1 “Five days, Xander. I’ll see you at City Hall. ” Seraphina’s voice slid through the receiver like expensive silk—smooth, cool, and suffocatingly entitled. “The reception is at the Cliffside Estate. You haven’t forgotten that ‘Wedding of the Century’ you promised me, have you? I’m holding you to it.” My brain stalled. The sheer audacity of her words felt like a physical blow. “We broke up five years ago, Seraphina. Are you high, or just delusional?” A light, melodic laugh rippled from the other end. It was the sound of someone who had never been told ‘no’ in her life. “Broken up? I don’t recall agreeing to that. You didn’t move back to the States the second you heard I was engaged just for the scenery, did you?” She didn’t give me a chance to breathe. “Don’t worry, the groom’s slot is yours. As for Silas… well, I expect you to be a grown-up about it. He’s been the one holding my hand for the eighteen hundred days you were busy playing ghost. I trust you’re man enough to let him stay in the picture.” I shook my head, a dry laugh escaping my throat. I was about to hang up when a row of glowing, translucent text suddenly drifted across my field of vision. [The Leading Man left without a word for five years. Seraphina acts tough, but her heart is actually shattered.] [Seraphina only leaked the news about marrying Silas to bait the Leading Man into coming home for a grand surprise wedding. See? He’s back, and she came running.] I stared at the air. Early onset schizophrenia? Or am I in a simulation? If Seraphina cared so much, what was she doing for the last five years? Now that I have a beautiful wife and two perfect children, she thinks I’m still interested in her brand of toxic trash? I shut off the phone, ignoring the barrage of texts and missed calls, and tossed it onto the nightstand. Around 3:00 AM, a frantic, rhythmic pounding began at the front door. “Open up! Xander, how much longer are you going to keep up this tantrum?” The noise was going to wake the neighbors. I marched downstairs and yanked open the heavy oak door of the villa. Seraphina stumbled slightly, looking a bit disheveled but still dressed in a gown that probably cost more than a mid-sized sedan. Her eyes raked over me, landing on my clothes with a sneer. “Tch. Look at you. Is this what you’ve become without me?” I looked down. In my haste, I’d thrown on an old, oversized loungewear shirt I’d borrowed from my father. It was a faded, soft cotton jersey—comfy, but definitely not “high fashion.” “Listen—” I started, but she cut me off, stepping into the foyer as if she still owned the place. “Fine. You’ve had your fun. You’re back, you’ve made your point. I’m willing to overlook the fact that you ran away like a coward five years ago.” Her expression hardened, her smile turning thin. “But I won’t forgive that punch you landed on Silas back then. We’re only able to get married now because Silas was generous enough to step aside. I expect you to apologize to him.” I stared at her, genuinely stunned. “Silas is a saint,” she continued. “He took care of me every single day you were gone. Because of you, I can’t give him a legal title, but I expect you to treat him like a brother. We’re going to give him a home, together.” Is she for real? In my early twenties, I might have lost my mind with rage. But the version of Xander who lived for Seraphina’s approval died a long time ago. If I got angry now, she’d just convince herself I was jealous of her “little protégé.” “Seraphina, what makes you think I’m even available?” I asked calmly. “It’s been five years. Has it occurred to you that I might be married? That I might have kids?” She let out a short, mocking bark of laughter. “Xander, the whole world knows you were my lapdog. You’ve always had a temper, you’re impulsive… who else but me would ever put up with you? Besides, your family’s influence has waned since you left. No elite family is going to marry their daughter to a ‘disgraced’ heir. I’m the only one willing to take you in. Consider it a mercy that I’m letting you marry into the Lane family.” I actually laughed. I couldn’t help it. The Lane and Miller families had been equals once, our engagement a strategic alliance fueled by childhood puppy love. I had genuinely loved her. I had promised her a fairytale wedding at Cliffside. But then, before graduation, she hit an elderly woman