Chapter 2: When Rivals Collide

This whole mess—ugh, this whole story—started two years ago. Yeah, buckle up.

Two years ago, Jackson Monroe came home from overseas, a war hero. The whole town turned out on Main Street to welcome him.

Every girl in Maple Heights was swooning, hoping for a glimpse of the famous Marine.

Back then, I wasn’t married yet—just single and free—so of course I went, too.

I sat on the gazebo porch, sipping cider, watching the street fill up. I spotted him right away—the man everyone adored.

From a distance, Jackson Monroe, in his dress blues, sat tall on his motorcycle, looking like he’d just rolled off a movie set—think young Paul Newman, all chiseled jaw and easy confidence.

The man Nathaniel would later hate with a burning passion was already a legend.

He came from a powerful family, the only son of the county commissioner. But after his dad got busted for embezzlement, Jackson went from golden boy to outcast, nearly run out of town.

He joined the Marines, and through sheer grit and stubbornness, worked his way up to become the mayor’s right-hand man—a real Cinderella story, if you ask me.

I watched him for a bit, then tossed back my cider and sighed. "Honestly, what kind of girl could ever be good enough for Jackson Monroe?"

A cold, all-too-familiar voice cut in right by my ear.

"Anyone could. Just not you."

I whipped around and found Nathaniel Rowe, my lifelong rival, standing there with his usual smirk. My temper flared on the spot.

All I did was sigh, and he couldn’t wait to get his digs in. So petty!

I jumped up, fists balled and jaw tight. "Nathaniel! What is your problem?!"

He looked genuinely startled by my outburst.

"I’m the judge’s daughter, the prettiest girl in Maple Heights. Why wouldn’t I be good enough for him?"

Nathaniel’s face clouded over, his gaze drilling into me. After a long pause, his voice came out rough. "You like him?"

I was caught off guard, not sure where he got that idea, so I snorted. "Yeah, I like him. Love at first sight, okay? He’s handsome, he’s got a future—what’s so weird about me liking him?"

Nathaniel’s lips pressed together, his eyes shadowed and stormy.

After what felt like forever, he finally said, "He won’t like you."

The air felt like it just froze solid.

"Ha, Nathaniel, aren’t you a little full of yourself?" I shot back, my voice sharp. "You’re not a mind reader. How do you know he won’t like me?"

His gaze went even darker. He was about to say something, then his eyes narrowed like he’d just spotted a ghost. He pointed. "That’s the one Jackson really cares about."

I followed his finger and saw a frail, pale woman.

Everyone else was crowding toward Jackson, but she stood apart, moving against the flow, her lonely silhouette stretching away from the crowd.

Maybe I was imagining things, but I could’ve sworn Jackson’s eyes were glued to her back.

"Enough!"

I tore my gaze away, figuring Nathaniel was just trying to get under my skin, as usual.

I glared at him, my breath coming fast, chest heaving, emotions all tangled up—probably didn’t help that I’d had too much cider.

"I know you’ve always looked down on me—think I’m lazy and useless, right?"

"Autumn—"

"Don’t call my name!"

I bit my lip, swallowing hard, took a few deep breaths, and shot him a cold look. "I know I’m not as talented as the one you really like, but don’t forget what her status is now. Ever since she married into that rich family, you two have no shot."

"Oh, and by the way," I added, raising an eyebrow and flashing a sly grin, "you’re the mayor’s nephew, so you call her ‘aunt.’ Now that she’s married your uncle, do you call her ‘aunt’ or ‘sister-in-law?’"

I pictured the awkward scene in my head and couldn’t help but laugh.

Nathaniel: "..."

His handsome brows furrowed over and over, his face shifting through a dozen emotions. "Autumn, I—"

"I said, don’t call my name!"

He just stood there, lost for words, lips tight, looking a little desperate. Finally, in a low, rough voice, he said, "A.J."

I froze, my mind buzzing, ears ringing. Never thought I’d hear him use my childhood nickname.

Only family or a boyfriend ever called me that.

He seemed to realize it, too. He met my shocked gaze, hesitated, started to speak—but before he could, a young cousin ran up and whispered something in his ear. I caught the words "mayor" and "illness."

His eyes darkened, worry flickering across his face. He glanced at me, then hurried off with the cousin.

I watched him go, feeling weirdly lost.

That night, at Jackson Monroe’s homecoming party, the mayor threw a big bash at City Hall. Every official and their families had to show up.

My dad’s the county judge, a big deal and a distant cousin of the mayor. As his daughter, I didn’t have a choice—I had to be there.

And why a relative? Because I’ve got a little sister, Marissa Sinclair, who did so well for herself she married the mayor’s son at seventeen and became the town’s darling.

Yep, Marissa is Nathaniel’s first love—the one he never got over.

