POV: Brielle
I'm staring at the three white envelopes on my dresser when my phone buzzes for the tenth time tonight.
I ignore it. Just like I've ignored the other twenty messages in the last hour. Everyone wants to know the same thing: which one will I choose tomorrow?
The thing is, I don't want to choose. I want them to choose me.
My hands shake as I pick up the first envelope. Heavy cream paper. Gold lettering. The SaintClair Family cordially invites you to celebrate Brielle's 25th Birthday Gala.
Twenty-five. The magic number. Old enough to inherit my trust fund. Old enough to run the family business. Old enough to pick a husband from the three boys I grew up with.
Except they're not boys anymore. They're powerful men who could have anyone in the world.
Why would they want me?
I drop the envelope and grab my pillow, pressing it against my face to muffle the scream building in my throat. This is stupid. I'm being stupid. They care about me. They've always cared about me.
But caring isn't the same as loving. And I need to know which one loves me before I walk into that ballroom tomorrow night and make the biggest decision of my life.
A soft knock interrupts my panic attack.
"Miss Brielle?" My maid, Sarah, peeks through the door. "Your father wants everyone downstairs in ten minutes. Pre-gala dinner."
My stomach twists into knots. "I'll be right there."
Sarah helps me into a simple blue dress—nothing fancy, just family tonight—and fixes my hair. I stare at myself in the mirror. Platinum blonde hair. Violet eyes. Pretty face. Everything a SaintClair daughter should be.
But is it enough? Am I enough?
"You look beautiful," Sarah says gently. She's known me since I was six. She can always tell when I'm freaking out.
"Sarah... can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"How do you know if someone really loves you? Like, actually loves you, not just loves the idea of you?"
Sarah's quiet for a moment. Then she smiles sadly. "You ask them, honey. And you watch what they do, not just what they say."
I nod, but my chest feels tight. I'm too scared to ask. What if the answer breaks me?
I head downstairs, my heart pounding harder with each step. I can hear voices from the dining room. My father's booming laugh. My mother's soft chuckle. And three other voices that make my pulse race.
Thane. Deep and controlled, like he's always thinking five steps ahead.
Cassian. Warm and playful, the kind of voice that makes you want to smile.
Dorian. Gentle and calm, like a safe place in a storm.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, suddenly terrified to walk into that room. What if I see the truth in their eyes? What if none of them want me the way I want them?
What if I'm just the obligation their families expect them to fulfill?
My phone buzzes again. I pull it out, expecting another "Happy early birthday!" text.
Instead, it's from my best friend Izzy: Girl, I heard something WEIRD about tomorrow. Call me ASAP.
My heart drops. Weird? What kind of weird?
I'm about to call her back when I hear my name.
"Brielle should be down any second," my father says loudly. "Then we can discuss the final arrangements for tomorrow."
"Final arrangements?" That's Thane's voice. He sounds... annoyed? "Sir, with all due respect, Brielle should be part of this conversation."
"She doesn't need to worry about details," my father dismisses. "We've already decided—"
"Decided what?" I don't mean to say it out loud, but the words burst out of me as I step into the dining room doorway.
Everyone turns to look at me.
My father. My mother. Thane in his perfectly tailored black suit, ice-blue eyes unreadable. Cassian with his messy bronze hair and that trademark smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes tonight. Dorian standing slightly apart from the others, his hazel-green gaze soft but worried.
"Brielle!" My mother stands quickly. "Darling, we were just—"
"Deciding things about my life without me?" I finish, trying to keep my voice steady. "What's going on?"
The three men exchange looks. Something passes between them—some silent conversation I'm not part of.
"It's nothing to worry about, princess," my father says, using the nickname that usually makes me feel special. Tonight it makes me feel small. "Just logistics. The gala is a big event."
"Then why did Thane say I should be part of the conversation?"
Thane's jaw tightens. For a second, I think he's going to tell me the truth. Instead, he says, "Your father's right. Just boring details."
My chest aches. He's lying. I can always tell when Thane's lying because he won't look directly at me.
"Fine." I force a smile. "Should we eat, then?"
Dinner is torture. Everyone keeps talking about tomorrow like it's just another party. My mother discusses the flower arrangements. My father brags about the guest list. The guys stay mostly quiet, which is weird because they're usually the loudest people at any table.
I push food around my plate, barely tasting anything. That text from Izzy keeps burning in my mind. I heard something WEIRD.
