“And honestly, Claire looks better in that dress than you ever could.”

Claire had her back to him. The smug look on her face said it all.

Still, her words came out laced with guilt.

“Miss Meyer, if you don’t want to give it up, that’s fine. A dress this elegant… there’s no way nobody like me deserves to wear it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucas said without hesitation. “The woman I love could never be a nobody. Destiny is just living off her parents. She’s not so high and mighty herself.”

With that, he handed the dress over to the tailor.

The old tailor didn’t move. He stood there, calmly waiting for my instructions.

After all, the Meyers had been this shop’s top patron for generations, going all the way back to his great-great-grandfather.

Lucas clearly didn’t like that.

“You—”

“She wants it?” I interrupted Lucas. “Then let Miss Monroe have it.”

Lucas finally seemed satisfied.

“Since you’re being reasonable,” he said, smug as ever, “I’ll have dinner with you once a month after we’re married.”

The way he said that was like he was doing me a huge favor.

In that moment, something clicked.

The change in his attitude had started the moment he learned the Meyers were the most powerful family in the country, while the Whitmores barely made it into the top ten.

I used to love how fearless he was when we were younger, how he never measured a person’s worth by money or status.

But after that, he started using “you Meyers” like a curse. Constantly reminding me that I was nothing without my parents. Always putting me down, always mocking me, and using my love for him as an excuse to say the cruelest things.

Truth was, he was insecure.

The thought made me laugh.

“Lucas, what makes you so sure I'm going to marry you?”

...

Lucas smirked, like I’d just told the world’s funniest joke.

“You’ve been chasing me since we were kids,” he scoffed. “Every birthday wish was the same—you wanted to marry me when you turned twenty.

“Well, you’re twenty now. Do you think you'll marry someone else?”

Claire snuggled into his chest, a smug edge in her voice.

“Though I guess with the Meyers’ status, every heir in the country’s probably fighting to marry her.”

“She could have every prince on his knees—she’d still only want to marry me,” said Lucas.

With that, the two turned and walked out.

Before leaving, Lucas tossed one last order to the tailor.

“Have the dress altered and sent to my house. And those tacky cufflinks—make them square. No initials.”

The tailor watched him go, then turned to me with a sigh.

“Miss Meyer, should we…”

“If she wants it, she can have it,” I said, sitting back down and sketching again. “I’ll design something new. And forget what he said about the cufflinks. He’s not my fiancé. He doesn’t get a say.”

That night, I had a friend’s birthday party.

Halfway through the night, Claire finally arrived—late, of course. One of Lucas’s bodyguards followed behind, carrying a red plastic bag.

He placed it down by my feet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Meyer. I was going to return the dress right after the concert, but Lucas insisted we stay a little longer… in the car.

“But Miss Meyer is famous for being generous. I’m sure you don’t mind, right?”

I looked down at the bag.

The 3 million dollar dress was stuffed inside like a rag, crumpled into a wrinkled ball.

What's worse was the white stains that stood out starkly against the crimson fabric.

The people around me gasped. Some were angry for me. Others just watched with amusement.

“Claire's picking a fight with Destiny right in her face, yet she's still keeping calm. Guess Destiny really is head over heels for Lucas.”

“Destiny can love him all she wants. Mr. Whitmore only has eyes for Claire.”

“Pathetic. The Meyers’ only daughter being humiliated like that… at this rate, the whole family business might as well belong to the Whitmores.”

I looked away, not even bothering to react and called for someone to throw it out.

“If Miss Monroe likes it, that’s all that matters.”

My indifference made Claire’s smugness fall flat. She clenched her fists and stalked off to the last table, the one reserved just for her.

On Claire's account that had millions of followers, she posted a photo with the caption:

“A perfect day: the right dress, the right hand to hold, listening to music I love.”

The image showed her and Lucas holding hands, kissing like no one else existed.

Almost immediately, the media started digging through my old posts—especially the ones where I’d publicly confessed to Lucas. They lined them up next to Claire’s and turned it into an online roast session.

The worst part? Lucas liked one of the top comparison videos.

That made everything worse and added fuel to fire.

“Destiny Meyer humiliated” became a meme.

I deleted my account without another word and sent a message to our company’s PR team.

Ten minutes later, all the related posts and trending hashtags were wiped clean.

...

The day before the engagement party.

I stopped by the office to handle some documents, but before I could even settle in, two of the Whitmores’ bodyguards forced me into a black SUV and drove me straight to their estate.

As soon as I stepped inside, I saw Claire crying on the sofa, tears falling like she was performing for a camera crew.

Lucas sat beside her, whispering sweetly into her ear.

But the second he saw me, his expression turned icy.

“Destiny Meyer, you’ve gone too far. All Claire did was post something online, and you had all her accounts taken down? You know she makes her living on social media. You’ve just destroyed her future!”

I frowned, completely caught off guard.

“I only had my name and related tags removed. That’s all. I didn’t do anything to her account.”

“Still lying?” he snapped. “Who else could pull that off but you? Admit it—you’re jealous!”

“I didn’t—”

I barely got the words out before a cold, mocking voice rang out from the staircase.

“Arguing with your fiancé before the engagement party? Is this how the Meyers raise their daughter?”

Margot Whitmore took a seat across from me with a haughty look.

Lucas’s father, Charles Whitmore, who used to bow respectfully in front of me just weeks ago, now sat with one leg crossed over the other.