with her car. The woman was Silas’s grandmother. On her deathbed, she “entrusted” her grandson to Seraphina. From that day on, Silas was attached to her hip like a parasitic twin. He provoked me constantly, playing the victim until I finally snapped and leveled him. Seraphina had shielded him, looking at me with such profound disappointment it nearly broke me. “You know how much Silas has suffered!” she had screamed. “He lost his only relative! I’m all he has left. Can’t you just be the bigger person? He’s like a brother to me. You’re going to be his brother-in-law—stop being so petty!” Her version of “calming down” was freezing me out for three months while she flaunted Silas all over social media. Everyone in our circle laughed behind my back, saying she’d traded her fiancé for a “toy boy.” I’d sent her a three-word text: We are over. Then I boarded a flight to Paris and never looked back. I didn’t expect that trip to lead me to the woman who would actually become my wife. “You’re laughing. Good,” Seraphina said, reaching out to touch my cheek. “I knew you still cared. Why else would you smile at me like that?” I leaned back, dodging her hand. “I’m a happy man, Seraphina. Don’t misinterpret a good mood for affection.” She shook her head, her smile turning patronizing. “Still stubborn. Fine. But once you’re officially a Lane, you’ll have to learn to be more obedient. I know how much you love me. After five years of waiting, I’m going to give you the perfect wedding.” Realizing she was trapped in her own delusional narrative, I decided to end the conversation. I stepped back to close the door. She blocked it with her foot, letting out a sharp cry of pain as the heavy wood caught her. Her eyes welled with tears. “I knew it… you’re worried about me…” “Actually, you’re blocking the door,” I said, my voice flat. I made a move to shut it again, and she scrambled to pull her foot back. Thump. The door clicked shut. I spoke through the wood. “Seraphina, go home. It ended years ago.” The glowing text appeared again: [Good news: The Leading Lady has a mouth. Bad news: Everything that comes out of it is toxic. Someone should just mute her.] [Finally, we see why the Leading Man left. She deserves the ‘Crematorium’ treatment (chasing the husband she lost).] [I want to slap her so hard. Xander, find someone else. Please.] I heard her voice from the other side of the door, muffled but still brimming with that terrifying self-assurance. “You always did have a flare for the dramatic when you’re embarrassed, Xander. Fine, I’ll leave for tonight. I’ll send a tailor tomorrow with your suit. Silas tried it on for you—you two have almost the same build, and it fits him perfectly, so it should be fine for you.” My blood pressure spiked. He tried on my wedding suit? The lack of basic respect was staggering. I kicked the door once, hard, to signal her to shut up. “Xander, that temper!” she called out. “You really need to work on that. You can’t be this unrefined once you’re a Lane. You should learn a thing or two from Silas’s composure.” The Miller family had moved most of our operations abroad years ago. To the local gossip rags, it looked like we were failing. To Seraphina, it meant I was broke. My parents were currently in Europe enjoying their grandkids, and the villa was empty save for me. If the staff were here, I would have had her dragged to the curb. “If you love Silas so much, Seraphina, marry him!” I yelled. I meant it. I was grateful she had shown her true colors before I’d walked down the aisle with her. Silas the manipulative schemer and Seraphina the narcissist—they were a match made in hell. “Oh, Xander, you’re so jealous,” she laughed, her footsteps finally retreating. “I’ve told you a thousand times, he’s just a brother. I don’t love him that way. Just be a good boy and wait for the suit!” I sat on the stairs, feeling a profound sense of exhaustion. Talking to her is like shouting at a brick wall. It didn’t matter. In a few days, my wife would be arriving in the city as part of a high-level trade delegation. My parents would be with her, bringing the kids. Once Seraphina saw the reality of my life, surely even she would have to face the truth. The next morning, an assistant from the Lane Group arrived with a garment bag. I didn’t even open it. Why would I care about a second-hand suit when I already had