“I’m marrying your sister.”
Ethan Prescott leaned close enough for his cologne to crawl across my skin, whispering the words like a knife pressed carefully between my ribs. The restaurant lights glowed warm around us, but every face at the table waited for me to shatter. My mother held her wineglass too tightly. Chloe stared at her engagement ring. And Ethan smiled with the confidence of a man who thought he’d already won.
Then I lifted my glass and said, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear:
“Good. I’m dating the head of the mafia.”
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