Chapter 1: Sister vs. Wife—The First Strike

My stepsister has her sights set on my husband. But my husband? He’s the kind of wild, over-the-top romantic you only ever see in movies.

Honestly, sometimes it feels like I’m starring in one of those Hallmark love stories you’d binge during a Netflix marathon on a rainy Saturday—except, this is my actual life. There’s something reckless and almost unfiltered about the way Mason loves me, and I can’t help but find it both hilarious and incredibly flattering. Sometimes I catch myself thinking, Is this real life?

So when my stepsister crept up behind him in a hotel bathrobe and tried to hug him, my husband spun around and twisted her arm—no hesitation. "Listen, do you have any idea how hard I worked to win Autumn over? If you ever try this again, you’ll be lucky if all you get is a sprained arm."

No hesitation. Just pure, protective instinct. The way he said my name—Autumn—like it was a shield between me and the world. Sometimes I wonder if he picked up those moves from too many action flicks, but with Mason, it’s always the real deal.

Terrified, my stepsister scrambled away, nearly tripping over herself as she fled the room.

You’d think she’d never seen that look in his eyes before—a warning as clear as a neon sign. Almost makes you feel sorry for her. Almost.

My husband is honestly a next-level, head-over-heels romantic—the kind you only read about.

And it’s not just talk. He’d move mountains for me, and sometimes I have to pinch myself that someone could love me this much. It’s like living in the middle of a hurricane that only ever drops good luck on my head.

The day he proposed, he looked me dead in the eye and said, "If we ever have a kid, I’ll always put you first. My mom knows how to swim, the house deed will be in your name, and the kid can even take your last name. Actually, I’d rather not have kids at all—I can’t stand the thought of you suffering."

He was so earnest, so intense, like he was making a vow before the universe. That moment is burned into my memory—the kind of scene you’d expect in a movie, except it was my life, and he was dead serious. I could practically feel the weight of it settle in my chest.

He didn’t wait. The day I said yes, he dragged me straight to the courthouse to get our marriage license.

He literally grabbed my hand, tossed me into the passenger seat, and hit the gas. We laughed the entire drive. The courthouse clerk grinned and said, "You two in a hurry, or just really in love? Haven’t seen a groom this eager in years."

Not long after, he transferred all his assets into my name, telling me it was so I’d always feel secure. I almost laughed at how serious he was.

He made it official—bank accounts, stocks, even the lake house up north. I tried to argue, but he just grinned at me, winking, "No take-backs." I remember staring at him, half exasperated, half swooning.

Looking at my bank account stacked with zeroes, I’d say my sense of security is off the charts.

Sometimes I check the balance just to make sure it’s not a dream. Every time, there it is—solid as ever. It always hits me again: he really means it when he says he wants me to feel safe.

And get this—even my in-laws learned how to swim, just for me.

They signed up for lessons at the local YMCA. My mother-in-law even posted pictures on Facebook, grinning in her new goggles and swim cap. It became the family’s running joke—"the Miller Olympic Team."

They had no complaints—actually, they said, "Autumn, Mason’s the lucky one to have you."

"And hey, swimming’s good for us! Don’t think twice about it."

They made it sound like I’d done them a favor by marrying in. It was weirdly sweet, and for the first time, I felt like I really belonged somewhere. I caught myself smiling, almost surprised by the warmth.

As they talked, each of them pressed a bank card into my hand.

It felt like the world’s most generous game of poker. I half expected someone to nudge me and say, "Don’t spend it all in one place."

Mason leaned in, grinning, "Each card’s got a million on it."

He said it so offhand, like he was talking about the weather or tomorrow’s forecast. I nearly spit out my coffee.

Suddenly, those little cards felt like they weighed a ton.

Seriously, it was like holding bricks of gold. My hands shook as I tucked them away. I mean, who does that? Who just hands out money like it’s candy?

Honestly, I can’t say I was shocked by their generosity.

If you know the Millers, you know money is how they show love. Still, it’s not the cash that gets me—it’s the way they welcome me, no strings, no questions asked.

Mason, if I’m being generous, is loyal as a golden retriever. If I’m being real, he’s a total guard dog—everyone knows how possessive he is.

He’s got this way of hovering at parties, always close enough that everyone knows I’m spoken for. He’d probably rock a "Property of Autumn" T-shirt if I let him. Sometimes I wonder if he’s secretly shopping for one online.

My in-laws are always worried I’ll get overwhelmed by Mason and bolt, and then he’ll lose his mind.

They’ve seen him blow up over smaller things. Last Thanksgiving, he nearly got into it with Uncle Phil just because he thought I looked bored at dinner. I had to kick him under the table.

But what they don’t realize is, that’s exactly what I love about him.

I never have to wonder if I’m enough for him. He makes it obvious every single day—sometimes in ways that make me laugh, sometimes in ways that make me melt.

Both my parents cheated and divorced when I was a kid. After that, I just stopped believing in love.

I remember the yelling, the slammed doors, those endless nights curled up in bed, wishing for something—anything—stable. I grew up thinking love was just a word people said before they left.

But with someone like Mason, I’ve found a kind of security I never even knew existed. I mean, he’s rich, he’s handsome, he’s in great shape!

And he can cook. He cracks me up. He never lets me forget I’m loved. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

Sure, he’s a little intense, but hey—at least he’s intense about me.

I’d take that over indifference any day. The world’s already cold enough; I’ll take my heat where I can get it.

If I’m even a little uncomfortable, Mason’s on it faster than anyone I know.

Last week, I sneezed at breakfast, and he showed up at my office with three kinds of soup and a humidifier. I swear, the man has a sixth sense for my moods—like he’s got me on some secret radar.