My Trash Crush Wants Me Back!

It was the kind of day that felt borrowed from a dream-where even the air shimmered with possibility.

Sunlight spilled like molten gold across the sprawling grounds of the Lancaster estate, setting the whitewashed stone walls ablaze with warmth. The rose garden just beyond the arched windows blushed in full bloom-crimson, ivory, and blush petals dancing with each tender breeze. A symphony of birdsong echoed through the morning stillness, as if nature itself had choreographed this day to perfection.

Inside the mansion's east wing, nestled in a room that was both elegant and lived-in, Sheryl Lancaster sat before her vanity mirror. The room was a delicate canvas of pastels and gold, her private haven within a world that often felt borrowed rather than hers.

The scent of jasmine and sandalwood hung in the air, the former drifting in from the open windows, the latter from a lit candle flickering softly beside her. But despite the serenity outside, her pulse drummed with anticipation that no calm air could silence.

Today wasn't just her birthday.

Today, Sheryl turned twenty-four, and she was convinced-utterly, undeniably-that Nathaniel Drazic was going to propose.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted one of the diamond-studded hairpins securing her cascading caramel-brown curls. They were styled to perfection-half up, half down, with soft ringlets tumbling down her back, brushed with shimmer like spun sugar under the sun.

Her dress-a custom creation of lilac silk with off-the-shoulder sleeves and delicate pearl embellishments-hugged her form gracefully. The gown caught the sunlight in a way that made her glow like moonlight on water. She looked like the kind of woman fairy tales promised a happily-ever-after to.

She smiled at her reflection-a nervous, radiant smile. Her dark amber eyes sparkled with restrained hope. This wasn't just a hunch. Nathaniel hadn't said the words, but everything about his behavior lately whispered the same promise.

He had been more present, more attentive. He'd lingered longer during conversations, drawn closer during their walks, complimented her in quiet ways that made her heart clench. Last week, during dinner at the Ritz-a place too elegant for casual dinners-he'd looked her square in the eye over crème brûlée and said:

"When I propose, it'll be public. She deserves the world to see it."

And then, he'd smiled.

A real smile. One that reached those midnight-blue eyes of his.

Now, with her birthday banquet arranged in the grand Lancaster ballroom and over a hundred guests attending, the stage was perfectly set. The puzzle pieces were too obvious, too exact. This had to be it.

Her phone buzzed softly beside her jewelry box. She glanced at the screen.

Incoming Video Call: Mia & Bethany.

She tapped 'accept' and the screen blinked to life-right into chaos.

Mia's sleep-deprived face filled half the screen. Her dark curls were stuffed into a hurried bun, and she was swaying on her feet, bouncing baby Celeste in her arms like a lifeline. Behind her, the faint thump of a slammed door and a baby's angry cry painted a very different kind of fairy tale.

"Mia?" Sheryl asked, her voice gentle, her smile instinctive.

Mia exhaled, her eyes darting toward the kitchen as a male voice shouted in the background. "I'm so sorry, Sheryl. I won't be able to make it to the banquet. Alexander has this emergency board meeting-something about a hostile takeover-and Celeste's been possessed by a very angry dragon spirit today."

"Possessed?" Sheryl chuckled, though her chest ached a little. "She sounds adorable."

Mia gave a strained laugh and adjusted the baby on her hip. "She's adorable when she's asleep. Right now? She's a fire-breathing dictator."

"MI-A!" Alexander's voice boomed again from offscreen. "She spat out the pacifier again. Just go for the check-up-I've got this!"

Mia rolled her eyes, even as a hint of a smile crept in. "He's still fussing over my postnatal checkups like I'm made of glass."

"Well," Sheryl said with a warm chuckle, "you did push a tiny human into existence. That earns you diva status."

"Still, I hate missing your day." Mia's face softened. "I know how much this means to you."

Sheryl's smile wavered, but she nodded. "It's okay. Family comes first."

And she meant it. She did. Even if a small, selfish part of her wished Mia could be there-for the toast, for the potential proposal, for support. She and Mia had grown close, like sisters carved out of circumstance rather than blood. It was Mia who had made the Lancaster mansion feel less like a museum and more like a home.

Because it hadn't always been that way.

When Sheryl first arrived at the estate five years ago-after her mother's sudden death and the shocking revelation that her biological father was Gregory Lancaster-she'd been treated like a well-dressed trespasser.

Alexander, the eldest of Gregory's legitimate children, had met her at the door with a steely glare and venomous words: "You're a reminder of everything my father tried to bury. Don't mistake this house for a welcome."

Bethany had been more polite, but no less distant. She wore apathy like perfume-always present, always cool.

Only Mia, who married Alexander two years after Sheryl moved in, had dared to pull her into the circle. Slowly, gently, with brunches and shared books and late-night chats over wine and tears.

The screen shifted, and Bethany's picture-perfect face filled the other half of the call. Glossy waves of chestnut hair framed her sculpted cheekbones, and her plum-colored lips formed a grimace.

"Let me guess," Sheryl said before Bethany could speak. "You can't make it either."

Bethany winced, a hand brushing back her flawless hair. "Guilty. I got called to Paris last minute-Vogue is doing a fall feature, and the senior photographer requested me. I couldn't say no."

Sheryl's stomach tumbled, but she pasted on a smile. "Of course not. It's Vogue. You'd be crazy to skip that."

Bethany looked relieved. "You get it."

"I do," Sheryl murmured, even if a piece of her was breaking.

"We owe you," Mia cut in. "Big time. What do you say to a girls' night this weekend? Just us-no kids, no men, no phones unless we're ordering wine."

Bethany perked up. "Yes! Tequila and trashy movies. I'm in."

Sheryl let out a real laugh this time. "That sounds perfect."

They spent the next few minutes talking nonsense-Mia's new obsession with peanut butter ice cream, Bethany's disastrous encounter with a fashion blogger who mistook her for a waitress, and Sheryl's recounting of the housekeeper's battle with a rogue squirrel that got into the pantry.

It felt warm. Familiar. Almost like love.

But then the screen went dark, and the silence returned.

Sheryl sat there for a long moment, staring at her reflection again. She looked like the lead in a love story. She felt like it, too. Every inch of her was ready for something magical.

She rose slowly, smoothing her dress with trembling fingers. Her palms were cold despite the warm air. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked toward the double doors of her room.

"It's time," she whispered, as if speaking the words might steady her.

And with that, she stepped out, completely unaware that the evening she thought would end with a ring on her finger... would instead rip her heart to pieces.