Across the Red Carpet

As New Years Eve fireworks lit Monaco Harbor, Preston proposed to me before thirty thousand people.

Tears streamed down my face when I said yes.

By morning, gossip headlines told another story: Crawford Heir Caught on Yacht with Mysterious WomanHis Fiances Best Friend?

The video showed him at the stern of a luxury yacht, arm around my best friend, her dress whipped by the sea breeze.

Timestamp: one hour before he proposed.

I checked it three times. Hed stepped off her yacht, crossed straight to the plaza, and knelt before the salt on his trousers had even dried.

Harpers message appeared seconds later:

Taken out of contextwe were just talking.

Help Preston with the PR mess first. Ill explain once it blows over.

If his reputation tanks, your families merger is finished.

I locked my phone and tossed it onto the sofa.

Salt-bitter harbor wind poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Our engagement gala was in three days.

I dialed the Lancaster heirthe Crawfords fiercest rival.

He picked up on the second ring, as if expecting me.

Mr. Lancaster, I said evenly, are you open to a marriage of convenience?

...

"Did you post the clarification statement?"

Preston pushed open the door to my penthouse suite. He did not even bother taking off his coat.

Harper trailed in right behind him. They both carried the distinct, damp scent of the ocean.

I sat motionless on the sofa, my fingers still wrapped around the phone I had just used to call Roman Lancaster.

"The PR department drafted a statement." Preston walked over and casually tossed a few sheets of paper onto the coffee table. "Just say the three of us went out on the yacht together yesterday afternoon. Tell them the video is maliciously edited."

His tone was flat and commanding. He expected me to fall in line, just like I always did.

I lowered my eyes to the crisp white paper. "The three of us?"

"Obviously." Preston frowned in annoyance. "This stupid rumor has been trending all morning. The Crawford stock is already taking a hit."

Harper stepped out from behind him. Her eyes were red and swollen.

"Cici, I am so, so sorry." She took a hesitant step forward. "I was in a really dark place yesterday. Preston was worried I might do something drastic, so he took me out on the water to clear my head."

She reached out to grab my hand. I shifted my weight and dodged her touch.

Her hand froze in midair. She bit her lower lip and looked up at Preston with wide, helpless eyes.

"That is enough, Cici." Preston's face darkened instantly. "Harper came all the way here to apologize to you in person. Who exactly are you giving attitude to?"

I slowly raised my head and locked eyes with him.

"One hour before you proposed to me, you were on her yacht. You ran over to the plaza and got down on one knee while your clothes were still damp from her boat?"

A flicker of guilt flashed through Preston's eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by his usual arrogant defense.

"I was talking her down!" he snapped. "She was recently diagnosed with mild depression. She was standing at the edge of the deck saying she wanted to jump. Was I supposed to just let her die?"

The louder he spoke, the more righteous he sounded. He made it seem like I was the cold-blooded monster for even questioning him.

"I calmed her down, and I rushed straight to the plaza to see you without wasting a single second. I did not even stop to change my clothes just so I would not miss the countdown. What more do you want from me?"

Harper sniffled. A single, perfectly timed tear rolled down her cheek.

"Cici, please don't be mad at him. It is all my fault. I had no idea there were paparazzi watching us. Your official engagement party is in three days. Please don't let a pathetic, single girl like me ruin your mood."

She aggressively wiped at her eyes and forced a pitiful smile. "I will go post a video right now. I will tell everyone the woman in the video is not me."

"Come back." Preston grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind him.

He turned his cold, furious gaze back to me.

"You know her startup is in the middle of a crucial funding round. If she gets labeled as a homewrecker, her entire career is over."

I stared at his hand. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around Harper's delicate wrist.

"So her life is over if she gets labeled a homewrecker," I said quietly. "What about me? I am supposed to issue a public statement admitting I am completely blind? That I am perfectly happy playing the fool in your little twisted love triangle?"

Preston let go of Harper and ripped at his tie in frustration.

"Do you have to be this unreasonable? You know exactly how much money is riding on this marriage between our families. Now is not the time to throw a jealous tantrum."