The party was buzzing, drinks everywhere.

I lounged at the table, still stewing over my fight with Nathaniel, eyes half-closed, a mocking smile tugging at my lips.

Suddenly, a figure in green appeared beside me, settling down with a soft, "Sis."

My fingers tightened around my wine glass as I looked up.

Marissa wore an elegant green dress, her hair pinned back with a gold barrette. She looked gentle and refined—every inch the model daughter-in-law.

My gaze flickered. "Mrs. Whitmore."

She didn’t seem to mind my chilly tone, just smiled a little. "I heard you’ve been keeping to yourself this year—working on your art and reading?"

Her eyes were openly disdainful, but there was curiosity there too.

I lowered my head, not saying a word.

Everyone says the Sinclairs have two beauties: I’m the town’s knockout, all looks and no substance; she’s the famous talented lady, clever but plain.

They praised her for her brains, always saying she’d make the perfect wife, and matchmakers kept showing up at our door—from wealthy families, of course.

I remember once, she and I hid behind the door to spy on the matchmakers. Her face got all pink, and she turned to me, whispering, "Don’t be discouraged, Sis. With your looks, you’ll have even more suitors."

I nodded and grinned back at her.

But when Dad fielded the proposals, they were all for me.

She turned green on the spot, glared at me, lips trembling as she muttered through clenched teeth, "You really are born lucky," then stormed off.

Because of that, we were locked in this weird rivalry—pretending to be loving sisters, always competing under the surface.

Yeah, I didn’t like her either.

Why? Because I liked Nathaniel since we were kids, but he didn’t like me—he liked Marissa.

Our families were close, and the grown-ups thought Nathaniel and I were a perfect match. I was thrilled about it, and he… well, he didn’t object.

But somehow, he and Marissa grew closer.

He was always kind of reserved, but with her, he’d open up. With me, he was cold as ice.

I got fed up and told my dad I wanted to break off our "engagement."

They say heartbreak makes women focus on self-improvement. With no more silly hopes, I threw myself into painting, locking myself away at home.

Later, Marissa dumped Nathaniel to marry the mayor’s son. He couldn’t handle it, locked himself in his house for two weeks, claiming he was sick.

Rumor had it he lost a bunch of weight.

I felt sad—not just because she left and I lost my sparring partner, but because I didn’t realize how much he cared for her.

I could guess why she did it. She was always ambitious; Nathaniel couldn’t give her what she wanted. She wanted real power, to be the mayor’s favorite.

Poor Nathaniel.

Now, with Marissa as the mayor’s darling, she had to rub it in my face.

I straightened up, meeting her gaze head-on.

She smiled sweetly, pure as a white lily, then waved a server over to bring out a canvas and unrolled it in front of everyone.

My fingers froze as I stared at the painting.

Mist and clouds swirled around green hills and rivers, watercolors bleeding into each other. It was the landscape I’d painted for her birthday not too long ago.

"What is this? I can’t tell."

"I’ve never seen this style. Looks like someone spilled paint on it."

Marissa smiled quietly, then announced, "This is a landscape my sister, Autumn Sinclair, painted."

All eyes turned to me.

"Wow, this… unique painting was done by Miss Sinclair?"

She nodded, giving me a look that said plenty. "Today is Jackson Monroe’s big day. My sister told me she wants to auction this painting, which she spent over half a year working on, to raise money for the veterans."

The room erupted.

"This painting… might not even fetch twenty bucks."

"Maybe, but she’s the town beauty. Some young guy will buy it, no matter how bad it is."

"True… but I bet it’ll go for $250—just to match her reputation!"

"Why $250?"

"You know, the ‘pretty but dumb’ beauty!"

The laughter stung, every word a needle. My hands and feet went cold. Instinctively, I scanned the crowd for Nathaniel, but he was nowhere in sight.

"To me, this painting is worth a thousand dollars."

A man’s deep, warm voice rang out, clear as a bell.

The room went dead silent.

I looked up, and froze.

It was Jackson Monroe.

His face was calm, lips shaping two words: "In cash."

Everyone gasped.

I blinked, completely stunned.

Marissa’s face fell, but she kept her gentle smile. "Jackson, are you joking? A thousand bucks is a lot."

Jackson ignored her, looking around the room, his gaze serious. "Do you know what soldiers fear most?"

People glanced at each other, confused.

"It’s not dying in battle or facing the enemy. It’s starving on the front lines because supplies don’t come."

His words silenced everyone, embarrassment flushing their faces.

He looked around, finally resting his eyes on me, his voice deep and gentle but strong. "Miss Sinclair is willing to auction her painting for the veterans. Her kindness makes this painting worth far more than a thousand dollars to me—and to every soldier who served."

The room was silent. Marissa’s wine glass slipped from her hand, shattering and drawing every eye.