Jenna Bishop's father was a department manager at the Astor Group—a respectable position, but a rank that hardly warranted an invitation for his daughter to the top-floor banquet hall.

Her presence was tolerated for one reason only—she was the heir's favorite.

As soon as Evan spoke, a wave of whispers erupted through the hall.

Jenna lowered her gaze, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks, the very picture of humility.

She stepped forward and knelt gracefully.

"Mr. Astor," she said, her voice trembling but clear, "the honor Mr. Evan shows me is more than I deserve. I love him truly. I ask for nothing more than to be by his side. I don't need a title or status—only the privilege of being near him."

Evan turned to her, took her hand without a second thought, and lifted his chin as he faced the main table.

"Father, I will not let Jenna be shamed. I love her, and if I am to marry, it will only be to her."

A heavy silence fell.

"Evan," William Astor said slowly, his voice hard with disappointment, "do you understand the weight of what you're saying?"

Catherine's gaze shifted to Jenna, cold and displeased. The daughter of a minor manager aspiring to be the future matriarch of the Astor Group? The idea was absurd.

William Astor looked from his son to me, then spoke with deliberate restraint.

"Today is Marissa's day to choose," he said coolly. "As for this... arrangement you two seem to have, we can discuss it at another time."

Evan stood his ground, his face burning with defiance.

"I will not marry Marissa. I think of her as a sister, nothing more. If she insists on this union, then let all of Wall Street hear it—I will never share a bed with her. My only heirs will be born of Jenna."

He didn't stop there. His gaze turned to me, unwavering.

"As for Marissa," he continued cruelly, "she can remain under my name if she wishes. As a mistress, perhaps. It would suit her far better than a matriarch's title she could never truly own."

A collective gasp swept through the hall.

William Astor shot to his feet, furious.

I stepped forward before his anger could ignite the room.

"Mr. Astor," I said steadily, "it's alright."

Without a moment's hesitation, I fastened the Patek Philippe watch onto Jonathan's wrist.

He blinked, the amused expression still lingering on his face, but his features grew serious as I clicked the cold clasp shut.

"I have made my choice," I announced calmly. "I will marry Jonathan Astor."

For a moment, Evan simply stared, dumbfounded.

Then, a look of relief washed over his face, and he pulled Jenna protectively to his side.

"You see," he murmured to her, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "now no one can stand in our way. I told you I would only marry you."

William and Catherine exchanged a look filled with regret.

"Evan," Catherine asked softly, "are you certain? The agreements aren't signed. There is still time."

"I'm certain," he replied without hesitation. "I'm marrying Jenna."

Later, as I was leaving the banquet, I ran into them on the terrace, beneath the stone arches, as Evan escorted Jenna to her car.

He looked at me with undisguised contempt.

"I told you I would never marry you. At least today you were spared the humiliation of choosing me."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping as if bestowing a favor.

"If you have regrets, after Jenna and I are married, perhaps I'll convince my mother to give you a place at the Malibu villa. You'll have a nice title, of course, but no matriarchal rights. I've already promised Jenna—only she will bear my children."

Jenna leaned against him, her cheeks flushed.

"Evan, please don't," she murmured, not pulling her hand from his.

Then she looked at me, her gaze timid.

"Marissa, I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to choose my own life, for once. You won't hold it against me, will you?"

Evan pulled Jenna closer.

"Don't worry. As long as I'm by your side, no one will dare oppose you. You'll be Mrs. Astor one day, and everyone—Marissa included—will have to look up to you."

I looked at Evan's face and remembered my past life—the day he devoured my family's company for Jenna Bishop, the day he signed the order that kicked me off my own board. The memory was a fresh wound.

This time, I would protect what was mine. I would not let history repeat itself.

Without the Devereux alliance my marriage would have secured—without the technology, influence, and capital my name represented—did Evan truly believe he could inherit the Astor Group so easily?

Did he think the CEO's seat would simply fall into his lap?

Jenna Bishop's official engagement to Evan was announced soon after, and overnight she became the most talked-about woman in New York. A mere manager's daughter becoming the most coveted fiancée in a financial empire, and the heiresses of New York's top dynasties could barely conceal their fury.

In private clubs and gallery corridors, the whispers were everywhere.

"Marissa, Evan has gone too far. An intern as his fiancée?"

"You two grew up together. How could he cast all those years aside so easily?"

"I heard Miss Bishop was awful to the other interns. What on earth does he see in her?"

What did he see in her?

He had once told me, with a straight face, "Jenna hasn't been tainted by the ambitions of high society. She's pure, unspoiled. Not calculating and competitive like the rest of you."

"I love her precisely because she isn't moved by status or wealth."

I smiled faintly at the memory.

Good.

Let's see how long that purity lasts when faced with the power of the Astor Group.

Because I was marrying Jonathan, Catherine was ecstatic. She summoned me to her private trust fund office and insisted I pick whatever I desired for my prenuptial agreement.

When I left that afternoon, my legal team trailed behind me, their arms laden with documents for multiple estates, numerous funds, and priceless pieces from Catherine's private art collection.

In the polished marble corridor of a high-end restaurant, I ran into Jenna, who was on her way to greet Catherine. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, and she was clutching a gossip magazine that contrasted her pitiful engagement ring with my net worth.

When she saw the team of lawyers trailing me, a shadow crossed her face before she lowered her gaze.

"Marissa," she said softly, "you're so fortunate. Your aunt is so generous to you."

I studied her for a moment, then pulled a deed from the nearest file—a beachfront estate in the Hamptons.

"Jenna," I said lightly, "this would be perfect for your weekend parties. Consider it my gift to congratulate you on becoming Evan's fiancée."

Before she could respond, Evan's voice cut through the corridor.

"There's no need for such gestures."

He strode over, his face tightening at the sight of the lawyers and their documents.

"Jenna doesn't value these gaudy displays," he said coldly. "Put your deed away."

He immediately turned to her, his tone softening with concern.

"Why were you crying?"

Then his gaze returned to me, now dark with accusation.