My boyfriend, Miguel Rossi, called himself an old-school man.

For our tenth anniversary, I gave him a vintage Patek Philippe watch I had spent ages searching for. In return, he gave me a rusty, counterfeit Zippo lighter.

"That watch is all flash, no soul. Must've cost a fortune! But look at what I got you—this is practical. It's got history. It's got a story."

Miguel promised to make it up to me. He’d throw us an engagement party at his nightclub, he said, and even invite my parents and family—a gesture he knew meant the world to me.

We arrived at his club, buzzing with anticipation, only to find a table laden with cheap draft beer and frozen pizzas in a service corridor behind the VIP lounge.

"You know me. I came from the streets, I'm not about all that fancy stuff. This? This is keeping it real. Not many guys like me stay true to where they came from!"

The faces of my older family members hardened. My parents’ expressions were a mask of pure humiliation. I could only force a brittle smile, a silent plea for them not to storm out.

But the moment I stepped out of the club, I received a notification from my bank. The four hundred thousand dollars my family had transferred to his account for the party had been withdrawn in a single transaction.

At the same time, Miguel's childhood sweetheart, Gia Bellucci, was flaunting on her Instagram the Maserati he had just bought for her birthday.

"I told Miguel I wanted to celebrate my birthday, and not only did he buy me a Maserati, but he also booked the entire venue to throw me the most lavish party!

"When a man truly loves you, he gives you the world, he doesn’t teach you how cruel it is. A real old-school man knows how to spoil his queen!"

I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. As I looked back at Miguel, the man who constantly preached about staying true to his roots, the sheer exhaustion of maintaining this unequal relationship hit me like a physical blow.

————————

1

"Papa, Mamma, I know what you're thinking, but Miguel isn't clueless about tradition. He just... doesn't get hung up on the little things," I explained, my smile feeling stretched and thin. "He specifically chose his club for the engagement party because he wanted you to see his accomplishments. It shows how much he values you!"

But the moment I pushed open the door to the VIP lounge, the smile on my face froze. The grand mahogany table was laden with stacks of greasy pizza boxes and flanked by kegs of cheap draft beer.

Miguel Rossi stood at the head of the table, humming a cheerful tune as he poured beer into a crystal glass.

"Miguel."

I froze for a second, then, avoiding my parents' murderous glares, I pulled him aside.

"My family gave you four hundred thousand dollars for this party. Where is it?"

"I prepared it. Isn't it right there?"

He gestured toward the pizza boxes with an air of absolute confidence. "I had the kitchen staff grab them. There's plenty to go around, it's filling, and it's a hell of a lot smarter than blowing money on those Michelin-starred places you like."

My mind went blank. I could hear my own voice trembling.

"Miguel Rossi, this is our engagement party. I invited the entire Sterling family. And you're serving them… frozen pizza?"

"Come on, Aveline, you know me. I'm a simple man. I don't do all that pretentious stuff. Besides, who doesn't love pizza? This is keeping it real!"

Behind me, the murmurs from my relatives grew louder. I swallowed my anger and took a slow breath. "And the drinks I asked you to prepare?"

"Right here." Miguel held up a beer pitcher, sloshing it slightly. "Draft beer. Even had it chilled for you. See? I think of everything."

Thoughtful, indeed.

I had been with Miguel for ten years.

I had invited my entire family to this engagement party to prove two things: that I, Aveline Sterling, was not some forgotten spinster, and that the man I was marrying was not some low-life hoodlum unfit for polite company.

But everything Miguel did tonight felt like a deliberate humiliation, staged right in front of all my relatives.

"Oh my god." My cousin, Chloe Sterling, was the first to break, covering her mouth as she laughed out loud. "Aveline, this is the man you've been defending? He serves this at an engagement party. So generous!"

My aunt, Eleonora Sterling, chimed in, her voice dripping with mock admiration. "Pizza and beer for an engagement? My, he's certainly a frugal one. Aveline, you'd better lock a man that thrifty down fast!"

My parents looked ready to flip the table.

Miguel smiled humbly. "Thank you. That means a lot. Actually, I prepared one other thing."

He turned and knelt on one knee. "Aveline Sterling, will you marry me?"

