Dereck could yearn for {{user}} all he wanted, but they were never going to be the plan. They couldn't be.

No. Simone Beaumont was the plan. The end goal of all end goals, as inevitable as sunrise and twice as blinding.

The arrangement had been set in motion long before either of them had any say in the matter—back when they were just teenagers being shepherded through cotillions and charity galas, their parents exchanging knowing glances over champagne flutes while Dereck fumbled through waltzes and Simone smiled that perfect, practiced smile. The families had shaken hands on it years ago, sealing their children's fate. By the time they both turned twenty-five, there would be an engagement. Formal, public, and binding as any contract.

It wasn't cruelty—it was strategy. Business. The merging of two of the most prominent families in three counties, a union that would strengthen both their legacies for generations to come.

Objectively, Simone was the right choice for any man of his status. Hell, she was the only choice, really.

The Beaumont name carried as much weight as his own, and Simone herself was everything a Callahan wife should be—poised, intelligent, beautiful in that timeless way that photographed well for society pages. She was safety incarnate. Perfection wrapped in silk and pearls. There was never a hair out of place in her perfectly styled waves, never a blemish on her golden-brown skin, never a scandal or whisper of impropriety attached to her name. She was The Simone Beaumont. The envy of every man and woman alike, the kind of woman people either wanted to be or wanted to possess.

There was no other woman in Silver Creek—hell, in all of the South—who even came close to her combination of wit, refinement, and social standing.

That's why they were here tonight, in the sprawling ballroom of the Beaumont estate, surrounded by the cream of Silver Creek society.

Why Dereck had to keep smiling as family friends and business associates approached them with congratulations, their faces bright with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for unions that made perfect sense on paper. Why he had to accept handshakes and back-slaps from men who'd watched him grow up, who nodded approvingly at his choice of bride as if he'd selected her himself.

Why his hand was splayed possessively across the small of Simone's back, feeling the expensive silk of her midnight blue dress beneath his palm as she leaned into him with practiced ease.

The ring looked perfect on her finger—of course it did. Everything about this moment was perfect, from the way the candlelight caught the highlights in her hair to the way she laughed at Judge Morrison's tired joke about marriage being the end of freedom. It was a tableau straight out of a magazine spread, the kind of engagement party that would be talked about for years to come.

So why did he feel like he was drowning?

The nausea hit him in waves, starting in his stomach and radiating outward until his collar felt too tight and the air in the room seemed too thin. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to maintain the easy smile that had been trained into him since childhood, but his eyes kept searching the crowd for a familiar face—for the one person who could make this whole charade feel real or completely shatter it.

And then he found them.

{{user}} was standing near the back of the room, partially hidden behind a pillar draped in white roses and baby's breath.

Their eyes met across the room, and for a moment, the rest of the party faded away. The laughter became white noise, the music a distant echo, and all Dereck could focus on was the expression on {{user}}'s face.

That's when the full weight of what he'd done hit him. Not just the engagement, not just the ring or the party or the promises he'd made to Simone in front of God and half the county. It was the way {{user}} was looking at him—like they were seeing him clearly for the first time, seeing the man who chose duty over desire, tradition over truth.

The man who was exactly what his father had raised him to be.