He grabbed a silver pen from the table and practically shoved it into my hand.

"Sign the authorization form. Let the PR team post the statement from your account."

The tip of the pen pressed into the paper, bleeding a small black dot into the white page.

I looked up at the man I had loved for five years.

Five years ago, he dragged me through the pouring rain across three city blocks just to buy me a freshly baked almond croissant because I was having a bad day. Back then, he told me he would never let the world give me a single ounce of grief.

Now, he was telling me I was just throwing a tantrum.

I gripped the pen and signed my name on the dotted line.

Preston's rigid posture relaxed slightly. "There. That is the sensible Crawford bride I know."

He checked his watch. "I have a dinner meeting tonight. You should take Harper to the boutique to pick out the bridesmaid dress she is going to wear for our party."

I dropped the pen and pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser to clean my fingers. "No. I am tired."

Preston's brow furrowed again. He opened his mouth to argue, but Harper quickly tugged on his sleeve.

"It is fine, Preston. I can go by myself. Cici had a shock today. Let her rest."

Preston let out a heavy sigh and patted the back of her hand. "You are always so considerate."

He looked back at me, his eyes turning icy once more. "You better spend the night reflecting on your attitude. Do not even think about bringing this mood to the engagement party."

The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind them.

I picked up the signed authorization form, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it into the trash can.

My phone screen lit up. It was a text from an unsaved number.

"City Hall. Tomorrow morning at nine."

"Since the misunderstanding is cleared up, lend your tiara to Harper for the day."

Preston's voice crackled through the phone speaker. In the background, I could hear the fawning voices of luxury boutique attendants.

My hand froze around my water glass. "Excuse me? What did you just say?"

"I said, Harper is trying on bridesmaid dresses right now, but none of the boutique's accessories look right on her." His tone was casual, completely devoid of empathy. "I remembered you sent your diamond tiara in for polishing. Let's just pull it out so she can wear it for the fitting."

That tiara.

It was a diamond necklace, the only thing my mother left me before she died. When Preston was preparing to propose, he hired a master jeweler from Milan to dismantle the necklace and reset the diamonds into an intricate, breathtaking tiara.

When he placed it on my head, he had looked into my eyes and whispered, "This is your mother's blessing. I want you to wear it and be the most beautiful bride in the world."

And now, he wanted to casually toss that blessing to Harper.

"No." My voice came out cracked and hollow.

"Cici, why are you starting drama again?" Preston's voice immediately dropped into a harsh growl. "She is just borrowing it for one day to take some photos. It is not like she is keeping it."

"Harper has suffered so much online abuse lately. What is the big deal if I try to make her feel a little better?"

I took a deep breath. My stomach churned with violent nausea.

"If she feels wronged, you can buy her the most expensive piece of jewelry in that entire store. But you have absolutely no right to use my dead mother's memory to play the generous savior."

The line went dead silent for two seconds.

Then, Harper's soft, fragile voice filtered through. "Preston, just forget it. I knew Cici would be angry. It is her mother's heirloom. Someone like me does not deserve to touch it."

That was all it took to ignite Preston's fury.

"Cici, you are crossing the line! I was just informing you out of courtesy. I already sent my assistant to the jeweler to pick it up. Do you genuinely enjoy making things so ugly between us?"

I slammed my glass down onto the marble counter. The sharp crack echoed through the kitchen.

"Preston, if your assistant touches that tiara, this wedding is off!"

The line clicked. He hung up on me.

I stared at the black screen, my fingernails digging so hard into my palms that they threatened to draw blood.

He always did this. Every single time Harper shed a tear, he abandoned me without a second thought.

Six months ago, I was hospitalized with acute gastroenteritis. I was writhing in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. When I called him, his first words were, "Harper's apartment lost power and she is terrified of the dark. I have to stay with her."

I was in so much pain I nearly blacked out. I had to call an Uber to the emergency room alone.

