"So, all this stuff in your house is just fake junk to keep up appearances, huh?" Oliver scoffed, holding up the porcelain teacup like it personally offended him. "Gotta say, though, they're decent imitations. But that glaze? Way too fresh. Obvious knockoff."

I let out a quiet, amused laugh. "Good eye, Oliver."

Which was funny, because that teacup?

Ironically, it was the only fake thing in this entire place.

But Oliver didn't catch the irony. Of course not. He took my words as mockery, and his expression went ice-cold all over again.

"Therese, I don't have time for this." His tone turned sharp, clipped. "You've got two options today. Pay back the $500 grand and sign these agreements, or the engagement is officially over."

Oliver tossed a thick envelope onto my coffee table like it was some kind of final warning.

Then he pointed directly at me, with his finger stiff with accusation.

"And once that happens, kiss your dream of marrying into wealth goodbye. Don't come crawling back."

He paused briefly, then added with that same greasy sneer, "And your parents? They've got no pensions. Don't expect me to support them in retirement—"

Before he could finish that charming little threat, one of the bodyguards behind him leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.

"Mr. Jefferson… that vase by the window. Doesn't it look like the final lot from last month's Sotheby's auction?"

Oliver jerked his head around, following the guy's gaze.

The vase sat peacefully by the window, soaking in the late afternoon light. Its silhouette was clean and elegant, the porcelain glowing under the natural sun.

It was a 16th-century Renaissance piece—hand-fired, meticulously preserved, and worth a small fortune.

My dad had caught me admiring it during a collector's showcase and, just for the hell of it, made a sky lantern bid. He won, naturally. The man had flair.

Oliver squinted at it. I saw his face twitch. First came doubt. Then suspicion. Then, predictably, his signature smirk.

"Wow. You really went all in on this little illusion, didn't you? Even copied a fresh-off-the-market auction piece?"

I simply stood there, observing him—this man, five years older than me, who was supposed to be mature and successful. Yet, at that moment, I felt only relief.

Thank God I hadn't yet reached the legal age for marriage. If I had gone along with our families' childhood arrangement, I would already be his wife.

And honestly? That would've been the most humiliating decision of my life. Being married to him—full of surface charm but with a core of selfishness and vanity—was terrible.

With that, I exhaled a long, steady breath and pointed to the door.

"Oliver, I don't blame you for being blind. But if you're just gonna keep embarrassing yourself in my house, I suggest you leave. I'm not here to host your pity party."

Oliver's smile snapped into a scowl. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I need to marry you? Let me tell you something. Everything I've achieved, I earned. I built my business from the ground up. And the thing I can't stand most? Manipulative women like you—pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside—mooching off decent men like parasites."

He jabbed his finger in my direction.

"Your name's already in the gutter. Who else would even consider you? If it weren't for our families' old agreement, I wouldn't be wasting a single second more."

Still calm, I walked over to the Italian vase on the side shelf, picked it up gently, and turned it over in my hands so the bottom faced him.

"Take a good look," I said evenly. "That's Sotheby's official authentication code. One of a kind. Final sale price? $12 million."

I met his eyes without flinching as I continued, "You think I care about your lousy $500,000? I was willing to let this whole thing go, out of respect for our family. But honestly, I could've gifted you that money just to keep things quiet. But you know what I don't tolerate?"

I tilted my head, my tone becoming sharply pointed as I said, "Spineless, freeloading men who want to get something for nothing."

Then I took a step forward.

"Here's the deal. As long as you and your entourage walk out of my house right now and never come back, I won't press defamation charges or harassment. That's me being generous."

Oliver froze mid-scowl.

The bodyguard looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Sir, maybe there was a misunderstanding? And that vase… it might actually be real."

Oliver's hands were trembling now as he snatched the vase back, turning it over again and again. I watched the smug confidence drain from his face like someone pulled the plug.

Panic finally broke through.

He grabbed his phone and barked into it. "Kiara, doesn't your brother work at Sotheby's? Get him on the phone. I need him to check the winner of that final auction piece, the one with the highest bid!"

Oliver didn't even wait for her response before snapping again. "And get that damn lawyer I hired over here. We're settling this now. I want her to admit she used my card! If I let her into my life, she'd be riding my neck and shitting on my head!"

