Ethan Cole stared at his phone like it had grown teeth.
Seven missed calls. Three voicemails. And a text that read:
From: Mom"Isabella is absolutely lovely. Can't believe you kept her a secret! 😍"
He looked up slowly from the screen. Logan was still half-asleep on the couch across from him, snoring into a crushed bag of chips. The aftermath of last night's rooftop party was still scattered across the apartment floor: confetti, empty cups, and the lingering echo of a joke gone horribly wrong.
Or was it still a joke?
He checked the next message.
From: Unknown Number"Good morning, Mr. Cole. This is Elias Hart, legal representative of the Wynn family. Per Isabella's request, I'll be arranging a formal meeting with your parents this week to begin drafting the engagement documentation."
Ethan nearly dropped the phone.
He reread it three times. It didn't change.
"Engagement documentation," he muttered aloud.
Logan groaned from the couch. "You still hung up on Ice Queen-gate?"
"She wasn't joking," Ethan said quietly.
Logan sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Wait, what? You mean... that whole thing wasn't just her messing with the crowd?"
Ethan handed him the phone.
Logan read. Blinked. "Bro. She lawyered you."
"I don't even know her," Ethan said, standing up. "We've never spoken before yesterday. I was just a name on the academic leaderboard to her!"
"Maybe she likes quiet guys with scary IQs."
"Maybe she's mentally unwell."
Logan whistled. "This is gonna be one hell of a summer."
The doorbell rang.
Both boys froze.
Ethan walked to the door slowly, cautiously, like it might explode. He opened it.
Isabella Wynn stood there in a white sundress and blazer, holding a small cake box in both hands. Her black hair shimmered in the sunlight. She smiled faintly.
"Good morning, Ethan."
He blinked. "...You know where I live?"
"I asked your mother." She stepped past him, ignoring Logan's stunned expression. "She was kind enough to share your childhood photos with me. Very cute, by the way."
She placed the box on the kitchen counter and opened it. Chocolate torte, decorated with two little figurines—groom and bride—made of frosting.
Ethan stared at the cake, then at her.
"Isabella."
"Yes, fiancé?"
He rubbed his temples. "Why are you doing this?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if the question confused her.
"Because I accepted your proposal," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I didn't mean it!"
"Intent isn't required—only outcome. And you proposed. Publicly. In front of fifty witnesses. There's video evidence. Shall I forward it to you?"
He sat down.
Logan whispered from behind a mouthful of cake, "She's terrifying. Also, this is delicious."
Ethan looked up at Isabella. "Are you… serious?"
"I don't make jokes," she said smoothly. "And before you ask again—no, this isn't a prank. No, I'm not doing this for attention. No, I'm not forcing you to stay. You may walk away at any time."
That sounded almost reasonable. Until she added:
"But if you do… I'll simply redirect the resources I've allocated for your startup. I believe your prototype needs funding, correct?"
Ethan's mouth opened. Closed.
"You researched my project?"
"I've been researching you," she said, her smile remaining calm. "For two years."
He stood up. "That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
He stared at her across the kitchen.
She just stood there, composed and confident, like none of this was strange at all.
"I'm leaving now," Isabella said, brushing a crumb from her sleeve. "Your parents invited me to dinner next weekend. I accepted."
She walked toward the door, paused, then looked over her shoulder.
"Oh, and Ethan?"
"What now?"
"Don't be nervous," she said. "We're going to be a wonderful match."
Then she was gone.
Ethan stared at the closed door.
Logan said, "So. On a scale of one to' you're engaged'...?"
"I think I need a lawyer."