The Christmas He Lost Her

Before Christmas Eve, all of Nowevik was betting.

Not on money. On me.

Would I finally pull the winning lot?

Would Leon Fabian finally take me to his family estate for Christmas?

The Fabians had a rule.

A new bride had to attend the Christmas Eve dinner with the whole family before she counted as one of them.

I'd been married five years.

Five years. The lot never landed on me.

I'd become Nowevik's favorite joke.

This year, the winning ticket went to a nightclub hostess. She lounged on Leon's lap and flicked it onto the table in front of me, smiling like she'd already won.

The room went silent.

Everyone waited—

for me to lunge at her like I had the last four years.

Claws out. A scene.

But I didn't move.

"Congratulations."

Leon leaned in, breath warm at my ear, smiling like he'd just proved something.

"Wynne, you're finally learning how to behave. Keep this up and you might actually become a proper lady of my house."

I lowered my eyes and tore the ticket in half.

My face stayed blank.

Leon had no idea the five-year deal between my brother and me was already over.

Soon, he'd come take me home.

The crowd roared as Leon Fabian clasped a two-million-dollar gemstone bracelet around the wrist of a nightclub hostess—Chloe Sutton.

Not long ago, he'd chased that same bracelet at any price for me.

"Wynne, happy birthday. Let this be your present. Sound good?"

He'd said it with that smug, confident smile.

Now the bracelet glittered on the wrist of a girl he'd met five minutes ago.

A sharp ache spread through my chest.

Leon caught my expression and casually pulled out a necklace, tossing it my way.

"Bad luck. The bracelet was the winner's prize. But you behaved tonight, so here's your reward."

The pendant was a gemstone too.

Just flawed.

The second it touched my skin, the rough edge dug in. My eyes stung.

Chloe drifted over, a glass of wine in hand.

Then she "stumbled."

The full glass of red splashed straight across my face.

The room went dead quiet.

For five years, every side chick who won the draw pulled the same stunt.

And every time, I'd lost it like a maniac—once badly enough to land myself in the hospital.

Chloe dropped at Leon's feet. Her dress slipped low, eyes glossy with tears.

"Mrs. Fabian, I didn't mean to! You can throw a hundred—no, a thousand—glasses at me. Just please don't hurt me!"

Leon's throat bobbed.

He stepped in front of her instantly, shielding her like I was about to lunge.

I paused.

Then I pulled out a tissue and wiped the wine off my face.

"Relax. I never said I'd blame you. Those heels are brutal. No wonder you couldn't stay upright. I'll have my assistant bring you another pair."

Leon stiffened. One brow lifted.

The assistant hurried over with a pair of flats. I crouched and slipped them onto Chloe myself.

My