a bespoke tuxedo waiting for me? I took the gold-embossed invitation from the assistant, a man named Leo. I looked at the names. Groom: Silas Wright Xander Miller. The name “Silas” had been physically crossed out with a pen, and mine was written over it. I laughed, shoving the card back into Leo’s hand. “You’ve got the wrong guy, Leo. Take the suit to Silas. I’m sure he’s dying to wear it.” Leo’s face twisted. “Mr. Miller, this was supposed to be Mr. Wright’s wedding. It’s only because Seraphina changed her mind at the last second that you’re even involved. You should be grateful instead of acting like a spoiled child. I don’t know what she sees in you, breaking poor Silas’s heart like this!” Unbelievable. The brain rot is contagious. I ignored him and walked to my car. After five years away, I was craving the food at The Gilded Bistro, a private club downtown. Of course, my luck was abysmal. My car broke down halfway there, and I had to call an Uber. When I stepped out in front of the bistro, I almost walked right into Seraphina as she was opening her car door. She gave me that “I caught you” smirk. “First you reject the suit, then you follow me to lunch? Xander, can you be any more transparent?” “I’m here to eat, Seraphina. The world doesn’t revolve around you.” She grabbed my arm as I tried to walk past. “Stop it. I saw you get out of an Uber. Is the Miller family so broke you can’t even afford a mechanic? Don’t pretend you can afford a table here. If you’re trying to save face, don’t come crying to me when they reject your credit card.” “You really need to eat more walnuts,” I said, pulling my arm away. She blinked. “What?” “They’re good for brain health. You clearly need the help.” Her smile didn’t falter. “You remember I like walnuts? Fine, I’ll let that comment slide. Since you’re here, you might as well join us. My friends are inside, and Silas is here too. It’s the perfect time for you to apologize and bury the hatchet.” I stepped back. The thought of eating across from her made my stomach turn. As I turned to leave, a figure blocked my path. “Xander? Why are you leaving the moment you see me?” Silas had traded his “poor orphan” look for head-to-toe designer labels. He looked like a high-end gigolo, though he was still a good head shorter than me. He looked at Seraphina with puppy-dog eyes, then turned to me with a sigh. “Is this about the invitation? It’s been five years, Xander. When Seraphina said she wanted to get married, everyone just assumed it was to me. That’s why the names were printed that way. If you’re going to be angry, be angry at me. My heart is broken, but I’m willing to return her to you because she loves you.” He actually rubbed his eyes as if he were crying. “Silas, don’t,” Seraphina said, taking his hand. She glared at me. “Xander, I thought you’d grown up. You’re still so aggressive.” “I haven’t said a single word,” I pointed out. “You don’t have to,” she countered. “Your attitude is enough to hurt him. Silas is sensitive. You grew up with a silver spoon; you don’t understand the struggle he’s been through. As his future brother-in-law, you should be protecting him.” I let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Brother-in-law? Who said I was marrying you?” “Enough!” Seraphina snapped. “If you want to be part of the Lane family, stop this nonsense!” Suddenly, a group of Seraphina’s socialite friends emerged from the bistro. “Seraphina, there you are! Oh… is this the famous ex?” “Xander, right? Wow, you have some nerve showing up here after disappearing for five years. Silas has been a saint to her while you were off playing in Europe.” “Seriously, Seraphina, why are you even taking him back? He’s clearly just after your money now that his family is bankrupt. It’s disgusting.” I just stood there, baffled by the sheer volume of their collective delusion. Silas leaned his head on Seraphina’s shoulder, looking like he was about to collapse. He pulled a jade ring from his thumb and held it out to me. “Xander, your mother gave this to me. She said only the Lane family’s son-in-law has the right to wear it. I’m returning it to its rightful owner.” Seraphina snatched it back and shoved it back onto Silas’s hand. “My mother gave it to you, so it’s yours. Don’t demean yourself.” She looked at me. “I’ve already commissioned a bespoke Imperial Green jade ring for