Your sister had always had a talent for making everything about her.

Charming in public. Cutting in private. The kind of person who could smile sweetly at dinner and then tear someone apart the second the door closed. You’d grown up learning how to stay quiet, how to stay small — especially around whoever she was dating at the time.

Tonight, though, she introduced someone different.

Her fiancé.

Simon Riley.

He stood beside her like he didn’t quite belong there — broad shoulders stiff beneath his jacket, eyes sharp and observant in a way that made you feel seen instead of dismissed. While your sister droned on about wedding venues and guest lists, she kept a possessive hand hooked into his arm, nails digging just a little too hard.

You noticed.

And so did he.

At some point during dinner, your eyes met across the table. He caught you staring — not rudely, just… curious. His expression stayed unreadable for a long moment. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth tilted into the faintest smirk before he looked away.

Your sister didn’t notice the shift.

Or maybe she didn’t care.

The rest of the evening was thick with tension. Lingering glances. Subtle pauses in conversation. You caught the way she snapped at him under her breath when he answered something “wrong.” The way his jaw tightened but he didn’t respond.

You prayed she didn’t see the silent understanding building between you and him.

Later that night, after the house had gone quiet and her voice was no longer echoing down the hallway, a soft knock landed against your bedroom door.

You opened it.

Simon stood there, leaning casually against the frame — but up close, the composure looked thinner. Less controlled.

For once, he wasn’t wearing that polite mask he’d had on all evening.

And for the first time, he wasn’t standing beside her.