What did she hear?
"Brielle, honey, you've barely eaten," my mother says, concerned.
"Just nervous about tomorrow," I lie.
Cassian reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Hey. You're going to be amazing tomorrow. You always are."
I want to believe him. But there's something in his eyes—something sad—that makes my throat tight.
"I need some air," I announce suddenly, standing up. "I'll be right back."
I don't wait for permission. I just walk out through the side door into the garden. The cool evening air hits my face, and I can finally breathe again.
I pull out my phone to call Izzy, but before I can dial, I hear voices.
Male voices. Coming from behind the rose hedge near the fountain.
I recognize them immediately. Thane. Cassian. Dorian.
And they're not alone. There are other men with them—voices I don't recognize.
I should call out. Let them know I'm here. But something stops me. Maybe it's the text from Izzy. Maybe it's the weird energy at dinner. Maybe it's just gut instinct.
I move closer to the hedge, staying quiet, hidden in the shadows.
"—seriously though, which one of you is actually going through with it tomorrow?" an unfamiliar voice asks, amused.
My heart stops. Going through with what?
There's a long pause. Then Thane's cold voice cuts through the night air like a knife:
"If it weren't for my parents' pressure, I wouldn't even be entertaining this charade."
The world tilts sideways. I grab the hedge to steady myself, thorns biting into my palm.
"Exactly," Cassian says, and he sounds bitter. Angry. "We have people we actually want. She's just... the obligation we inherited from our families' friendship."
No. No, this can't be real. This can't be happening.
Then Dorian speaks. Dorian, who held my hand through my worst nightmares. Dorian, who I thought understood me better than anyone.
His voice is quiet but firm: "I'd rather die than be forced into marriage with her."
Something inside me shatters. Like glass breaking. Like my whole world splitting in half.
The other men laugh. One of them says something crude about "taking one for the team."
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't move.
They don't want me.
They never wanted me.
I'm just an obligation. A burden. A joke.
My vision blurs with tears, but I don't let them fall. Not yet. Not where anyone can see.
I turn and run—not back into the house where I'd have to face them, but toward the side gate. My feet know the path even in the dark. I've walked this garden a thousand times.
But I've never felt this alone.
I make it to my bedroom without seeing anyone. Lock the door. Slide down against it as the sobs finally break free.
Everything I believed was a lie. Everything I hoped for was stupid. They were probably laughing at me this whole time. Poor, pathetic Brielle who actually thought one of them might love her.
My phone buzzes. Izzy's name lights up the screen.
With shaking hands, I answer. "Hello?"
"Brielle! Thank God. Listen, I heard from my cousin who works at Hale Collective—there's some kind of bet going around about tomorrow. About which one of the guys will actually propose. Apparently none of them want to, but their families are forcing—"
I hang up. I can't hear anymore. Can't take anymore.
A bet. It's a bet to them.
I stand up slowly. Walk to my mirror. Look at the girl staring back at me.
She looks like a fool. A silly little princess who thought she mattered.
I pull open my closet and grab a suitcase.
I'm not going to that gala tomorrow. I'm not going to stand in a ballroom and wait for one of them to pick me like I'm a prize they don't even want.
I'm leaving. Tonight. Right now.
I throw clothes into the suitcase—anything I can grab. I don't even care what. I just need to get out of here.
My hands find my grandmother's jewelry box on my dresser. Inside is a small envelope I've never opened. It's addressed to me in her handwriting: For emergencies only.
I tear it open. Inside is a credit card, a bank account number, and a note:
My darling Brielle, if you're reading this, something has gone terribly wrong. Use this money. Disappear if you need to. And remember—you were never theirs to give away. You belong to yourself.
The account balance is written at the bottom: $50,000,000.
I stare at it. Then I start laughing. Then crying. Then both at once.
My grandmother knew. She knew this might happen. She knew I might need to run.
I grab my laptop, my passport, and the emergency credit card. Throw them all in the suitcase.
My phone buzzes with a text from my father: Brielle, where are you? We're waiting for dessert.
I turn off my phone. I don't owe them an explanation. I don't owe them anything.
I write one sentence on a piece of paper and leave it on my bed:
Don't look for me. You'll finally be free of your obligation.
Then I grab my suitcase, open my bedroom window, and climb down the trellis I used to sneak out as a teenager.
By the time anyone notices I'm gone, I'll be halfway across the world.
And Brielle SaintClair?
She'll be dead.