If he was that desperate to humiliate himself, I was more than happy to watch.

Ten minutes later, Kiara showed up with the news and a lawyer following behind.

"Mr. Jefferson, I made a few calls," the lawyer said, clearing his throat. "That 16th-century Italian vase? It was purchased at auction by the richest man in the Capital City. He gave it to his daughter to use as a flower vase."

And just like that, Oliver's entire face lit up with a smug little smirk, as if he had just scored the winning touchdown he'd been waiting for.

Kiara strutted over, picked up the vase with two fingers like it was a cheap flea market find, and examined it with a sneer.

"Wow, Therese. You really went all out with the appearances. Even your high-end knockoffs are almost believable."

But just as she was basking in her own sarcasm, the lawyer frowned and stepped closer. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, leaning in as if preparing to inspect the vase more closely.

Without warning, Kiara raised her hand. With a swift motion, she crashed the vase onto the floor. The sound of it shattering echoed through the room, the priceless 16th-century porcelain reduced to mere shards.

I stood frozen. My brain just blanked.

Even Oliver flinched, clearly not expecting that.

He spun on her, stunned. "Kiara, are you insane? Even if it was fake, that thing still cost money!"

Of course, she instantly turned on the waterworks.

Lip trembling and voice quivering, Kiara replied, "Sir Oliver, I just thought if Therese can't pay you back, I'd help you vent a little by smashing one of her fake antiques. Why are you yelling at me?"

Right in front of me, without a shred of shame, Oliver reached out and wiped away her phony tears, cooing over her like she was some delicate, wronged princess.

"I'm not blaming you, sweetheart," Oliver calmly replied. "I just wanted the $500,000 back so I could buy you a small apartment. My best employee deserves the best."

Then he turned toward me, puffed up and smug.

"I hope someone here understands the difference between the two of you and signs the papers already. Because, believe me, the line of women wanting to be my wife could wrap around this entire city."

I stared at him like he'd completely lost his mind.

Then I scoffed, "Oliver, maybe try figuring out who actually spent that $500 grand before you run your mouth. Or else, there will be a line of people ready to drain your wallet. It might even wrap around the whole Bayport City."

Kiara's eyes flickered with panic. Her crocodile tears returned in full force, with shaky breaths and dramatic sniffles.

Oliver rushed to console her again, falling right into her act.

My god, I'd had enough.

"Since our dear CEO here is feeling so generous," I said sarcastically, "I'm guessing you'll be paying her for smashing that $12 million vase?"

Oliver's face tightened instantly. He looked down at the wreckage as if it had betrayed him. Then he lifted his foot as if he was about to stomp it onto the floor even harder.

"It's fake," he said, voice sharp. "Why would I pay a cent? What, are you heartbroken now? Didn't you say it was real? Didn't you claim to be rich? Then go buy another one."

Kiara immediately dropped the act and flashed a smug little grin, as if she thought she'd won something.

Then, the lawyer dropped to his knees in front of the vase shards, reaching out to stop Oliver's foot from coming down.

"Mr. Jefferson," he said, slightly out of breath. "If I'm not mistaken… that Italian vase was real."

Everything went dead quiet.

Oliver froze mid-step, and Kiara's grin snapped clean off her face.

Even I had to admit, I was a little impressed. 'So he could tell the difference, huh?'

Flustered, Oliver pushed the lawyer aside and stomped onto the remains, grinding them under his heel like a petulant child.

"Atty. Doyle, you're a lawyer, not an art appraiser. Don't embarrass yourself." His tone was full of irritation and denial. "We all heard what the man said—the real vase was bought by the richest man in the Capital City, for his precious daughter. Like hell that thing ended up here in Bayport.

Kiara gasped like she was in a soap opera.

"Unless…" she said, eyes darting to me with fake shock. "Therese stole it from the richest family?"

Then she leaned in, whispering dramatically, "Or maybe she seduced the richest man himself?"

I couldn't help but laugh at their ignorance.

"You two really don't get tired of embarrassing yourselves, do you?"

Then, I leaned back against the edge of the table with my arms crossed, watching them squirm.

