The morning sun streaming through my bedroom windows should have felt like the dawn of a new chapter in my life. Today was supposed to be the day Blake Morrison officially asked for my hand in marriage in front of Manhattan's elite, the day our seven-year love story became a fairy tale ending.
Instead, I'd barely slept, tossing and turning as their words echoed in my mind like a broken record.
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
"After the wedding, this has to stop."
"What we have... it's real."
I stared at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom, surrounded by remnants of the girl I used to be—framed photographs from college, books from my art history courses, a jewelry box that played Pachelbel's Canon when opened. Everything looked exactly the same as it had yesterday morning, but I felt like a completely different person.
How do you wake up and pretend your entire life isn't a lie?
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Blake:
"Good morning, beautiful. Can't wait to make this official today. Love you."
Love you. The words that used to make my heart flutter now felt like shards of glass in my chest.
I set the phone aside without responding and dragged myself out of bed. The engagement ceremony was scheduled for this afternoon—a private affair with just family and close friends, followed by an intimate dinner party. Blake would present me with the ring again, this time with proper speeches and formal requests for my father's blessing.
All of it choreographed. All of it performed for an audience who had no idea they were watching a tragedy disguised as a romance.
I needed coffee. And I needed to figure out how to get through this day without falling apart completely.
The Winters mansion was unusually quiet as I made my way downstairs. Eleanor was probably still sleeping off last night's champagne, and Father would be in his study making business calls to Tokyo—he never let time zones stop him from closing deals. The staff wouldn't be arriving for another hour, which meant I had the kitchen to myself.
As I waited for the coffee to brew, I tried to organize my thoughts. What were my options here?
Option one: Confront Blake and Victoria privately, demand the truth, and deal with whatever came next.
Option two: Go through with the engagement as planned and pretend I'd never overheard their conversation.
Option three: Disappear. Cancel everything and run away from this life that apparently wasn't even mine to begin with.
None of them felt right. None of them felt like something a heroine would do.
The coffee maker beeped, and I poured myself a large mug of the strongest blend we had. I needed caffeine and I needed courage, and I wasn't sure which one was in shorter supply.
That's when I heard it—the soft sound of a car door closing in the driveway.
I glanced at the kitchen clock. 7:30 AM. Who would be visiting this early on a Sunday morning?
Curiosity overrode my desire to hide, and I walked to the front windows to peer out. Blake's black Tesla was parked in our circular driveway, and I could see him walking toward the front door with a large bouquet of white roses.
My heart did a traitorous little flip despite everything. Even knowing what I knew, seeing him still affected me. Seven years of conditioning didn't disappear overnight.
The doorbell rang, echoing through the silent house.
I could ignore it. Let him think no one was home and leave. But that felt cowardly, and I was tired of being a coward.
I walked to the front door and opened it, taking in Blake's appearance. He looked perfect, as always—his dark hair still slightly messy from sleep in that effortlessly attractive way, wearing jeans and a white button-down that made his amber eyes look golden in the morning light. The roses in his hands were beautiful, probably costing more than most people spent on groceries in a month.
"Scarlett." His smile was radiant, genuine, and it made my chest ache. "I know it's early, but I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about today, about us, and I wanted to bring you these before the ceremony."
He held out the roses, and I accepted them automatically, their perfume filling the space between us.
"They're beautiful," I managed, though my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"Not as beautiful as you," he said, stepping closer and cupping my face in his hands. "God, I'm so lucky. In a few hours, you're going to officially be my fiancée, and then in six months, my wife. I can barely believe it's real."
The tenderness in his voice almost broke me. If I hadn't heard him with Victoria last night, I would have melted into his arms and told him how much I loved him. But now, all I could think about was how good he was at lying.
"Blake," I began, not sure what I was going to say.
"I know, I know, I should have called first. But I was hoping maybe we could have breakfast together? Just the two of us, before the craziness starts." His hands moved to my shoulders, his touch warm and familiar. "We could go to that little place in SoHo you love, or I could cook for you—"
"You're here early."