Xander. It’s a peace offering.” My face felt tight. “I’m married,” I said, each word slow and deliberate. “And I have two children.” The silence lasted three seconds before the entire group burst into laughter. “Xander, please,” Seraphina said, wiping a mock tear from her eye. “Don’t tell such obvious lies to save your ego. I’ve checked your records—you’re single. Or are you going to tell me you gave birth to them yourself five years ago?” Her friends howled. Silas gave me a look of pure, smug triumph. I reached for my phone, intending to show them a photo of my twins. Right then, my phone buzzed with a FaceTime request. I answered it. Two chubby, identical toddlers appeared on the screen. “Daddy!” they chirped in unison. The group went silent. Seraphina’s breath hitched. She lunged forward and snatched the phone from my hand, staring at the screen. “Who are these kids?” she demanded. “Daddy is Daddy!” the older one, Ethan, said, looking confused at the strange woman on the screen. “Who is your father?” Seraphina hissed, her hands shaking. “Xander Miller!” the younger one, Mia, shouted, throwing a tiny fist in the air. Seraphina dropped the phone. The screen shattered against the pavement, going black. The floating text went wild: [Oh my god! The Leading Lady just got cucked!] [Wait, is this a twist? Are the kids part of the plot to make her chase him harder?] [The babies are so cute! I want to squeeze them!] I didn’t care about the text. I cared about my phone. What if the kids were scared? As I reached down to pick it up, Seraphina ground her heel into the shattered glass, crushing the screen further. I don’t hit women. But I have limits. The sound was sharp and echoed across the valet stand. Seraphina stumbled back, clutching her cheek. “You… you hit me? Over two bastards?” I hit her again, harder. She fell into Silas’s arms, screaming. “You talk about Silas being sensitive, but you? You’re a monster! Who is she, Xander? Who is the slut you’ve been hiding?” I looked at her, truly seeing the rot in her soul. “The only trash here, Seraphina, is the ‘devotion’ you keep talking about.” “You’re probably a kept man!” she shrieked. “You’re a gigolo! Some rich woman discarded you and left you with her mistakes!” Silas saw his opening. “Xander, how could you be so cheap? Seraphina waited five years for you, and you bring this filth into her life?” Her friends joined in, their voices a cacophony of judgment. “He’s a disgrace. Seraphina, marry Silas. He’s the only one who deserves the Wedding of the Decade.” Seraphina stood up, her eyes burning with a dark, manic light. She took Silas’s hand, lacing her fingers through his. “Three days from now. Everyone is invited to Cliffside Estate. I’m marrying Silas.” Silas’s face turned bright red with excitement. He shot me a look of pure malice. I won, his eyes said. Seraphina looked at me, her voice trembling with bitterness. “Xander, it was supposed to be you. But you threw it away. The Lane family will never accept a man like you. But…” she paused, her voice dropping. “I can’t let you go. If you send those bastards away, I might still find a place for you. Silas is generous; he’ll let you stay as long as you know your place.” I was so disgusted I actually laughed. “You want me to be your mistress? You’re delusional.” “Silas,” I said, turning to him. “You want to be her dog? Be my guest. I wish you both a long life of misery together.” “Let’s go,” Seraphina said to her friends, ignoring me. “Xander, your pride is going to be your downfall. You’ll be begging for a seat at my table by next week.” They swept into the bistro. I stood on the sidewalk, looking at my broken phone. I used to be a textbook gold-digger. My life’s ambition was simple: marry a man with a bank account so deep he could Venmo me ten grand just to prove he had the “strength” to do it. I never expected to trip and fall for a man who spent his afternoons obsessively hunting for “Buy One, Get One” coupons for McDonald’s McFlurries. It was a total miscalculation. A tactical error. But I figured, hey, you win some, you lose some. At least I had that “sweet, cinematic love” everyone talks about, right? Then, one day, I caught a glimpse of his banking app. I started counting the zeros. I’m still counting them. Me: Wait, what? 2 My name is Riley, and I’ve spent the better part of my twenty-three years looking for a way into the one percent. My mother’s voice has been the soundtrack to my life. “Riley,” she’d say, her eyes weary from years of scraping by, “you can look for a man with a heart of gold, a man with a quick wit, or a man who’s good with his hands. Just don’t look for a man who’s only ‘nice.’ Nice doesn’t pay the mortgage. Nice doesn’t buy the life you deserve.” I took that to heart. While other girls were studying for the LSATs, I was studying the difference between a Birkin and a Kelly, and learning how to spot a counterfeit Rolex from across a dimly lit gala. On my quest for a “Diamond Bachelor,” I ran into every archetype the Pacific Northwest had to offer. There were the “Aspiring Visionaries”—men with empty pockets and grand manifestos, masters of the “long con” who could talk your ear off about their upcoming tech IPO that was definitely, totally happening next month. There were the “Mid-Tier Managers”—men with a little bit of money, but a whole lot of stinginess. They’d take you to a steakhouse and then spent thirty minutes arguing over the line item for the sparkling water. And then there were the “True Elites”—men who actually had the money, but lacked even a shred of basic human decency. I spent years sighing into my overpriced martinis, wondering when my own personal white knight—one with a trust fund and a tolerable personality—would finally show up. They say you find love when you’re not looking, usually in the last place you’d ever think to check. For me, that place was a dive bar in Portland, and the man was Wyatt Bennett. 3 During college, I worked as a resident singer at a upscale-ish lounge called The Velvet Room. My voice was smooth, a bit jazzy, and apparently, I had enough “sweetheart energy” to keep the bar stools filled on weeknights. The place was usually packed, until the Tuesday night the world went quiet. “Where the hell is everyone?” my boss, Mike, grumbled, pacing the floor like a caged bear. I gestured toward the window with a tilt of my chin. “Your regulars are across the street, Mike.” He strode over, leaning his weight against the glass, his eyes practically glued to the entrance of the rival bar, The Sound Garden. “They’ve got a new resident singer,” a regular informed us with the kind of brutal honesty only a drunk person possesses. “Kid’s got the voice of an angel. The place is sold out.” Mike turned to me, his eyes squinting in a desperate conspiracy. “Riley, honey. Do me a favor. Go over there. Find out what kind of ‘heavenly voice’ is stealing my business.” “Not interested,” I said, filing my nails. “I’m not a corporate spy.” “I’ll double your set fee for the week,” he whispered. “Deal.” I didn’t feel a lick of guilt. A girl has to eat, and Mike had deep pockets. A few nights later, I walked into The Sound Garden on the company dime. I hate to admit it, but the guy actually had something. He looked young—mid-twenties, maybe—with a refined, almost academic handsomeness. But it was his eyes that caught you; they were dark, focused, and incredibly expressive. When he started singing, his voice was a deep, gravelly baritone. It was sexy. It was the kind of voice that felt like being pulled underwater—warm, suffocating, and impossible to escape. I could see why the room was breathless. “Your drink, miss.” A server’s voice snapped me back to reality. “I didn’t order anything,” I said, confused. “It’s from the singer,” the guy smiled, nodding toward the stage. I looked up. Wyatt was still singing, his eyes closed, seemingly lost in the music. During his break, he found me. “Do you like it?” I looked up and met a pair of eyes shimmering with a quiet, playful light. “Do I know you?” I asked, playing it cool. “You’re the lead at The Velvet Room,” he said, his tone lazy and unhurried. There was a certain nonchalance about him, a lack of the usual desperation I saw in men. I picked up the glass and took a slow, deliberate sip. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a ‘dangerous gentleman’?” The stage lights reflected in his pupils, making them look like twin galaxies. He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And do you like dangerous gentlemen?” I looked away, my heart doing a strange little stutter. “The drink is good. Thanks.” 