Part 2Married Him At Your Engagement Party

"Holden, stop it!" Camilla intervened, her voice tight with panic.

"That's Beckett Harrington. The heir to the Harrington Group. He's not someone a nobody like Rowan could ever hook up with."

Holden froze for a long, heavy second, but his obsessive need for control wouldn't let it go.

"Mr. Harrington," Holden called out, his voice tight. "Would you mind letting me see her face? The woman in your arms bears a striking resemblance to my assistant. She's a naive girl, and I'd hate to see her make a mistake and attach herself to the wrong crowd."

Beckett Harrington looked down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, before throwing a freezing glare across the balcony.

"Mr. Prescott. If you're divorced, you need to learn to stay divorced. Using your ex-wife as a stepping stone so you can marry into the Beaumont family's money... it's not exactly what I'd call gentlemanly behavior."

I could almost hear Holden's jaw clench. He forced out a breathless, furious laugh. "My domestic affairs are none of your concern, Mr. Harrington."

"Agreed. And my girlfriend is none of yours. Don't cross the line, Prescott."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"Holden!" Camilla tugged at his arm. "Your mother is still waiting downstairs. Let's not keep her waiting."

With a final, violent tug, she dragged him back inside.

Slam.

My front door violently shut, rattling the windowpanes.

I took a shaky breath, pushing against the solid wall of Beckett's chest, my voice barely a whisper. "Where is the girl who was bothering you? Tell me what you need me to do."

Beckett flashed a lazy, devilish grin, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Don't worry about it. She's not the brightest. She was banging on the wrong door."

He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen. "Give me your number. I'll Venmo you the money."

I waved him off, suddenly exhausted down to my marrow. "Keep it. I didn't actually do anything."

Before he could reach for me again, I turned, unlocked his front door, and walked out without looking back.

I looped around the floor, slipped back into my wrecked apartment, shoved a few essentials into a tote bag, and took the service elevator down to the alley behind the building.

My hand had just touched the heavy metal push-bar of the exit door when someone grabbed a fistful of my hair.

My head was violently yanked back. A second later, a sharp, stinging slap cracked across my cheek.

"You cheap, classless little tramp. You're divorced, and you're still crawling back to my son's bed."

I slowly lifted my eyes. It had been two years since I last saw Margaret Prescott, but her aristocratic sneer hadn't aged a day.

"Tsk... Look at that pathetic, victimized face. You're exactly like your trailer-trash mother. A social-climbing parasite with absolutely no shame."

Her shrill, vicious voice began drawing the stares of passing pedestrians on the sidewalk.

I closed my eyes. A tidal wave of wretched memories crashed over me.

The sneers when Holden first brought me home. The relentless emotional torture after we married. The cold, indifferent remarks after I miscarried... twice.

It's because your blood is cheap, she had said, sipping her tea. Trash like you could never hold onto a child with our pedigree.

Those words were branded into my soul.

And the divorce? The grand finale of our tragic love story? That had been her masterpiece.

I opened my eyes. The old, terrified girl who used to shrink under her gaze was gone.

"Mrs. Prescott," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Instead of coming after me, you should really have a talk with your son. When we signed those papers, he was the one on his knees, begging me not to leave. He asked for two years. He promised me that in two years, he would marry me again, the right way."

"You—you lying bitch! Holden was completely blind to ever let a snake like you bewitch him!" Margaret shrieked, her composure shattering.

Camilla stepped out from the shadows, wrapping a manicured hand around Margaret's arm. She murmured something soothing to the older woman, then strutted toward me, her heels clicking on the pavement. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled a heavy, embossed envelope from her designer bag.

"The twenty-seventh of this month," Camilla said, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Holden and I are having our engagement gala."

She held the invitation out to me. "It's at the penthouse of the Plaza. I believe that was the venue you always begged him for when you got married?"

My fingers went numb.

Just last month, Holden had specifically instructed me to pull every string I had to secure that exact ballroom. He told me he needed it for a "milestone ceremony."

I had foolishly believed my two-year sentence was up. I thought he was finally going to claim me in the light of day.

But I was just the hired help, booking the venue for the woman he actually wanted to show off to the world.

It felt like a giant, invisible hand had reached into my chest and was squeezing my heart until it bruised.

I stared at the thick, cream-colored cardstock, my fingers trembling ever so slightly as I took it from her.

I looked up and offered her a tired, broken smile.

"You aren't having your engagement party on the twenty-seventh."