Chapter 2: Betrayal and Heartbreak

"Morgan Grant is so easy. Who knows how many guys she’s slept with besides me?"

Evan’s words stopped me cold.

That day—

He had clearly known.

He knew I was still a virgin.

I stood in the hallway, the ugly paisley runner scratching my bare feet, and the stale cigar smoke from Dad’s study clung to my skin. My heart thudded so loudly, I was sure everyone could hear it.

Inside the study, Dad’s face was dark as a thunderstorm.

That pink bra—my underwear—had made him lose all dignity.

He stared at the carpet like it had personally offended him, his fingers tapping a slow, angry rhythm against the polished mahogany desk. I wanted to shrink into the wallpaper.

Despite his guilt, he said, "The engagement is already set..."

His voice cracked just a little, so quiet only I noticed. He was trapped, too—by pride, by tradition, by the never-ending pressure to keep our family name spotless.

Evan let out a cold laugh. "I can’t break off the engagement. Mr. Grant can just make his younger daughter from his second wife the one to marry me instead."

He sounded smug, like he’d just closed a business deal, not destroyed someone’s life. I wanted to hurl something at him, but my hands wouldn’t move.

Dad was stunned on the spot.

He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. In that moment, he looked older than I’d ever seen him, shoulders slumping in defeat.

I too stared in disbelief.

The world tilted a little. I clung to the edge of Dad’s desk, trying to keep my knees from buckling.

So, it was not me he wanted after all.

I remembered that ridiculous night: Evan had held me gently in his arms, kissing me, coaxing me to keep my eyes open.

His breath had tickled my ear, and I had thought he meant every word. How foolish was I?

He said, "Morgan, I’m so happy..."

Turns out, what made him happy wasn’t having me, but—

His plan had worked. He could finally be with his beloved Willa Grant.

I pictured her—Willa with her perfect hair and that easy Southern drawl, always smiling at Evan like he hung the moon.

Evan continued, "Willa is talented and sweet, much more suited to be my wife than Morgan Grant."

His words felt like ice water poured over my skin. I pressed my lips together to keep from crying in front of them.

Dad was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. I promise you."

He said it with a kind of resignation I’d never heard from him before. My heart dropped into a pit.

Though the spring sun was warm, my feet felt like blocks of ice.

Somewhere outside, a cardinal sang—a song so bright, it hurt. I bit my lower lip, using all my strength to stop myself from shaking, and ran out in panic.