4 After that night, I didn’t go back. Our lives felt like two cars passing on a highway—a brief flash of headlights, and then back into the dark. The next time I saw him, it was at a liquidation outlet—the kind of place where people fight over dented cans of soup. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and a pair of jeans so frayed they looked like they’d survived a lawnmower accident. Gone was the “Refined Prince” of the stage. He looked… well, he looked like me. Like someone who knew exactly how much a gallon of milk cost. He looked lost, standing there with a bewildered expression as if he’d never seen a discount bin in his life. Against my better judgment, I felt a pang of pity. He looked like a golden retriever that had been left out in the rain. I walked up to him, trying to sound casual. “Long time no see.” He looked at me, and it was like a light switch flipped. His entire face brightened. “Riley. Hey.” “You look like a fish out of water,” I said. “Tell you what, for the sake of that drink you bought me, I’ll show you the ropes. Stay close.” “I’d like that,” he said, nodding. I led him through the chaos, showing him how to find the artisanal bread that was expiring tomorrow and the seafood that was marked down seventy percent. We navigated the sea of aggressive grandmothers and bargain hunters like a tactical unit. At one point, the crowd surged, and we were almost separated. I reached out and grabbed his wrist. The warehouse was sweltering, and I was sweating through my shirt, but when I touched him, I realized his skin was even hotter than mine. It was like he was vibrating with a nervous energy. While we were waiting in the checkout line, I overheard two older women behind us whispering. “Look at those two. Such a sweet young couple.” I lowered my gaze, watching him out of the corner of my eye. If only, I thought. If only he wasn’t so broke. “Thank you,” he said as we walked to the parking lot, clutching his bags of discounted groceries like they were trophies. “I would have been buried alive in there without you.” “Don’t mention it,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s swap numbers. A lot of these places have ‘Buy One, Get One’ deals that are better if you split them. We can be ‘frugal buddies.’ It’s better for everyone’s bottom line.” He hesitated for a second, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face, before hurriedly fumbling for his phone to scan my QR code. And just like that, Wyatt Bennett walked into my life and became my “Discount Partner.” He started showing up exactly when I needed him. When I needed someone to help me hit a referral bonus on a shopping app. When there was a warehouse sale. When McDonald’s had their McFlurry BOGO deals. And I showed up for him, too. Like today. We had just finished our two-for-one McFlurries. You know how it is—once you’ve had too much sugar, you start craving something salty. We walked past a local deli that specialized in gourmet jerky. I’d passed it a hundred times, but today, the smell of smoked pepper was killing me. I was debating the cost-benefit analysis of an eight-dollar bag of beef when I heard his low voice. “Want some? I’m kind of craving it.” I nodded eagerly. He asked the clerk for a small ten-dollar portion. The guy behind the counter weighed it out—it looked pitifully small for the price. Wyatt frowned. He’d clearly been paying attention to my “Value Lessons.” He hesitated for a few seconds, then said softly, “Actually, I’m sorry. I think I’ll pass.” The owner, a burly guy with a short fuse, suddenly snapped. “I already bagged it! You young kids come in here, waste my time… if you can’t afford it, don’t ask for it!” Wyatt looked mortified. He clearly wasn’t used to public confrontation. “I’m sorry, I just—” He started reaching for his wallet, his face turning a deep shade of red. I stepped in, blocking his hand. I looked the owner dead in the eye. “The portion is tiny and overpriced. He’s allowed to change his mind. You’re trying to bully a customer into a sale because you think he’s a pushover. It’s pathetic.” A small crowd began to gather. Not wanting a scene to hurt his business, the owner grumbled something under his breath and walked away. I pulled Wyatt out of the shop. His ears were still bright red. “That… thank you. I really didn’t know what to do.” “Don’t thank me,” I said, waving it off. “Just don’t let people walk over you.”
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