Introduction

My fiancé, Liam, fidgeted, his parents stone-faced across the coffee shop table.

Just weeks after celebrating our pregnancy, his mother, Susan, dropped a bombshell: our $380,000 dowry was slashed to $52,000, and our lavish hotel wedding was downgraded to a backyard BBQ.

They thought I was trapped, a pregnant woman with no choice but to accept this humiliation.

As I escaped to the restroom, I overheard their cruel laughter, confirming my deepest fears: my baby was a bargaining chip, and I was "damaged goods" they had to "take in."

Liam, my fiancé, stood by, silent and complicit, solidifying the cold realization that the man I loved was gone.

My heartbreak was immense, but beneath it, a simmering rage began to build.

No, I would not be their pawn.

I wiped my tears, smoothed my dress, and returned to the table with a new plan.

They wanted to play a game?

Fine.

But I would write the rules.

The cage door was open.

But they were the ones about to be trapped inside with me.