Choosing the One Who Was Always There

Emma Blanton twists her ankle, and my fiance, Matthew Harrison, insists on becoming her personal chauffeur.

When I voice my disapproval, he makes an even more outrageous decision. He moves Emma into my apartment at Bellemont District—the apartment I bought with my own money.

He argues like he's the victim, "You're being selfish. She's injured, and living alone is too dangerous for her right now. I'm just being a decent human being.

"And that place is sitting empty anyway. Having someone there helps with security."

On the morning we were supposed to get our marriage certificate, he doesn't show up.

I call, expecting apologies. Instead, I hear, "Emma had a fever this morning—101 Fahrenheit. I had to take her to urgent care. We can postpone getting the marriage certificate. Her health can't wait."

To hell with postponing!

I grab my phone and call David Rockefeller. "Do you want to marry me? Then get to City Hall. I'm serious—right now."

I was supposed to become Mrs. Harrison today. But six hours after being stood up, I became Mrs. Rockefeller instead.

Who said getting dumped was a bad thing?

Standing outside a luxury high-rise in downtown Avalon District, I checked my watch for the fifth time. It was 7:30 am, and the streets were already packed with people rushing to work.

Matthew Harrison's silver Mercedes C-Class was still nowhere in sight. For three years, without fail, he would show up here like clockwork every weekday at 7:00 am. That was his idea.

"Darling, let me drive you to work. It's what real couples do," he used to say.

I had called him over ten times before someone finally answered. "Hello, is this Sophie? Matthew's driving right now," a woman said.

Her voice was unfamiliar and a little too sweet—the kind that could instantly put me on alert.

"I'm Emma Blanton. I fell down the stairs at my apartment this morning. My ankle's swollen badly. Matthew saw my SOS and rushed over to help."

"Put him on the phone." My voice turned cold.

A second later, I heard Matthew's voice, laced with irritation. "Sophie, now's not a good time. Emma's hurt. I have to take her to the ER."

"You couldn't text me? I've been waiting out here for nearly an hour."

"It was an emergency. I didn't have time to update you. Also, I won't be able to drive you for the next few weeks. Emma's ankle will take at least six weeks to heal. She needs someone to look after her."

"Matthew, our wedding is in two months."

"So what? I'm not supposed to ignore a friend in need just because I'm engaged. Don't be so selfish, Sophie."

The call ended.

I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.

As the youngest partner at one of the top law firms in the city, I made 800 thousand dollars a year. I could call a black car service in 30 seconds.

But this wasn't about the money.

By the time I arrived