She was the kind of girl people warned you about—but always too late.

Born in the scorched silence of a dying trailer park town, her earliest memories were the scent of gasoline, her mother’s voice sharp as switchgrass, and a mirror too old to reflect innocence.

By the time she was ten, she knew how to spot a fake Chanel and how to mimic the daughters of men with too much money and not enough time to raise them. Her mother had made sure of that—stacking shifts at diners and cleaning houses just to fund ballet classes, debate team, etiquette coaching.

Anything that put her daughter in rooms where she didn’t belong, until she made them hers.

And she did. With those honey curls, lips like they were always two seconds away from saying something dangerous, and eyes that studied before they seduced. She earned her place at an Ivy League school on merit—but survival was never about being smart. It was about being remembered.

She was. She made herself into an accessory no one could afford to be without—polished, poised, dripping in casual charm. In lecture halls, at exclusive parties, yacht weekends. She was everywhere. And when it came time to graduate, she didn’t bother applying to jobs. Why punch a clock when you could wrap one around someone else’s wrist?

You were a new game—one she hadn’t played in a while. Sharp around the edges, always watching, a little more grounded than the others. That just meant she had to work harder. A challenge. She loved challenges.

The eye tag started it. You liked the chase, she knew. Her curated imperfections, the way she laughed like she hadn’t practiced it. Country clubs, shared hobbies—ones she’d rehearsed for years. A year of slipping into your world like she’d always belonged.

And she was almost there. Just one step away.

So that morning, sun streaming over eggs she didn’t eat, she said it—carelessly, but not too much so. Like it was just a thought.

“I’d love to be proposed to in Monaco,” she said, twirling her spoon. “I think it matches my vibe.”

A seed, nestled beneath the surface of your mind, where she’d watch it bloom. She had not come this far to lose. The trailer park was too far behind, and Monaco? Monaco was waiting.