Shattered Engagement, New Love

The Mendez estate had never looked more beautiful than it did tonight. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across the marble floors, and hundreds of white roses—my favorites, or so I'd believed—adorned every surface. The string quartet played Vivaldi in the grand ballroom, and champagne flowed as freely as the compliments from guests who'd known me since childhood.

I smoothed the front of my custom Valentino gown, the white silk whispering against my skin like a promise. Twenty years old today. The age when everything was supposed to begin.

My fingers found the engagement ring on my left hand, twisting it in that familiar anxious gesture I'd never quite outgrown. Where was Eric? He should have been by my side an hour ago for the toast, for the announcement we'd planned together. I'd imagined this moment a thousand times—his hand in mine, his voice steady as he told our guests that I'd agreed to be his wife, that we'd build a future together.

"Congratulations, darling," Mrs. Hartwell cooed as she passed, pressing an air kiss near my cheek. "Such a beautiful celebration."

I smiled, accepting congratulations I hadn't actually received yet, my stomach tightening with each passing minute. The cake sat untouched on its table, three tiers of perfection waiting for a toast that refused to materialize.

"Have you seen Eric?" I asked a passing server, trying to keep the worry from my voice.

"I believe he stepped away toward the private wing, Miss Mendez."

The private wing. Relief flooded through me—perhaps he was nervous, needed a moment to collect himself before such a public declaration. I slipped away from the ballroom, my heels clicking against the hardwood as I navigated the familiar corridors of my childhood home.

The mansion's private quarters were quieter, insulated from the party's noise. I passed the library, my father's study, the sitting room where we'd spent countless evenings as a family—or what I'd thought was a family. As I rounded the corner toward the guest suites, I heard voices.

Eric's voice.

I moved toward the sound, my heart lifting. But then I heard another voice, breathy and intimate in a way that made my steps falter.

Angelique.

My adopted sister's laughter drifted through the mahogany door, followed by sounds that made my blood run cold. The wet slide of kissing, the rustle of fabric, a masculine groan I recognized with devastating certainty.

I should have turned away. Should have fled. Instead, I moved closer, my body operating on instinct while my mind screamed denials. The door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap I could see them.

Eric had Angelique pressed against the wall, his hands tangled in her dark hair—the same hands that had held mine just yesterday, promising forever. Her fingers worked at his shirt buttons with practiced ease, and the familiar way they moved together told me this was no first-time transgression. This was routine. Habitual. A secret they'd perfected while I'd been planning our future.

"Once you marry her and take