Victoria's voice from behind me made us both turn. She was descending the grand staircase in a silk robe and slippers, her dark hair tousled from sleep, looking like she'd just woken up.
But something about her appearance didn't add up. Her makeup was smudged, not absent—as if she'd put it on last night and slept in it. And there was something about the way she looked at Blake, a intimacy in her gaze that I'd never noticed before but now couldn't unsee.
"Victoria," Blake said, and I heard it—the slight change in his tone, the way his voice softened when he said her name. "I didn't realize you were awake."
"I couldn't sleep either," she replied, and they exchanged a look that lasted just a beat too long.
The pieces were falling into place in my mind, forming a picture I didn't want to see.
"Were you here last night?" I asked Blake, my voice carefully neutral.
"What? No, of course not. I went home after the party, just like I said I would."
But Victoria's cheeks had flushed pink, and she was avoiding my eyes.
"Victoria," I said slowly, "where did you go after the party ended?"
"I—I came straight home. You know that. I was tired from all the excitement."
They were both lying. I could see it in their body language, hear it in their voices. And suddenly, I understood why Blake's Tesla was in our driveway at 7:30 on a Sunday morning.
He hadn't gone home last night. He'd stayed here. With Victoria.
On the night before our engagement.
"I need some air," I said abruptly, setting the roses down on the hall table. I couldn't breathe in this house, surrounded by lies and pretense and the sickening sweet smell of white roses.
"Scarlett, wait—" Blake reached for my arm, but I pulled away.
"I just need a minute."
I walked out onto the front terrace, gulping in the cool October air. Behind me, I could hear Blake and Victoria whispering urgently, but I couldn't make out the words. I didn't need to. Their guilty expressions had told me everything.
They'd spent the night together. While I was lying awake thinking about their conversation, wondering how to handle the fact that they were in love with each other, they'd been together. In my family's house. Hours before my engagement ceremony.
The betrayal was so complete, so devastating, that I actually felt numb. Like my brain couldn't process this level of deception.
"Scarlett?"
I turned to find both of them standing in the doorway, Blake looking worried and Victoria looking like she might be sick.
"I think," I said quietly, "that you both need to tell me the truth."
Blake stepped forward, his expression shifting from concern to something that looked almost like panic. "Baby, what are you talking about? What truth?"
"The truth about what you were doing on the third floor last night during my engagement party. The truth about why you're here so early this morning. The truth about what's really going on between you two."
The silence that followed was deafening. I watched as they exchanged another one of those loaded glances, some kind of silent communication passing between them.
"Scarlett," Victoria said finally, her voice small, "it's not what you think."
"Really? Because what I think is that you're in love with each other, and my entire relationship has been some kind of elaborate business arrangement disguised as a romance."
Blake's face went white. "How did you—"
"I heard you," I said, my voice getting stronger as the numbness began to fade, replaced by a burning anger I'd never felt before. "Last night, in my old studio. I heard everything."
Victoria sank down onto the terrace steps like her legs had given out. "Oh god."
"How long?" I demanded, looking between them. "How long has this been going on?"
Blake ran his hands through his hair, destroying its perfect styling. "Scarlett, please, let me explain—"
"How. Long."
"Two years," Victoria whispered, not meeting my eyes.
Two years. While I'd been planning our future, choosing wedding venues, dreaming about the children we'd have together, Blake had been having an affair with my step-sister for two years.
"Two years," I repeated numbly. "And nobody thought to mention this to me?"
"It wasn't supposed to happen," Blake said desperately. "It just... did. And we tried to stop it, tried to stay away from each other, but—"
"But you love her," I finished. "You told her you love her."
"Yes," he said quietly. "I do love her. But Scarlett, I care about you too. I always have. What we have is real, even if it's different—"
"Different how?" My voice was rising now, all pretense of calm disappearing. "Different because it's based on lies? Different because I'm just the suitable wife while she's the woman you actually want?"