I froze. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my hollow chest.

Had I misjudged him? Was all of this just a prelude to some grand surprise?

Then I saw what he was holding out to me. It was a paper cigar band, peeled off and shaped into a ring.

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

"Miguel Rossi," I stared at it in disbelief, "you're proposing to me with this?"

He seemed completely unbothered. "It's practical and it's pure. Isn't that better than wasting money on gold and diamonds? Aveline, you know how I feel about that stuff. I don't need a woman corrupted by materialism. A pure love, born from the streets—that's the foundation of our relationship."

I was shaking with rage, unable to speak. Behind me, the relatives on my Aunt Eleonora's side were roaring with laughter. Chloe was doubled over.

"Aveline, even kids on the street don't play with those paper rings anymore. Your fiancé is just so generous, ha!"

"What are you standing there for? Say yes! Go live your pure little life with your man from the streets!"

"Enough!"

Papa slammed a beer mug on the table, then turned to me, his finger trembling as he pointed.

"Aveline, if you insist on marrying a man like him, I will disown you. You will no longer be a Sterling, and you will no longer be my daughter."

Mamma, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes, took Papa's arm and led him out of the room.

I was about to follow when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I glanced down. It was a transaction alert for two hundred thousand dollars.

Before I could process it, a woman pushed open the door from the adjacent, music-blaring party and strode in. It was Gia Bellucci, Miguel's childhood friend, the girl who grew up next door.

She wore an expensive watch and twirled the keys to a Maserati as she sauntered into our private room as if she owned the place.

I was still wondering when Gia had gotten so wealthy when I heard the chatter around me.

"Wow, Miguel really went all out for Gia. I think it's her birthday, he's making it a huge deal. Booked the whole main floor, gave her a sports car—the works."

"Honestly, you can tell a man's heart by how he treats people. If he's this generous to a childhood friend, imagine how good he must be to his actual fiancée. She's so lucky."

I stared at the two-hundred-thousand-dollar transaction on my phone. Then I looked through the open door at the lavish banquet next door—the very scene I had imagined for my own engagement party.

The same man had arranged both parties. One got a feast and a sports car; the other got a table of cold pizza.

For ten years, I had lived with Miguel in a tiny apartment. I had drunk until my stomach bled at business dinners for him. For him, I had set aside my status as the Principessa of the Sterling family to beg for favors from politicians I despised.

He always told me that one day, he would make it all up to me. Instead, he had humiliated me in front of my entire family, then turned around and spent my family's money to celebrate Gia's birthday.

"Aveline, what's with your parents? I put all this together for them, and they just walk out!"

Miguel hurried after me, his voice already whining before he was even at my side.

I found it grimly amusing. "All this? You mean the frozen pizzas? Or the cheap draft beer?"

Miguel noticed the ice in my tone. He reached for my hand, his voice softening.

"Aveline, don't be like this. You know I'm not good at these things. I'm a straightforward guy. To me, marriage is about conquering the world together."

"And speaking of which, I'm getting worried about you. When did you start caring so much about all this superficial nonsense? I told you, those old-money rules are corrupting you."

"You should learn from my Mamma, be more down-to-earth, more practical—"

"What about her?"

I cut him off, pointing to Gia, who was flashing her car keys to anyone who would look. Then I held my phone up to his face, the screen displaying the transaction record.

"You took the money my family gave you for our party and used it to throw her a birthday bash and buy her a sports car. Is this what you call being 'old-school,' Miguel? Is this your idea of staying true to your roots?"

Gia's eyes immediately reddened. She hid behind Miguel, staring at the floor. "I thought you knew, Aveline. I thought Miguel told you he was planning something for my birthday. If it's going to cause a problem, I'll just return everything."

She made a show of trying to take off her watch. Miguel stopped her, holding her hand. He turned to me, his face a mask of impatience.

"Aveline, have you made enough of a scene? Gia and I grew up together. Is it a capital crime to be nice to her on her birthday?"

"You're my fiancée. What's yours is mine. I'm spending my own money to buy a gift for a friend. What business is it of yours?"

I was trembling. "Your money? Miguel, your start-up capital, your connections, even the streets you control—tell me, what do you have that didn't come from the Sterling family?"