When I finally walked out of the hospital at three in the morning, I saw his newest post on social media. It was a picture of Harper sleeping peacefully with her cat. The caption read: "The poor thing is finally feeling safe."

Back then, I asked myself why I kept swallowing the pain.

I did it because the very next morning, he showed up at my bedside with my favorite breakfast, his eyes red with guilt, begging for my forgiveness. He swore Harper was just a sister to him. He swore I was his only love.

I was so desperate to hold onto the warmth he used to give me that I hypnotized myself into believing him.

I picked up my phone and called the jewelry boutique.

"I am so sorry, Miss," the manager said apologetically. "Mr. Crawford's assistant picked up the piece twenty minutes ago."

I ended the call and sank to the floor. It was all just so utterly absurd.

Half an hour later, Harper updated her Instagram story.

In the photo, she was wearing a spectacular white gown. Resting perfectly on her head was my mother's diamond tiara. Under the boutique's bright lights, the diamonds sparkled like shattered glass.

Preston was the first to like the photo. His comment was just three words: "Perfect for you."

I stared at the picture for a long time. Then, with a numb, terrifying calm, I took a screenshot and saved it to my camera roll.

A sharp cramp suddenly twisted my stomach. I curled into a ball on the rug, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead.

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence.

Assuming it was the concierge, I forced myself up and dragged my feet to the entryway.

I opened the door to find a tall, unfamiliar man in a sharp black suit. He was holding a velvet box trimmed in gold.

"Miss Cici, Mr. Lancaster requested I deliver this to you."

I clutched my stomach, my voice weak. "Who?"

"Mr. Roman Lancaster," the man replied, bowing his head respectfully. "Mr. Lancaster said he does not want you wearing anything that another woman has tainted."

He popped the velvet box open.

Resting inside was a ruby crown. It was heavier, bolder, and a hundred times more radiant than the tiara in Harper's photo.

"Tomorrow," the man said softly. "He expects you to wear this when you meet him."

The night before the engagement gala.

I received a cold summons to the Crawford family estate.

The moment I stepped into the grand living room, I saw Mrs. Crawford sitting rigidly on the vintage leather sofa. Preston stood stiffly beside her. Harper was curled up in an armchair, her eyes red and puffy.

The atmosphere was as oppressive as a criminal tribunal.

"Kneel."

Mrs. Crawford did not even lift her eyes. She just coldly spun the diamond ring on her finger.

I stood exactly where I was. I looked at them with ice in my veins. "Excuse me, Mrs. Crawford. What is the meaning of this?"

"What is the meaning?" She slammed her hand down on the coffee table. "You have the nerve to ask me that?"

"You hired a troll farm to drag Harper's name through the mud! You paid people to call her a homewrecker online! The entire city is tearing the Crawford family apart, and our stock dropped another three percent today!"

She stood up, pointing a trembling finger at me. "How could our family ever accept such a vicious, toxic woman through our doors?"

I furrowed my brow and looked directly at Preston. "I never hired any internet trolls."

Preston let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Still lying?"

He threw a stack of printed bank transfers onto the floor at my feet.

"My PR team tracked the payments. The account that wired the money to the troll farm belongs to your former assistant!"

Preston's eyes were blazing with self-righteous fury. "I know you are jealous of how much I care about Harper. But you do not get to use my family's reputation to vent your pathetic, personal rage!"

I glanced down at the papers. The name on the account did belong to my old assistant.

But I had fired that assistant three months ago for stealing from my purse. And from what I heard, she immediately got a job at Harper's startup company.

I shifted my gaze to Harper.

She was staring at the floor, wiping away invisible tears, her shoulders trembling. She looked like the ultimate, helpless victim.

"Do not bother investigating," I said, pulling my gaze away. "If you are determined to convict me, evidence does not matter anyway."

"Shut your mouth!" Mrs. Crawford screamed.

"Tomorrow is the engagement gala. The only way to fix this nightmare is for you to start a live stream right now. You are going to apologize to Harper in front of the entire internet!"

"You will tell the public that you manufactured this entire scandal out of jealousy. You will tell them the three of you are best friends!"