"That's not fair," Victoria said, finally looking up at me. "You don't understand how complicated this is—"
"Complicated?" I laughed, and it sounded hysterical even to me. "My fiancé is in love with my step-sister, and they've been sneaking around behind my back for two years. What exactly is complicated about that?"
"The families," Blake said, his business training apparently kicking in. "The merger between Winters Industries and Morrison Holdings depends on this marriage. There are contracts, agreements, jobs at stake—"
"So I'm just collateral damage in your business deal?"
"It's not like that," Victoria protested, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Then what is it like?" I demanded. "Explain it to me. Make me understand how this is anything other than the two people I trusted most in the world betraying me in the cruelest way possible."
Blake stepped forward, reaching for me again. "Scarlett, please. I know this looks bad, but—"
"Don't." I backed away from him, my hands shaking. "Don't touch me. Don't lie to me anymore."
"I'm not lying—"
"You spent last night with her!" I screamed, finally losing control completely. "The night before our engagement, you were with her! In my house! While I was lying awake thinking about how much I love you!"
The words hung in the air between us, raw and painful and true. Blake's face crumpled, and for a moment he looked like the boy I'd fallen in love with seven years ago.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "God, Scarlett, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."
"But you did it anyway," I said, tears finally starting to fall. "You hurt me anyway, because it was easier than being honest. Because it was more convenient to keep me as your perfect little fiancée while you had what you really wanted on the side."
"That's not—" Victoria started to say, but I cut her off.
"And you," I turned on her, months of buried resentment finally surfacing. "My sister. The person who was supposed to love me unconditionally, support me, protect me. You've been playing concerned sister while stabbing me in the back."
"I do love you," Victoria said, tears streaming down her face. "I never wanted this to happen. But I can't help how I feel about him, and he can't help how he feels about me—"
"You could have told me!" I shouted. "You could have been honest instead of letting me live in a fantasy world while you two laughed about how naive I was!"
"We never laughed—" Blake protested.
"No? Then what did you call it when you talked about how I'd 'make the best of it' because I always do? When you discussed your contract marriage and how I'd adapt like I always do?"
Both of them fell silent, and I knew my words had hit their mark.
"That's what I am to you," I continued, my voice breaking. "The girl who adapts. The girl who makes the best of things. The grateful little orphan who should be thankful for whatever scraps of affection you throw her way."
"Scarlett—" Blake said desperately.
"No." I wiped my eyes and straightened my shoulders, feeling something cold and hard settling in my chest. "I'm done. I'm done being grateful. I'm done adapting. And I'm done being your convenient little fiancée."
I pulled the engagement ring off my finger—the beautiful five-carat diamond that had represented all my dreams of the future—and threw it at Blake's feet.
"The engagement is off," I said clearly. "The wedding is off. Whatever business arrangement our families had is off. I'm done."
Blake stared at the ring glittering on the terrace stones, then looked up at me with something like panic in his eyes. "You can't. The contracts—the families—"
"I don't care about the contracts. I don't care about the families. I care about the fact that I just wasted seven years of my life on someone who never really loved me."
"But I do love you," he said quietly. "Maybe not the way you want, but I do care—"
"Don't," I said firmly. "Don't make this worse by pretending that what you feel for me is even in the same universe as what you feel for her."
I looked between them—Blake with his perfect features and his guilty eyes, Victoria with her tear-stained face and her silk robe that suddenly looked like the costume of a woman who'd spent the night with someone else's fiancé.
"I want you both to leave," I said calmly. "And I want you to stay away from me while I figure out how to clean up the mess you've made of my life."
"Scarlett, please," Victoria whispered. "We can fix this. We can find a way—"
"There is no way," I said. "You made your choice. Both of you. Now live with it."
I turned and walked back into the house, leaving them standing on the terrace with the ruins of what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
As I climbed the stairs to my room, I could hear them talking urgently outside, probably trying to figure out how to salvage their precious business merger. But I didn't care anymore.
For the first time in my life, I was going to put myself first.
The question was: what came next?