Chapter 4

The word “suitable” hung in the air. My father said it with a strange emphasis.

The groom's Family rank didn't matter. Looks, talent, education—none of it.

What mattered was that the man I married had to be someone Grandfather would never accept.

Someone who would make him take away my inheritance for good.

Either I married into a top‑tier family like the Shaws—powerful enough to rival the Steeles—or I married someone far from Crestfall City. Someone no one would approve of.

But before Ashton Shaw gave his permission, which Crestfall family would dare take me?

At ten‑thirty, I walked out of the Steele private clinic. My wrist had been set and wrapped in a white cast.

The night air was cold.

Two armored sedans—tinted windows, reinforced chassis, the kind that cost more than most houses—pulled up in sequence.

Noelle Steele got out, leaning on Ashton Shaw’s arm. A small bandage wrapped her fingertip. She walked with a delicate limp, brow faintly creased—the picture of fragile suffering.

Rowan Yates and Sterling Chase climbed out of the car behind them.

“Vivian?” Noelle saw me, her lashes fluttering. Her eyes quickly dropped to my right arm, hanging in a sling. “What happened to you?”

Ashton looked up at me. His gaze touched the white bandage. His brow twitched—barely.

Rowan stood beside Noelle, his lips pressed into a thin line. Sterling leaned against his car door, hands in his pockets, watching like it was entertainment.

"Dislocated wrist,” I said shortly. I started to walk past them.

“Vivian.” Noelle’s voice was soft. “I heard from Father that your wedding is set for seven days from now.”

The air went still.

Ashton’s face stiffened. “Seven days?” His voice turned cold. “Vivian, what game are you playing? When did I ever agree to a wedding?”

I stood in the shadows and said nothing.

From the time I left my father’s study until now, barely an hour had passed. Noelle had not only learned the news—she had “accidentally” told exactly the person who most needed to hear it.

"Ashton…" Noelle's eyes reddened on cue, a single tear sliding with surgical precision down her cheek. "If you and my sister are really getting married, I'll give you my blessing."

She lowered her head. "I just… didn't expect it to be so soon…"

Annoyance flickered across Ashton’s face. He looked at Rowan and Sterling. “Take Noelle inside. Don’t let her cut get infected.”

Rowan nodded without a word and stepped forward.

Sterling let out a lazy laugh. “We’ll make sure Miss Steele is well taken care of. As for you, Shaw—” he glanced at me, “you’d better be careful. Someone dislocated her wrist tonight and waited until now to see a doctor. Who knows what she’s plotting.”

Ashton’s brow furrowed.

He watched until the three of them disappeared through the clinic doors. Then he walked closer to me.

His gaze landed on the white bandage—stark against my skin in the clinic's fluorescent spill—and lingered for approximately two seconds.

He didn't ask how I'd been hurt.

"Unconfirmed rumors don't leak from your father's study without purpose," he said, ice in every syllable. "Vivian, don't play these games with me."

I looked down at my arm, at least it made the contrast crystal clear.

Some people get a paper cut—and three men mobilize like it's a declaration of war.

Others can have their bones snapped—and no one even asks what happened.

I lifted my eyes to him. “Does it matter to you?”

“Does it matter?” He almost laughed. He grabbed my chin and forced my head up. “You belong to me. Everyone in Crestfall City knows it—our Families have an understanding. A public betrothal signal. If you walk away now, you're not just breaking a promise. You're breaking a pact between crime families. That has consequences.

"His eyes burned with warning. “Cancel it.”

"If necessary, hold a press conference. Publicly clarify it's a rumor. I can pretend none of this ever happened."

“What if it’s not a rumor?”

His fingers tightened on my jaw.

"Vivian." His voice dropped—dangerous, absolute. The voice of a future Don issuing a final warning. "Don't test my patience. I am not a chess piece you can trap with a marriage. If you don't want to end things between us—stop this."

“Then let’s break up,” I said.

The air went dead.

Ashton stared at me like I had lost my mind.

He knew me too well. He knew the way I calculated every move, every word. Most of what I had learned—he had taught me himself. Over the past three years, he had shown me what lay behind the smiles of my so‑called relatives. He had taught me to be patient, to wait, to let go of unnecessary pride when the goal mattered more.

“Vivian, in this world,” he used to say, “softness and naivety are the original sins."

I had learned well. So well that now he thought even my wedding date was just another move in a game to trap him.

“Vivian, I taught you those skills to protect yourself. Now look at you. You’re no different from the people you wanted to escape.”

I listened, and I almost laughed.

Difference?

The difference was that they calculated against others, and others calculated back. But at least they knew exactly what they were doing.

And me? I had once really believed that he was teaching me so that one day I could stand beside him.

The ache in my wrist pulsed. But the last wave inside my chest went still.

"What I am now is no longer your concern." I kept my voice level. "I'd advise you to keep your distance, Shaw."

"Vivian."

His voice came from behind me—cold, certain, the tone of a man who'd never once doubted his own authority.

"You can walk away now. But the day you come crawling back to me—remember what I taught you. The prettiest surrender is pressing your own face into the dirt."

My stride didn't falter.

I got into the car. Darkness closed in around me.

My phone screen lit up in the silence.

A message from my father. Brief as a blade:

*Wedding announcement sent to all families.*

He was using public pressure and fait accompli to wall off every exit I had left.

I turned off the screen and looked out the window toward the Steele estate, where the lights blazed in every window. The household staff was already working through the night—hanging decorations, preparing the ballroom.

My groom still didn’t know who he was.

But soon, everyone would.