I stared at her in absolute disbelief.

"You want me to publicly apologize to her? To confess to something I never did?" My voice was dangerously low. "I am supposed to be the future bride of this family, and you want me to bow my head to a suspected mistress?"

"She is not a mistress!" Preston roared, cutting me off. "Harper is an innocent girl, and you have ruined her life so badly she cannot even leave her house!"

He stepped toward me, his face twisted in anger. "You apologize right now. If you refuse, do not even expect a single member of my family to show up at the gala tomorrow!"

It was a threat. A blatant, ugly threat.

They thought they had me cornered. They knew I had no parents, no powerful backing. They knew I had compromised my pride a thousand times over the last five years to keep this relationship alive. They firmly believed that the moment they threatened to cancel the wedding, I would crumble and obey.

I looked at Preston's furious, entitled face. He looked like a complete stranger.

"Fine," I heard myself say. My voice was completely devoid of emotion. "I will do the live stream."

A fleeting, triumphant smirk danced across Harper's lips.

Ten minutes later, the PR team had the camera set up.

The moment the stream went live, hundreds of thousands of people flooded the broadcast. The comments were a wall of pure hatred aimed right at me.

[The official girlfriend finally speaks? She definitely took a payout.]

[God, she is so disgusting. How can a woman have zero self-respect?]

Preston stood just behind the camera lens, glaring at me. "Read the script."

I looked dead into the camera lens and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Hello everyone. My name is Cici."

"Regarding the recent rumors circulating online, I am here today to make an official statement."

Harper leaned close to Preston and whispered softly, "Preston, isn't this too hard on her? I really don't mind taking the blame."

"Ignore her. She owes you this," Preston muttered back.

I watched the vile, insulting comments rolling across the screen. The corners of my mouth curled into a cold, empty smile.

"I am here to officially say to Miss Harper..."

"Congratulations."

The entire living room went dead silent. Even the rapid-fire comments on the screen seemed to freeze for a split second.

Preston's face drained of color. "Cici, have you lost your damn mind? What the hell are you saying?"

I ignored him entirely and kept my eyes on the lens.

"Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted. You have officially made Preston your personal property. Your relationship is far too crowded, and I am officially done being the third wheel."

"Tomorrow's engagement gala is cancelled."

The moment the words left my mouth, I reached over and yanked the power cord from the wall. The camera died instantly.

A sharp, violent slap echoed through the room.

My head snapped to the side. Preston was shaking uncontrollably, his eyes completely bloodshot.

"Cici! Do you have a death wish?!"

My cheek burned like fire. I tasted copper in the back of my mouth. I did not even raise a hand to touch my face. I just looked at him with dead eyes.

"That slap repays you for the croissant you bought me in the rain five years ago. From this second on, we owe each other nothing."

As I turned on my heel and walked toward the door, Mrs. Crawford's hysterical screaming echoed behind me.

"Let her leave! I dare her to walk out that door!"

"Even if she crawls back tomorrow on her hands and knees, I will never let her step foot in this house again!"

I pushed through the heavy front doors and stepped out into the cold night air. The wind whipped my hair across my face.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a text from Roman.

"The mark on your face. Tomorrow, I will help you collect the debt."

At nine o'clock the next morning, the marble halls of City Hall were dead quiet.

Roman Lancaster sat across from me.

He was wearing an impeccably tailored black suit. His cufflinks were deep crimson gemstones that radiated a quiet, suffocating authority.

He did not ask about the faint red mark still lingering on my cheek. He simply slid a thick legal folder across the table.

"Sign the papers, and you are officially Mrs. Lancaster."

"Every single resource the Lancaster family owns is yours to command."

His voice was a low, smooth baritone. It carried absolutely no emotional fluctuation.

I picked up the pen and signed my name without a single second of hesitation.

When the clerk stamped the official seal onto the documents, I stared at the marriage certificate. A bizarre, profound sense of peace washed over me.

Five years of swallowing my pride. Five years of silent suffering. It was all finally over.

