sharp, laced with a double meaning that cut through the room like glass. Jon’s laugh turned stiff. He shot me a dark, covert glare—I couldn’t tell if it was a warning or an accusation. “How could I ever assume that?” Jon muttered. Theo dismissed him entirely. He turned his attention back to me, and the ice in his voice melted instantly into something akin to a spring breeze. “So, Mia,” he asked gently. “This arrangement. Do you accept?” It felt like he was holding up the sky for me. Like he was coaxing me out of a dark corner. For some inexplicable reason, an ache rose in my throat. “I—” I wanted to say yes. We had agreed to it last night. But the moment I opened my mouth, a frantic voice interrupted from the top of the stairs. “Is that you? Theo?” It was Bella. She had slipped out of her room and was now standing on the landing above me, staring down at Theo with a mixture of breathless joy and engineered shyness. Theo? Why was she speaking to him so informally? My chest tightened. My fingers gripped the banister harder. Bella had already composed her features into a picture of elegant grace as she descended the stairs, bypassing me entirely. “Five years ago, at the Ivy League debate tournament in Boston. I was the second speaker for the opposition. Do you remember me?” 8 Did Theo remember her? Was he going to be just like Colin? Was he going to see Bella shining in the spotlight and immediately forget I existed? Was he going to be like Jon—the second Bella entered the room, all the gravity shifted to her? I stared at Theo, my stomach tying itself into a sickening knot. But Theo just looked at her. His gaze swept over Bella’s perfectly made-up face without a flicker of recognition. Without missing a beat, he asked in a voice made of absolute frost, “Who are you? And why on earth would I remember you?” Bella’s radiant smile shattered. Seeing her shock, Jon desperately tried to salvage the situation. “Oh, so Bella and Mr. Astor are old acquaintances! Well, looking at it that way, it must be destiny that you two reunited in my home today.” Destiny? But Theo came here for me. It felt like someone had poured battery acid straight into my chest. The sour, burning sting rushed right behind my eyes. Terrified that Jon would notice and reprimand me again, I ducked my head, trying to blink away the blurriness. Then, Theo’s voice sliced through the tension. “Mr. Davis, it was a collegiate debate tournament. By your logic, I’m ‘destined’ to marry half the corporate litigators in Manhattan.” He paused, and I heard his footsteps move closer to the stairs. “Mia.” His voice was back to that soft, steady rhythm. I looked up, straight into eyes that held absolutely no doubt. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Will you marry me?” It was as if a warm gust of wind had swept through the suffocating house, blowing away the dust and leaving nothing but sunlight. In that moment, I didn’t care about Jon’s suddenly furious expression. I didn’t care about Bella, who was standing there pale and trembling on the verge of tears. All I saw was Theo Astor, waiting for me with a patient, reassuring smile. “Yes,” I breathed out. “I will.”
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