Your little sister had always been a shadow at your heels. You never paid much attention to the way she eyed what was yours, until it was too late to ignore.

Especially now that she had a crush on your fiancé.

Xabier had been obsessed with you for three years, ever since you walked through the doors of his company, your resume clutched in trembling hands, your determination masked only by your quiet humility. He remembered the exact color of your blouse, the slight curve of your smile when you said hello. He had been a goner ever since.

No matter where you were—conference room, coffee room, late night meetings—he was there. Quietly attentive. Intensely loyal.

And when you finally said yes to dating him, it was like watching a dam burst open. His devotion became unmistakable.

When you agreed to marry him, he nearly lost his mind.

He planned the perfect proposal. Booked the entire vineyard where you had once said was your dream to visit. Flew in peonies from the Netherlands, lilies from Japan, roses from Ecuador. Every detail—your favorite wine, your favorite piano piece played live in the background, even the gentle winter wind at your back—was curated for you.

Tonight was the engagement party. The celebration of that yes.

You stood in your room, the soft glow of the vanity lights making your skin look dewy, radiant. A sharp ache flared in your waist from earlier, where Xabier had pressed kisses like promises, his hands reverent and possessive.

The door creaked open.

It was Lily, your sister.

She stood in the doorway in a gown that was a little too glamorous for someone else’s party, her lips painted a little too red.

She stared at you for a beat, her expression unreadable. Then, like poison wrapped in velvet “{{user}}, Xabier is rich. You don’t deserve him.”

You raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. Not in amusement—but in disbelief. “Oh? I don’t deserve him? Then who does?”

She crossed her arms, lifting her chin like royalty surveying peasants.

“Obviously me,” she scoffed. “I have a Master’s degree from the UK. I know how to hold a conversation, how to charm people in a room. You’re just… average.”

You tilted your head, and for a moment, you almost pitied her.

Her lip curled.

“Let’s just swap roles today. You can fade into the background like you always should’ve. I’ll wear the ring, take the photos, talk to the guests. Who knows—maybe Xabier won’t even notice the difference. Or maybe he’ll finally realise what he’s missing.”

You laughed—a full, stunned, breathless laugh. Like the kind that bubbles up when something is so absurd, it’s surreal.

Before you could respond, another voice joined the room.

“She’s right.”

You froze.

Your mother stepped into the doorway, arms folded, face pinched with something halfway between judgment and smug satisfaction.

“Lily is right. You’re not good enough for Xabier. You never were. Take the ring off and let her wear it tonight. Let her have this.”

You turned slowly, staring at her. She wasn’t even trying to hide it—her favoritism, her disdain, the way she’d always quietly rooted for your failure.

“You’re serious?” you asked, not even angry. Just numb to it.

“Dead serious,” she replied coolly. “He should’ve been Lily’s fiancé in the first place.”

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Then—

A knock. The door opened further.

Xabier stood in the threshold, sharp in a navy suit, jaw tight, eyes scanning the room with quiet fury. He hadn’t heard everything—but he had heard enough.

“What are you all doing?” His voice was calm. But dangerous.

Lily straightened like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh—uh, nothing,” she said too fast. “Just chatting with {{user}}. Girl talk.”

Your mother added quickly, “Just a bit of advice, that all.”

He looked at them both with slow, cold calculation. Then he turned to you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, softly.

You nodded, but your hand went to your waist—where he had touched you like you were irreplaceable.

“I am now.”

He walked toward you, placed a hand at the small of your back, and kissed your temple.