"Miss Cici. Apologies. Mrs. Lancaster."

Roman stood up, smoothly sliding his copy of our marriage certificate into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"Let's go. It is time to attend your engagement gala."

I blinked in confusion. "The gala?"

After the absolute chaos of last night, I assumed the Crawfords would have canceled the venue and notified all the guests.

Roman looked down at me, the faintest ghost of a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

"Preston did not cancel anything."

"He posted on his social media this morning. He claimed his fiance suffered an emotional breakdown last night due to stress, but that today's event will proceed exactly as planned."

"He is absolutely certain you will go crawling back to beg for his forgiveness."

My fingers curled into tight fists. The sheer arrogance was mind-boggling.

Preston's ego was so bloated, so completely detached from reality, that he truly believed I was a dog who would come running the moment he whistled.

"Then let's go," I said, taking a deep breath. "I would hate to miss a good show."

At noon, the grand ballroom of the Crawford family's seven-star hotel was packed with Manhattan's elite. The air buzzed with gossip and the clinking of champagne glasses.

I was not wearing the custom white gown I had spent months designing.

Instead, I wore a stunning, blood-red evening gown. Resting perfectly on my head was the ruby crown Roman had sent me.

As I walked down the carpeted hallway toward the main ballroom doors, I heard voices drifting from the VIP lounge. The door was cracked open.

"Preston, is she really going to show up?" It was Harper. Her voice was dripping with fake anxiety. "There are so many reporters out there. If she ghosts you, you will be a laughingstock."

Preston's voice was laced with arrogant impatience.

"She will be here."

"A woman like her cannot survive without me. Last night was just a pathetic temper tantrum. When she gets here, give her the cold shoulder. Let her learn her lesson."

Harper let out a soft, breathy laugh. "And... what if she actually does not show up?"

"Then you step in," Preston said casually. "You already tried on the bridesmaid dress, and it fits you perfectly. I have no problem swapping the leading lady today."

I stood perfectly still in the hallway, listening to their banter.

Whatever tiny, lingering trace of anger I had left completely evaporated. All that remained was pity.

This was the man I gave five years of my life to. He treated my dignity like dirt to be trampled on, using my public humiliation as a cheap bargaining chip to flirt with another woman.

I turned away from the lounge and walked straight to the massive double doors of the main ballroom.

The security guards stationed at the entrance stared at me in shock. "Miss Cici... what are you wearing?"

They had obviously never seen a bride show up to her own engagement party in a red dress and a ruby crown.

I ignored them entirely and pushed the heavy oak doors open.

The spotlights instantly swiveled to hit me. The low hum of conversation in the massive room died instantly.

Preston's parents were seated at the head table. When Mrs. Crawford saw my outfit, her face turned a violent shade of purple.

"What kind of garbage are you wearing?!" she shrieked, shooting up from her chair. "Are you here for an engagement or a funeral?!"

I did not even look at her.

I walked straight down the center aisle, climbed the steps to the stage, and calmly took the microphone from the stunned MC.

"I apologize for the interruption, everyone."

My voice echoed through the high-end sound system, crystal clear in the dead silence.

"Today's engagement gala is officially canceled."

The ballroom erupted into chaotic gasps.

The door to the VIP lounge violently banged open. Preston stormed out, his face a mask of dark, murderous rage.

"Cici! Have you lost your damn mind again?!"

He took the stage two steps at a time and lunged to rip the microphone out of my hand.

I took a quick step back, dodging his grasp. "I am perfectly sane."

I looked him dead in the eye and spoke clearly into the mic. "Preston, I am not marrying you."

Preston froze, his hand still hovering in midair. He honestly looked like his brain could not process the words. In his warped reality, this was just an extreme tactic to get his attention.

"Do you have any idea what you are doing right now?" he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice a venomous whisper. "Get off this stage and go change your clothes. If you do it right now, I will pretend this never happened."

"Oh?"

A low, bone-chilling voice suddenly cut through the tension. It came from the main entrance of the ballroom.

"Does the Crawford heir have an issue with my wife?"