Chapter 2: The Night She Took Everything

The first time I met Sierra Moreno was at the college anniversary gala. The air smelled like roses and champagne.

It was one of those nights where the air buzzed with excitement, everyone dressed to the nines. Like you’d made it, even if you hadn’t.

The beautiful scholarship student stepped onto the stage, and I instinctively turned to look at Mason. I couldn’t help it. I had to know.

Sure enough, he was watching Sierra, too. He always noticed her.

His eyes never left her, not even for a second. I felt invisible, sitting right beside him. Did he even remember I was there?

His usually cool, sharp gaze had softened, fixed on her without blinking. Not even for me.

I’d never seen him look at anyone like that—not even me. It was a look that said, *Here’s someone worth noticing.*

On stage, the girl wore a red dress—bold and vibrant. The crowd was noisy, with waves of exclamations and applause. She owned it. Every second.

She owned the room, every eye drawn to her. Even the professors in the front row sat up a little straighter. I couldn’t look away either.

The host grinned, voice teasing: “Sierra? Honestly, I thought that was a guy’s name when I saw the program. Most girls’ names are a little more... gentle, you know?”

The audience chuckled, the tension breaking for a moment. I glanced at Mason. Hoped for a smile. But he was still lost in Sierra.

Sierra smiled, a little pride shining through: “Who says girls can’t be called Sierra? It means mountain range. I want to be like that. Always reaching higher.”

The words hung in the air, and the applause that followed was louder than before. She had a way of making you believe her. Even I believed her.

Her words drew another round of applause. I clapped, too. Couldn’t help it.

I clapped along, but my hands felt heavy. It was like watching someone step into a spotlight you’d been saving for yourself. Was I being selfish?

“Sierra? That’s her name? Sierra Moreno?”

I heard Mason, beside me, murmur unconsciously.

He said it softly, almost reverently. The kind of tone you use for something precious. I’d never heard him say my name like that.

His gaze was full of admiration, locked on the stage. He never looked at me that way.

I wanted to reach over, to remind him I was there. But I stayed still, afraid of what I’d see if he looked back. I couldn’t risk it.

During the audience interaction, Sierra shot him a grin, all mischief, and pointed straight at Mason.

The crowd ooh’d and aah’d, some people whistling. I felt my stomach drop. Of all the people she could have chosen, it had to be him. Of course it was him.

"Alright, let’s bring up one lucky audience member to join Sierra for…"

People craned their necks, whispering guesses. I held my breath. Please not Mason. Please.

The host unrolled a slip of paper and read aloud: “A one-armed bridal carry!”

Laughter erupted. It was the kind of challenge that sounded impossible, but Mason was never one to back down. He loved a dare.

Mason stood up confidently. His cheeks were a little red, but he strode up to the stage with everyone cracking up.

He looked so sure of himself, even with everyone watching. I envied that—his ease, his confidence. He didn’t even glance back at me. I might as well have been invisible.

He was so focused, he forgot I was sitting right beside him. Maybe he never noticed at all.

For a moment, I felt like a stranger at my own party. I watched him reach for Sierra, the rest of the world fading away. I couldn’t breathe.

She faked a stumble and kissed him on the cheek.

The audience went wild. It was just a peck. But it changed everything. I clenched my fists in my lap.

She shot me a look, her smile daring me to react.

It was quick, but I caught it—a flash of triumph. I knew then that this wasn’t just a performance. It was a warning. She wanted me to know.

After that night, Sierra’s reputation as a fake-innocent girl was set.

People started talking, of course. Some called her a flirt, others said she was just bold. But everyone agreed: Sierra Moreno was trouble. I should have seen it coming.

My best friend was indignant: “Of all people, she picks someone else’s boyfriend? She did it on purpose—everyone knows you and Mason are the campus golden couple.” That’s what they said, anyway.

Julia never minced words. She was fiercely loyal, ready to throw down for me at a moment’s notice. I loved her for it. She always had my back.

She wasn’t wrong. At least, not then.

We really were the golden couple—at least on paper. The kind of pair people point out at parties, whispering about how perfect we look together. But perfection is just a story people tell themselves. We were good at pretending.

To outsiders, Mason and I were a perfect match—family backgrounds aligned, a family-arranged engagement set since we were kids. Perfect on paper. That’s all.

On the outside, we looked like the American dream—two families, old friends, planning a future together. It sounded romantic, but it felt more like a contract. Love by arrangement.