Chapter 3

When the prenuptial agreement was delivered to our house, Elliot had the driver bring two copies.

One was for me, and the other was for the Fitzgeralds' legal team. The document was as thick as a book, its cover embossed with the official emblem of the Fitzgerald Group.

After receiving the agreement, I flipped directly to the last few pages. Sitting right next to me, Poppy immediately copied my movement and flipped straight to the back, too.

She pretended to read with great focus, but she couldn't understand a single word. Before even finishing two pages, she secretly flipped back to the front, her eyes lighting up as she caught a few specific lines.

"Spousal rights. Mrs. Fitzgerald’s active involvement. Joint operations." She read aloud, acting as though she had already secured a seat on the board of the Fitzgerald Group.

I gave her a quiet warning. "You need to read the back of the contract. Especially the fine print."

Poppy snapped the document shut. "Willow, stop trying to scare me. If you don't want to marry into the family, don't block someone else's way."

"Fine," I replied, watching the agreement in her hands. She copied the exact way I flipped through the pages, though it was too bad she never learned to read the words.

When the attorney, Mike, asked for my signature next to the acknowledgment page, I picked up the pen and tested my signature on a sticky note.

I always had a habit of pausing for a split second before signing. The last letter of "Willow" always flicked upward, while the tail end of "Palmer" was pressed down lightly.

Poppy stared so intently at my hand that even Mike noticed.

The moment I set the pen down, Poppy grabbed it right away and tested her stroke on a sticky note, too. Stroke by stroke, she copied my exact signature and wrote, "Willow Palmer".

"Why are you writing my name?" I asked.

Poppy’s hand trembled slightly as she quickly crumpled up the sticky note. "I was just trying it out. You're not going to ban me from copying your handwriting now, are you?"

Mom frowned. "Poppy always loved copying your handwriting when you were kids. She's just playing around."

"Go on," I nodded.

Then, I discreetly pulled out my phone and took a photo of the crumpled paper inside the trash bin. She loved copying my signature, and the closer her copy was to the original, the easier it would be to recognize later on.

Mike slid the agreement back into his binder and gently reminded Poppy, "Ms. Poppy, you shouldn't be handling this document freely."

Poppy insisted on holding onto it, anyway. She even imitated what I had just done, hovering the tip of the pen over the blank above the signature line without letting it touch the paper.

"If I were Mrs. Fitzgerald, would I be signing here, too?"

"Only the actual spouse signs," Mike replied coldly.

Poppy’s ears flushed bright red, but she deliberately turned to ask me, "Willow, do you get nervous when you sign your name?"

"No," I said.

She let out a small laugh. "Makes sense. You just don't treasure what you have. Meanwhile, some people don't even get the chance to sign."

I stared at the pen in her hand. "You'll get your chance."

That afternoon, Diana sent someone to inform us about the wedding menu tasting. I chose not to go, so Poppy immediately stepped up. "I'll go in Willow's place! I know everything she likes."

She pulled out her phone to show off the list of food preferences she had secretly copied down from me. The first line read "Can eat spicy food", but right beneath it, tucked inside parentheses, was a small line she had missed: "Severe seafood and spicy crab allergy".

When my eyes caught that line on her phone screen, my fingertips tapped lightly against the rim of my teacup.

She wanted to copy my taste for spicy food. It's too bad she only learned "can eat spicy food" and completely missed "allergic".

The menu tasting was attended by Diana, the wedding planner, the executive chef, and the hospitality team. Poppy started a video call to show me the setup, deliberately panning the camera across the long table before coming to a rest right on her own face.

"Willow, look! Elliot had me sit right next to the head seat."

I leaned back against my headboard. "That’s nice."

Diana suddenly asked, "Does your sister like spicy food?"

Poppy replied instantly with a bright smile. "She does! I love spicy food, too. In fact, I can handle spice way better than Willow can."

Diana raised her hand slightly to the kitchen staff. "Bring over that spicy crab dish."

The chef quickly served a plate of bright red, fiery crabs. The oil glistened at the bottom of the plate, looking violently spicy even through the phone screen.

"Then why don't you give it a taste?" Diana said.

Poppy’s smile froze for a fraction of a second. She had never handled spicy food since she was a kid, and a single bite would make her lips swell up.

But refusing to back down, she picked up a piece of crab meat and shoved it into her mouth. Tears immediately welled up from the intense heat, and the tip of her nose turned bright red, yet she still forced herself to nod through the pain.

"It’s delicious. Willow will definitely love it."

Less than ten minutes later, her lips swelled up, slurring her words. The wedding planner held back a laugh, her head down, while the chef quickly offered her a glass of water.

"Ms. Poppy, this doesn't look like you can handle spice," the chef noted. "It looks like an allergic reaction."

Diana's expression turned stern. "You can't even get her food preferences right, yet you dare to make decisions on behalf of the bride?"

Poppy covered her mouth, tears of pain streaming down her face. But then Diana added another line. "Though you are more willing to endure hardship and much more cooperative than your sister."

Poppy’s eyes lit up again. Even while suffering through excruciating pain, she genuinely believed she had won.

That night, Elliot called. "Have Poppy come over to the Fitzgerald estate tomorrow. She can get familiar with the details of the agreement in advance."

Holding an ice pack over her mouth, Poppy asked in a muffled voice, "Did Elliot really say that?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

Though her lips were swollen like sausages, she still insisted on smiling.

She loved copying me so much, so I’d make sure she got to copy every single bit of it.