Chapter 2: Out of His League, Out of Place

Other than being unfaithful, he doesn’t really have any flaws. Which is…something, I guess.

But what rich guy isn’t unfaithful?

It’s a cynical way to look at things, but I’d seen enough to know better than to expect fairy tales. My mom used to say, “You can’t have it all, kiddo. Pick what matters most and hold on.”

He likes to party, mess around, keep a few close female friends—that’s fine. As long as I’m his official girlfriend, the woman he wants to marry, that’s enough for me. Not exactly a rom-com, but I’ll take it.

I know my situation. If I broke up with Carter, I’d never find another one like him. That’s just reality.

When I got in the elevator, I checked my reflection in the doors. I looked tired, a little pale. But at least I didn’t look like I was about to cry.

A knitted scarf, a mid-length wool coat, snow boots. Pretty much the walking definition of sensible.

Head to toe, I looked plain—definitely not trendy, exactly the kind of ‘good wife’ people joke about online. Ha. If there were a contest for “Girl Most Likely to Be Overlooked,” I’d win by a landslide.

I remembered what Mariah once said about me:

“You’re too stiff; you’ll never pull off that bad-girl thing that guys fall for.”

“All you’re good at is hitting the books, following the rules. You’re built for a nine-to-five at the county clerk’s office, not for climbing the corporate ladder.”

“If you want to change your fate, you’ve got to play the good-girl card. While you’re still young and have something to offer, find a rich man.”

“Second-generation trust fund? Sure. Self-made? That’s fine too. Be attentive, be thoughtful. Most importantly, be generous and have a good reputation.”

“But don’t wait too long. A woman’s golden years don’t last. Once you’re older, no matter how sweet or considerate you are, guys with money just won’t want you.”

Thinking about that, I looked at the ring on my finger and sighed. Couldn’t help it.

The diamond caught the elevator’s fluorescent light, throwing off tiny rainbows against the metal walls. I pressed my thumb against it, feeling the sharp edges dig into my skin—a little reminder of everything I’d traded for this moment. Sometimes it felt more like a shackle than a promise.

Now, all I hope is that nothing else goes wrong before I marry Carter. As long as I marry him, I can handle it—even if he has kids on the side. That’s my reality now. Lucky me.

But the more you worry about something, the more likely it is to happen. Isn’t that always the way?

Right before I clocked out, I got a text from Carter. My stomach did a little flip.

He sent me an address, told me to come over, said it was a dinner with friends and he wanted to introduce me.

That had never happened before. My heart started racing. Was this a good thing or a trap?

There were things Carter and I both knew, but never talked about. That’s just how it was.

He and I come from different worlds, and our lifestyles are nothing alike. Sometimes I wondered if we were even speaking the same language.

Carter splits his world into two clear halves.

When he wants to party, he hangs out with his childhood friends, brings along this or that close friend, and lives it up.

When he’s tired of it all, he comes back to me and enjoys my careful attention. I’m his comfort zone, I guess.

Does he love me? Probably not. But I’m convenient.

But he can’t do without me. Not yet, anyway.

So even though my family background is average and I can’t dress to impress, sometimes he still gets the urge to marry me.

But that’s as far as it goes.

He’s never brought me to meet his friends or let me into his circle. I’m like his little secret.

Because in his eyes, I’m not presentable.

And I’ve always played along—I never ask to meet his friends.

After all, I know I’m marrying up with Carter, and I accept that I’ll always be on the lower rung.

But I also don’t want to be the target of gossip, giving people a chance to look down on me to my face.

On this, Carter and I have always had an unspoken understanding.

But today, he broke that understanding. And I had no idea what that meant.

I rushed to the restaurant. My hands shook on the steering wheel. Get it together, Ivy.

The place was warm, so I took off my scarf and coat, draped them over my arm, and followed the hostess down a few hallways to a private dining room. My nerves were shot.

I stood at the door, took a deep breath, told myself to get it together, and pushed the door open.

Turns out, I still wasn’t ready enough. Not even close.

The room was buzzing, packed with young men and women. Laughter and music, perfume and cologne—it was a lot.

The first person I saw wasn’t my boyfriend Carter. It was Tyler Grant, right in the middle of the crowd.

My first love.

He looked as handsome as ever, a diamond stud in his left ear, still had that wild, rebellious edge.