“Destiny,” he said, “we don’t approve of spoiled princesses like you. But since we’ve heard you’re desperate to marry our son, we’ll allow it.

“On one condition: you should give us fifty percent of the entire Meyers estate.”

I let out a laugh in disbelief and shook my head, ready to reject it outright.

But before I could speak, one of the bodyguards behind me jabbed me hard in the knee.

I gasped in pain and collapsed to the floor.

Margot waved her hand, and a maid appeared, holding a tray of tea.

“You’ll be our daughter-in-law soon anyway,” she said with a smirk. “No harm in having you serve me some tea a little early.”

...

“Miss Meyer,” the maid said, pushing a cup toward me. “You’ll need to kneel and serve this to Madam Whitmore.”

She shoved a hot cup of tea into my hands. I barely touched it before the heat burned my skin. The cup slipped from my hand and shattered on the marble floor.

“Destiny! You haven’t even learned basic respect for your elders?” Lucas shouted.

I looked down at my reddened fingers and shook my head.

“I’ll only serve tea to my in-laws. Since you don’t want to marry me, and I don’t want to marry you, why should I?”

I planted a hand on the floor and tried to stand, but the bodyguards seized my arms and held me in place.

I fought back with everything I had.

“What do you think you’re doing?! I’m the daughter of the Meyers! How dare you treat me like this?!”

Margot stepped forward, furious, and slapped me across the face.

The impact stunned me, as if every slap from my past life came rushing back in that moment.

“The engagement party is tomorrow, and you’re still acting out?!”

“Lucas, look at this girl. This is who you want to marry? She has no manners nor respect!”

Lucas didn’t even glance at me.

“She’s the one who begged to marry me. If not for her clinging to me, I’d be marrying Claire.”

Claire burst into tears again.

“Lucas, I’ve dreamed of marrying you… but my family doesn’t have power. We could never go against someone like the Meyers.”

She sobbed harder, and Lucas’s expression softened. He walked over and looked down at me like I was trash on the floor.

“You’re the one who schemed to get this engagement party, Destiny. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

“Fine,” Lucas said coldly. “But you have to agree—after we’re married, you’re not allowed to interfere with any of my decisions. And you’re not going back to the Meyers. You’ll live in our house, take care of my parents, and look after Claire and me.”

A maid brought over a prenup and placed it in front of me.

Printed right at the top was this:

[50% of the Meyers’ total assets to be included as wedding gift to the Whitmores]

I clenched my hands, refusing to sign. My eyes burned red as I glared at him.

“Lucas! I’m not even marrying you!”

Margot seized the moment and slapped me hard across the face.

“Is this the kind of girl the great Meyers raised? To be disobedient and disrespectful to her future husband?!

“Looks like someone needs to teach you proper manners before you embarrass the Whitmores after marriage. Don’t worry, I’ll do the job your parents clearly failed at.”

That day, I lost count of how many times I was slapped…

How many times they forced my hand onto a contract…

Before they let me go, they gave one final demand:

At the engagement party, I was to wear a green dress.

Because Margot and Claire would be wearing red.

I couldn’t help but find it absurd.

...

The next day, at the engagement party.

I showed up in a brand new red gown I had designed myself.

My parents and the Morgans were inside, chatting with guests. I stood at the door to welcome more guests.

Just before noon, the Whitmores made their grand entrance.

Their clothes screamed for attention. Claire was latched onto Lucas’s arm, wearing a vibrant red gown, while he wore black beside her—as if they were the very picture of a newly wed.

Normally, Charles would be bowing and smiling to everyone.

Today? Chin up, chest out—as if he were the most important person in the room.

Margot’s face darkened the second she saw me still wearing red.

“Where are your parents?” she snapped. “I need to know what kind of family raises someone with no sense of etiquette!”

We had invited some prominent guests, and I didn’t want to cause a scene.

“They’re inside. You can go in and—”

Before I could finish, she jabbed her finger hard into my shoulder.

“I said bring them out!”

I flinched and took a step back. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucas approaching with a blank, uninterested face.

He stepped beside me, as if he were there to help greet the guests.

“You got what you wanted, Destiny. Hope you’re happy,” he said under his breath. “But don’t get too comfortable. You may have me—but you’ll never have my heart.”

His words dripped with resentment, like I had ruined his life just by existing.

“Lucas, I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding. I actually—”

“You’re ignoring me?” Margot cut in, raising her voice. “Did you forget how you knelt and begged yesterday?”

She held up her phone and played the video of me on the floor.

Gasps spread through the room. People stopped to watch. Some even started filming on their phones.

Reporters near the entrance caught wind of the chaos and pushed past the barricade.

“Miss Meyer, is this your future mother-in-law asserting dominance?”

“Is kneeling a sign of submission? Are the Meyers bowing to the Whitmores now?”

My breath caught in my throat. I waved for security before grabbing Lucas’s arm.

“Lucas! Make her take the video down!”

But he stepped aside and calmly adjusted his tie.

“If this teaches you how to respect your in-laws, then I don’t see the problem with a little humiliation.”

“You—

“Lucas, your whole family is insane!”

“You begged to marry into this family. What right do you have to insult us?” Lucas sneered.

That was the last straw.

I grabbed the nearest bottle off the table and raised it, ready to throw it right at his head.

But just as I lifted it, a hand gently closed around my wrist.

I turned.

There stood Liam, dressed in crisp white. His gaze was calm but piercing.

“Mr. Whitmore,” he said coolly, “how many lives do you think your mother has to dare force my fiancée to kneel?”