UNDER THE WRONG MISTLETOE.

MADELINE'S POV

"Maddie, take the chicken out of the oven!" Mom's voice echoed sharply from the dining room.

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. "On it, Mom," I muttered under my breath as I slid the mittens onto my hands. The oven heat rushed against my face, warm and suffocating, kind of like tonight's pressure. I pulled out the roasting pan, its golden-brown surface shimmering with heat, and placed it gently on the counter.

I hadn't even removed the mittens when Mom breezed into the kitchen, hair pinned, dress neat, looking ten times calmer than she actually was.

"Don't just stand there, Maddie," she said, dropping a knife into my hand like I had no choice in this godforsaken world. "Slice the onions."

I stared at her. "Why am I the one doing all the work tonight? Today's Betty's night. She's meeting her fiancé for the first time. Shouldn't she be in here doing all this?"

Mom froze for a second, then turned toward me slowly. Her lips pinched into that disappointed line she'd mastered over the years. "Maddie... you know how your sister is. And she's getting married to the Halstons. Do you know what that means?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I know exactly what it means."

"Then stop sulking around and be happy for your sister." She didn't give me time to reply before walking out of the kitchen, her slippers dragging lightly across the tiled floor.

I stared at the chicken again - perfect and golden, unlike me. I grabbed the knife and started slicing the onions, blinking rapidly as the sting hit my eyes. Maybe the burning was from the onions. Maybe not.

I wasn't sad that my sister was getting married. Not really.

I was sad that she had to marry him.

Calhoun Halston.

Even thinking his name made my stomach twist.

To be fair - to be very sincere - I had a massive, ridiculous, soul-damning crush on Calhoun since I was twelve. He saved me from a bully that year, while he was just visiting here for the holidays. I remembered crying, clutching my bleeding finger, and him tall, awkward, fourteen-year-old him lifting my hand and sucking the blood off my finger to soothe it.

Disgusting? Maybe.

But to a twelve-year-old me? It was everything.

He was the first boy who ever looked at me like I existed.

Every Christmas, my family traveled to this part of Texas, my grandparents' home. They missed us during the year, so we always spent the holidays together. Fifteen cousins, six uncles, too many family members to count.

We called this place The Family Tree, because everyone,and I mean everyone - came here for the holidays. This house always overflowed with laughter, chaos, and secrets tucked behind pine-scented walls.

This was where the Halstons first met our family.

The Halstons... the wealthy, prestigious, ridiculously powerful Halstons...owners of half the state, political giants, generational money, generational pride.

We weren't royal. We weren't special. We weren't poor, but we