Accidental Claim

“Today is the day but where the hell are you, Yuri Carson?!”

My left eyebrow rose as I glanced at my phone mounted on the dashboard holder. I didn’t like her tone. In a decade of friendship, she had never cursed at me, raised her voice, or called me by my full name.

“I’ve prepared everything! It’s all ready—except you!” she complained.

“Calm down, Cara Ross,” I shot back, using her full name to make my point. She should get the hint. “I’m already in the parking lot, but I can’t find an open spot. Are you sure you’ve prepped everything?”

“Of course! I promised I’d handle everything, and when have I ever broken a promise?” she retorted. “I even reserved a parking spot for you. You’re the star of today’s event, after all. Besides, the mall is packed—maybe someone stole your spot. Some hardheaded fans of yours—”

“They aren’t hardheaded, Cara,” I interrupted. “And they aren't just fans. They’re my readers. My lily pads.”

“Yeah, whatever—”

“Please sign here, Light Lily! I’ve been reading your work since 2021!” someone on her side of the line blurted out.

My brow furrowed. “Did the book signing already start?”

“What? Of course not!” A spike of panic leaked into her voice, but she quickly smoothed it over. “How could it start when you aren't even here yet?”

“Are you sure—”

“Just get inside already. The line is getting longer, so I’ll entertain them for now,” she dismissed, cutting the call before I could push further.

I shook my head to get rid of the thought and continued driving. I had already circled the lot twice without finding the reserved spot. Giving up, I pulled the car over and flagged down a nearby security guard.

“The reserved spot for Light Lily is already taken by her own car,” the guard informed me.

I frowned. “You’re mistaken. I am Light Lily.” I pointed to myself.

She looked at me, scanning my outfit with blatant disdain. I glanced down at my white shirt, worn jeans, and loafers. I didn’t see the problem.

“There’s no way the famous anonymous author shows up to her first-ever book signing looking like that and driving a piece of junk,” she scoffed, nodding mockingly at the car behind me.

“With all due respect, my car may be old and secondhand, but it was bought with the countless sleepless nights, blood, sweat, and tears of every cliffhanger, twist, and turn in my novels,” I defended softly. “What exactly do you think Light Lily’s car looks like?”

“That.” She pointed at the pink Lamborghini near the back entrance. “That’s more like her.”

It was Cara’s car. A gift from her parents for her eighteenth birthday.

“That’s my best friend’s car—”

“First you claim to be Light Lily, and now you’re claiming to be the best friend? Delusional.” The guard shook her head and walked away.

Before I could argue further, tail lights flashed as a car pulled out nearby. I swiftly returned to my car, pulled into the open space, and hurried toward the mall. As I passed the guard, she offered me a pitying, mocking smile, but I kept my eyes fixed ahead.

I reached the main atrium where the event was being held. From a distance, I spotted a group of girls, each holding a book. Even from afar, I recognized the cover design immediately—it was my novel. A flutter of warmth filled my chest, and my lips rapidly stretched a smile.

The smile slowly faded as I drew closer. Their brows were furrowed, their lips drawn into tight lines. They looked furious.

“She sounds so sweet in her author’s notes and online, but she’s so rude in person,” a short-haired girl snapped.

“It’s like she’s a completely different person,” another with round glasses added, shaking her head.

A third girl abruptly stopped walking. She pulled her book against her chest, hugging it tight as her shoulders began to shake with heavy sobs. Her friends instantly crowded around her, rubbing her back and trying to comfort her.

I stepped forward, panic tightening in my chest. “Is everything okay? What happened—”

“I hate Light Lily!” the crying girl sobbed, throwing the book to the floor right at my feet.

I froze. The words hit me like a physical blow. I watched her cry her eyes out, sinking to her knees as her friends pulled her up.

“If you hate her, we all hate her,” one girl declared, and the others murmured in bitter agreement before walking away.

My chest felt tight. With trembling hands, I crouched down and picked up the discarded novel. I brushed the dust off the cover and carefully straightened the bent pages, opening it to the dedication flyleaf—the spot meant for a clean, heartfelt signature.

My breath caught in my throat.

Tracing the ink with a shaking fingertip, I read the scrawled signature aloud in a whisper.

“C-Cara Ross...”

Before my brain could fully process the sight of her name on my book, the sharp feedback of a microphone rang through the atrium speakers.

“Thank you so much, everyone!” Cara’s voice echoed across the crowded mall, bright, radiant, and amplified.

I snapped my head toward the stage. There she stood—decked out in a head-turning designer dress, beaming under the spotlights behind a banner that read: LIGHT LILY BOOK SIGNING.

“Before we sign the next batch,” Cara continued, placing a hand over her heart with practiced grace, “I want to pause and take a moment to thank the absolute man of my life. The person who supported me through every late night and every single chapter of this novel…”

Everything inside me went cold.

“…Jude Harrington.”

Jude? My Jude Harrington?

My chest constricted so tight I couldn’t breathe. Jude was my boyfriend for twelve years. He was the one who held me while I cried over writer’s block, the one who promised he’d always be in my corner. He was supposed to be outside the country for work. He said their business trip was extended for another three days. He said he couldn’t make it. What is he doing here? Why is he suddenly here?

The crowd erupted into cheers as Jude stepped onto the stage, dressed in a sharp suit, carrying a massive bouquet of red roses.

My ears started ringing. I dropped the book, shoved past a group of murmuring readers, and began cutting through the sea of people.

“Excuse me—let me through!” I gasped, pushing past bodies, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

This isn’t happening. This is a nightmare. It has to be.

The closer I got to the stage, the louder the crowd roared—until suddenly, the noise cascaded into a collective, breathless gasp.

A sudden, heavy silence fell over the entire atrium.

I broke through the front line of the crowd and froze.

There, under the warm glow of the stage lights, Jude wasn’t just handing her the flowers. He was down on one knee. He held an open velvet box, a diamond ring sparkling beneath the lights, his eyes filled of devotion as he looked up at my best friend.

“Cara Ross,” Jude’s voice echoed clearly through the mic, “will you marry me?”