CHAPTER 2.

Grace’s POV.

I stared at the woman, my brain struggling to bridge the gap between her words and my reality.

"Excuse me?" I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

She didn't scream. She didn't shout. Instead, she raised her left hand with a slow, deliberate elegance. Under the ambient glow of the restaurant lights, the diamond on her ring finger flared—a massive, cold stone that looked heavy enough to sink a ship.

"I said," she repeated, her voice smooth and venomous, "I am Ryan’s wife."

The air left my lungs as if I’d been sucker-punched. I looked at the ring, then at her face, and finally at Ryan.

I waited for him to laugh. I waited for him to push her away and tell me this was some sick prank.

But Ryan didn’t move. He sat frozen, his gaze fixed on the tablecloth, his face draining of color until he looked like a wax figure.

"Ryan?" I asked. The tremble in my voice humiliated me. "Who is she?"

The woman—Chloe—didn’t let him answer. She pulled a sleek phone from her purse, tapped the screen, and shoved it in front of my face.

"Since you seem slow to the uptake," she sneered.

I looked. I couldn't help it.

There they were. Professional wedding photos. Chloe in a lace gown that cost more than my entire tuition, and Ryan… Ryan in a tuxedo, dipping her back, smiling down at her with the same adoration he had looked at me with only moments ago.

I squinted at the date stamp in the corner of the photo. September 14th.

"That’s..." I choked. "That was three months ago. You were in London. You called me that night."

I looked at Ryan, tears blurring my vision. "You told me you were in a hotel room, missing me. You were getting married?"

"Grace, please," Ryan finally spoke. His voice was ragged, pathetic. He reached a hand toward me, but Victoria slapped it down onto the table.

"Don't you dare," she hissed at him.

"Tell me it’s not true," I begged, ignoring her. "Tell me this is a lie."

Ryan looked up then, and the shame in his eyes was the final nail in the coffin. "It’s true, Grace. But you have to listen—"

"I don't have to listen to anything!"

"It was business!" he pleaded, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. "My father and hers… our family business depended on it. I never wanted her, Grace. I wanted you. I came back to figure out a way to end it, to be with you—"

"Oh, save the Romeo act," Chloe snapped. She leaned over the table, getting into my personal space. She smelled of expensive perfume and malice.

"He married me willingly," she said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly low volume. "He signed the papers. He took the money. And now, he’s coming home."

She grabbed Ryan’s arm, her nails digging into his suit jacket. "Get up."

"Chloe—"

"I said, get up!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "Unless you want me to call your father and tell him you’re jeopardizing the deal?"

Ryan crumbled. The man I thought was my protector, my future, folded like a cheap lawn chair. He stood up, head bowed, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Grace," he whispered, "I’m sorry."

"Sorry?" Chloe laughed, a cold, sharp sound. She turned her glare on me one last time. "You’re lucky I’m letting you off with a warning. Stay away from my husband. If I see you near him again, I won't just embarrass you in a restaurant. I will bury you. Do you understand? I will ruin your life."

She yanked Ryan toward the door. He went without a fight. He walked out of the restaurant, out of my life, and he didn't look back once.

I stood there, paralyzed. The silence in the restaurant was deafening. Every fork scraping against a plate had stopped. Every conversation had died. I could feel the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes burning into my back—pity, amusement, judgment.

I felt dirty. Used.

I turned to leave, just wanting to escape the suffocating heat of the room, but a body blocked my path.

It was a waiter. He wasn't looking at me with sympathy. He was looking at the table.

"Miss," he said, his tone clipped and impatient. "The damages."

He gestured to the floor where Victoria had knocked over a wine glass in her initial storming of the table. Red wine was seeping into the carpet like a fresh wound.

"I... I didn't do that," I stammered.

"Your party caused a disturbance," he said, holding out a leather bill folder. "Management wants the bill settled and the breakage paid for. Now."

My hands shook so badly I could barely open my purse. I unlocked my phone to check my banking app.

Balance—$140.00.

The bill was $125.

I felt a frantic laugh bubbling up in my throat. I was about to be destitute.

"Fine," I whispered. I transferred the money, watching my life savings vanish in a single click.

I walked out of the restaurant with fifteen dollars to my name and a hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

The evening air was cool, but it did nothing to soothe the fever of humiliation on my skin. I walked without direction, my feet moving automatically while my mind replayed the photos. The wedding dress. The smile. The lie.

I eventually collapsed onto a bench near a bus stop, pulling my knees to my chest. I buried my face in my hands and let the tears come. They were hot and angry, racking my body with sobs.

How could my life fall apart this completely in less than two hours? My sister was dying. My parents were trying to sell me off like cattle. And the one person I thought loved me was a married fraud.

Buzz.

My phone vibrated against my leg.

I wiped my eyes frantically, sniffing. It had to be the hospital. Maybe Sarah was done with her check-up. Maybe she could tell me everything was going to be okay.

I answered without looking. "Mom?"

"Is this Grace?"

The voice was deep, masculine, and devoid of warmth.

"Yes," I croaked. "Who is this?"

"This is Officer Ben from the Central Precinct. I’m calling regarding your mother, Sarah."

My blood ran cold, the tears drying instantly on my cheeks. "Is she okay? Was there an accident?"

"No accident, Ma’am," the officer said. "She’s currently in custody. She’s been arrested."

The world stopped. "Arrested? That... that’s impossible. She’s the kindest woman in the world. What could she possibly have done?"

"I can't discuss the details over the phone," he said, his tone final. "But the charges are serious. You need to get down here. Now."

The line clicked dead.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the black screen.

My biological family wanted to use me. My fiancé had betrayed me. And now, the only mother I had ever known was behind bars.

I looked up at the sky, a cold, desperate realization settling over me. I had no money. I had no fiancé. I had no one.

Except, perhaps, the people I had run away from an hour ago.