"Well, since you're both so desperate to know…" I paused, letting the silence hang for a beat. "Let me put you out of your misery. The richest man in the Capital City? That's my dad."

That shut them both up for about two seconds.

As if it had been rehearsed, Oliver and Kiara made eye contact and burst out laughing.

"Therese, please," Oliver said through wheezing laughter. "I know exactly what your background is. The richest man? Your dad? More like sugar daddy!"

"But hey," he added, "since you managed to snag someone like that, I'll be nice and not cancel the engagement. Don't even worry about paying back the $500,000.

"All you need to do is sign these agreements," Oliver said with a smug smile, tapping the papers. "And make sure the richest man gives the Jefferson family's business a little support every year. I swear, I'll do my best to cover for you and your father."

I was shocked because I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Oliver really thought he could turn me into some pawn in his backroom deal, like I was a contract he could sign off and cash in on.

And to think, if it weren't for the whole $500,000 mess, I might've actually fallen for his polished act. That suit, that voice, and the smile he flashed at board meetings used to fool me.

Without waiting for my response, Oliver hastily scribbled a few last-minute conditions onto the prenup and pushed the folder toward me.

"Therese, sign it."

Before I could say a word, Kiara panicked.

"Sir, how can someone like her be worthy of being your wife? Even if she does know the richest man, there's no way someone that rich would be eating those bargain-bin group meals!"

She kept going, maligning me, "If you ask me, she's just name-dropping to scare you! Trying to bait you into marrying her. You can't fall for that!"

Oliver looked rattled for a moment, clearly thrown off. Then he let out a long, theatrical sigh and adopted that fake helpless tone I was all too familiar with.

"Kiara, whether Therese is a gold-digger or not, once she signs, she can't back out. Not after we're married. And don't forget, if I don't marry her, my dad won't hand over the Jefferson shares."

And there it was.

This entire engagement? It had nothing to do with me.

I was just a shortcut and a stepping stone to the power Oliver was aiming for. Marrying me was part of his corporate climb, nothing more.

And Kiara? The way she was suddenly clawing to stop it told me everything I needed to know.

She had something to hide.

Her appearance, the brands she wore, and the smug confidence radiating from her suggested she wasn't living on an assistant's salary. I was ready to bet my broken vase that she had access to another card—Oliver's second supplementary card.

It had to be Kiara who'd racked up those charges.

With that in mind, I picked up the agreement and stared Oliver down, my voice cool and composed.

"I'll sign. But only after we clear up the $500,000 charge."

By that point, Atty. Doyle had taken in the whole room.

He had been observing the antique shelves, the understated luxury of the décor, and how everything exuded wealth from the past.

I could sense a shift in his attitude; he was no longer smug or detached, but now exhibited quiet respect, perhaps even a hint of fear.

Atty. Doyle was probably starting to believe who I truly was.

Good. I wanted him to be the one to lay it out.

Let the facts humiliate Oliver.

And so, I turned to him and he hurriedly said, "Oliver, you hired me today to verify the transaction records. That's all I'm here to do and nothing else."

Oliver hesitated but gave a stiff nod.

"Go ahead and compare everything."

Right after, Atty. Doyle began reviewing the card history while the bodyguards wandered around the house, trying to match listed purchases to anything they could find.

Sure enough, they found two matches.

Doyle's face twitched.

Meanwhile, Kiara looked completely radiant with smugness, appearing utterly triumphant.

Then, I turned to Oliver and asked, "How many supplementary cards do you have?"

He firmly replied, "Just the one I gave you."

But Kiara couldn't keep the panic out of her eyes. Her gaze flicked to the side before she caught herself, but it was too late.

I didn't wait.

I lunged, grabbed her handbag off the table, and dumped it right out on the floor in front of everyone.

And there it was.

A card. Identical to mine.

Kiara's entire face collapsed. She lunged forward to grab it, but I struck her sharply across the face and took the card away myself.

Right away, I turned and handed it straight to Atty. Doyle.

"Check this card thoroughly, Attorney," I told him. "I'm sure things are about to get real clear, real fast."

Then, I looked him straight in the eye, reminding him, "If you stay professional and do the right thing today, I guarantee your career's gonna go a long way."