Chapter 3

Ethan froze for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound.

"Are you trying to bluff me, Emily? Seriously?" He gestured around the remnants of the party. "Everyone in this city knows you've been obsessed with me since we were teenagers. You wouldn't marry anyone else."

He ticked off his brothers on his fingers. "My sister, Chloe, married that Italian count and lives in Tuscany. My other sister, Beatrice, is a recluse who paints depressing modern art in a loft downtown. And my younger brother, Daniel? He's currently enjoying the hospitality of the federal prison system for insider trading. You planning on conjugal visits, Emily?"

He paused, a cruel smirk spreading across his face as if a particularly nasty thought had just occurred to him. "Unless... you're thinking of my dear cousin, Noah Carter?"

He scoffed. "Right. The charity case. The son of those disgraced CIA agents. Good luck with that. He probably doesn't even own a decent suit."

His friends snickered.

I remained silent, letting him dig his own grave. His arrogance was astounding. He truly believed he was the only option, the only prize.

"Look, Emily," Ethan continued, his tone becoming condescendingly placating, "I get it. You're upset about Sophia. But you have to understand, her father... well, your uncle, Robert, he was a disaster. Gambled away everything, left her mother with nothing but debts. It's not Sophia's fault she was born on the wrong side of the blanket. My family, *our* family, we took her in. You Winstons did too, eventually. She's had a hard life. You shouldn't hold her parentage against her."

His words were a twisted distortion of the truth. Robert Winston, my father's younger brother, hadn't just been a gambler. He'd been a con artist, a leech who'd systematically defrauded dozens of people, including his own family, before disappearing. Sophia's mother wasn't some innocent victim; she was a known associate of Robert's, a grifter in her own right. Their actions had brought shame and significant financial strain to the Winstons. The idea that Sophia was some blameless waif was laughable.

The pain of those memories, the humiliation my grandfather had endured, the whispers that had followed our family for years – it all came rushing back.

"A hard life?" I finally said, my voice tight. "My Uncle Robert and his associate didn't just leave her mother with debts, Ethan. They ruined lives. They destroyed families. My grandfather spent years cleaning up their mess, personally compensating their victims to salvage what was left of the Winston name. Sophia has lived a life of privilege bought with the suffering of others. Don't you dare try to paint her as a victim to me."

Ethan looked taken aback by my vehemence, then his expression hardened.

"Always so dramatic, Emily. Holding onto grudges." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He tossed it onto the table in front of me. "Here. A little something for your birthday."

It was a pair of vintage sapphire cufflinks. My father's. I'd given them to Ethan years ago, during one of our early, more hopeful periods. He'd worn them once, then declared them "too old-fashioned." I, like a fool, had treasured them, kept them hidden away.

Sophia giggled, leaning against Ethan. "Oh, Ethan, are those the ones you said looked like something out of a museum? How... sentimental of you to give them to Emily."

My hand closed around the box. The cool velvet felt alien. I remembered the day I gave them to him, the naive hope in my heart. I remembered him casually discarding them.

I stood up, walked to the nearby trash receptacle – one of an elegant, discreet design, of course – and dropped the box inside. The soft thud was surprisingly final.

Ethan's face contorted with rage. "You ungrateful little..."

Before he could finish, Sophia, seeing her chance with Ethan momentarily distracted, sidled up to me as he fumed. Her voice was a venomous whisper, all pretense of sweetness gone.

"He'll always come back to me, you know. You can have the ring, the name, but he'll be in my bed. I'll take everything from you, Emily. Everything you think is yours."

I looked down at her, this creature of malice and ambition.

"You know, Sophia," I said, my voice calm, almost conversational, "for someone who claims to be so irresistible, you spend an awful lot of time worrying about the competition. Enjoy your scraps. They're all you'll ever get."

I turned and walked away, leaving her sputtering in indignation.