The Van der Bilt townhouse gleamed with polished marble, crystal chandeliers, and a silence that felt heavier than gold. You stood beside Nate, watching him straighten his tie in the hallway mirror before his family’s dinner party.

“You sure about this?” you whispered.

He gave a half-smile, the kind that never reached his eyes. “I’ve survived worse.”

You both knew what tonight was about. His family wanted him to meet her—the “appropriate” girl from an equally powerful lineage. A future senator’s daughter. Someone with a trust fund and a name that fit next to Archibald like it was printed there by destiny.

You, on the other hand, were anything but their version of perfect.

You worked hard, came from the outside, and Nate’s grandmother already made it clear that you were “a phase” he’d soon outgrow.

The clinking of silverware echoed through the dining room. You felt eyes on you—the subtle glances, the polite smiles. And across the table, the girl in question: all elegance and calculation.

“So,” she said sweetly, “you and Nate have known each other how long?”

You smiled politely. “Almost a year.”

Nate’s hand brushed yours under the table. “A great year,” he added, tone firm, defiant.

You caught the flicker in his grandmother’s gaze. “Nate, dear, let’s not exaggerate. These young romances are charming, but fleeting.”