Chapter 1
The yacht party was rocking for Valentine's Day, but my jerk of a boyfriend Dylan Grant had the nerve to dare me to confess to his uncle.
"Go ahead and tell my uncle you are into him," he jeered. "If he actually falls for you, congrats. You have hit the jackpot with the Grant family. I will have to bow and call you Mrs. Stone the next time we meet."
His precious dream girl, Vivian Carter, smirked beside him. She was fresh off their cringey arm-in-arm iced latte "wedding toast" moment.
My fist closed around the luxury watch in my pocket, a peace offering that had cost me two months of pay. Too bad my heart was already shredded.
Then, like some bizarre reality TV subtitle, words flashed across my vision.
A: [Ugh, trash men like him deserve the curb. Hey girl, why not go for the uncle instead? That man is the real catch. He has been into you for years and ditched his life abroad just to chase you.]
Staring at Dylan's smug face, I sucked in a breath, flipped my skirt to flash a killer leg, and shot back at him. "Challenge accepted. When this works out, I will be the one stuffing your Christmas cards with cash myself."
It was day seven of our cold war. This was our last Valentine's Day after four years together. He had "graciously" invited me to his company's yacht bash.
I had come clutching that stupid watch. Two months of waitressing wages went down the drain. It was a birthday gift I had chickened out of giving last time, and how pathetic that was.
Then I stepped on deck just in time to see him pull Vivian into his chest, shielding her from champagne spray like some rom-com hero.
Later, during Truth or Dare, Vivian "accidentally" lost and had to do a bridal-style toast. With a fake pout, she grabbed two iced coffees and slinked over to Dylan.
"Mr. Grant," she sang in a singsong voice while batting her lashes. "Feeling dangerous tonight?"
He just raised a brow, and that infuriating smirk played on his lips.
Bold as hell, she pressed a cup to his mouth and linked arms with him like they were saying vows. My pulse thundered so loud that I could hear it.
He showed zero hesitation. He took the straw between his teeth like it was nothing.
Vivian drained her cup with a giggle and then flopped against him. "Mmm, soooo sweet," she purred.
The gift box creaked in my death grip. Rage burned through me. I lunged, ripped the empty cup from her hand, and spiked it into the trash like a volleyball.
"Need a man that bad? I will find you ten on Tinder. Stop glomming onto mine."
A dead silence fell. Every head snapped toward us like a horror movie jump-scare.
Vivian's face turned red and then white, like a flickering neon sign.
Dylan shoved me back with a snarl. "What the hell is wrong with you? It is just a stupid game. Why are you acting like it is life or death?"
His lip curled in disgust. "You still cannot even get a job, and now you are causing a scene?" His voice turned venomous. "I invited you here to make connections, not to embarrass me in front of everyone."
With Dylan's backing, Vivian regained her smug confidence. She giggled behind her hand, and her voice dripped with fake sweetness. "Oh, Nia Vale, do not be so dramatic. Dylan is just looking out for you." She batted her lashes. "If you are really struggling, Dylan can always hook you up. Just like he did for little old me."
Dylan sprawled back in the booth and crossed his legs with arrogant ease. He looked me up and down like I was trash stuck to his shoe. "She is not in your league. You went to Harvard. She is just a pretty face." His laugh was cold. "A woman who cannot pay her own bills is nothing but a burden."
I stood there numb, with the sea wind whipping at my skirt while my heart turned to stone.
What they did not know was simple. I was not unemployed because no one wanted me. I had been top of our class every damn year.