His expression hardened. Then he raised his hand and slapped me across the face.

"If you want to throw a princess tantrum, do it somewhere else. I'm not your dog, Aveline, here to follow your commands. You think I've put up with you all this time because I'm weak? Fine. You want to end this? Let's end this."

The rest of his words were swallowed by the ringing in my ears.

I stood there, looking at the man I had loved for ten years, and felt something inside me shatter.

"Fine," I said, my voice hollow. "We're done."

I had never suffered a day of hardship in my life. But for Miguel, I had forced smiles through shady business deals and drank until I passed out.

I humbled myself, pulling strings for him like I had nothing to my name. My parents watched in agony, begging me not to debase myself like this.

Each time, I wiped my tears and told them that Miguel would never let me down. But he kept saying he wasn't ready for marriage.

Year after year passed. The Principessa of the Sterling family, once the envy of every other Don, had slowly become a cautionary tale—the woman left waiting, a constant subject of whispered gossip among the five families.

And now, I was just tired.

My phone lit up. Gia had a new post.

"He canceled all his meetings to go test-drive cars with me. Who said old-school men don't know romance?"

The photo showed the two of them at a sports car dealership. Gia was glowing. Miguel's head was tilted toward her, and his adoring gaze sent a sharp pang through my heart.

The man who had built his entire persona on being old-school and down-to-earth had apparently learned all the right moves for Gia.

A bitter, undeniable truth lodged in my throat.

Yes. Who said old-school men don't know how to love? He just didn't love me.

I called Papa. My voice was hoarse when he answered.

"Papa, I'll accept the Valeriano family's arrangement."

...

The next morning, Miguel came home to find me sitting on the sofa. He frowned as he walked in.

"Why are you sitting here alone? It's chilly, you'll catch a cold."

He draped his jacket over my shoulders. When I remained silent, he sighed, then pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and knelt before me.

"Still angry about last night? Gia's young, she hasn't seen the world. I just wanted to broaden her horizons. I don't want her starting from scratch with nothing, like I did. This… I bought this for you. Aveline, you're the one I want to marry. Will you?"

The way he looked up at me, so humble and sincere, was a ghost of the man I once knew. Despite everything, my heart wavered.

I was about to say yes, but his next words yanked me back to a cold reality. "But you did upset Gia last night. She was crying. So, I gave her the 10% stake in the two clubs Papa was going to transfer to our name as a wedding gift."

I froze. "Miguel. Can you even hear yourself?"

My parents had originally wanted nothing to do with Miguel. Only after I pleaded endlessly and swallowed countless grievances did they finally consent to the marriage.

Even then, they had one condition: a 10% stake in two of the Sterling family's clubs had to be transferred to my name as part of the prenuptial agreement. And now, Miguel wanted to give it all away just to placate Gia.

"Aveline, my Mamma always says marriage is about managing a life together. Dowries are just an old-fashioned way of putting a price on a woman. It's so outdated."

Miguel squeezed my hand, a smile on his face but a calculating glint in his eyes.

"You're the only heir. The Sterling family assets—they're all going to be yours one day. If you play this right, maybe you can even get your Papa to sign over more of the family business before the wedding."

He must have seen the shift in my expression, because his tone softened. "You know me. I'm old-school. My thinking is simple. Everything I do is for our future."

Old-school. The same tired excuse.

I remained motionless. I took a slow breath, then smiled. "Alright."

"Principessa, I think—" my bodyguard started.

I raised a hand to stop him and continued in a voice dripping with false cheer.

"Why stop at an extra 10%? Let's have Papa throw in half the shares of the main company."

"And let's not even have a wedding. We're practical. A simple registration at city hall is enough. No venue, no dress, no fanfare."

"Same for the reception. We're not extravagant. Pizza and beer for the guests is fine. But your parents are coming from far away, so we should prepare a decent meal for them. The best, of course."

Miguel stared at me. Then a smile, brighter than any I had seen in years, broke across his face. He swept me into his arms.

"Aveline! I knew you'd come around! I'm so glad you've finally become so reasonable. I'm the luckiest man in the world."

He practically danced towards the door. "Gia, did you hear that? I told you Aveline wasn't a gold digger!"