After Calling Off the Engagement, I Became My Ex-Fiancé’s Creditor

The bag landed in a puddle with a wet slap. The zipper was partly open.

Inside, I saw cheap white satin. A dress meant for a background extra. The hem was frayed.

Marco’s voice was flat. “Mr. Cassio is merciful. Miss Ross needs an assistant to handle her train on the red carpet tonight. You do this, you wear this, your cards are active by morning. The wedding spot stays open.”

He wanted me to carry the train of the woman in my dress. In that.

It was a calculated, public humiliation.

I looked from the bag to Marco, my body shaking but my spine rigid.

“Tell Vincent Cassio to go to hell.”

Marco’s expression turned ugly. He stepped closer, jabbing a finger at me. “You stupid bitch. You think you’re still the lady of the house? You’re nothing. Without Mr. Cassio, you’ll be eating from dumpsters!”

He gave a sharp nod.

The Maybach’s doors flew open. Two hulking men in dark suits were on me before I could blink. They twisted my arms behind my back.

“Get off me!”

My struggles were useless. The cold had sapped all my strength.

Marco scooped up the muddy garment bag and shoved it against my chest. “Mr. Cassio’s orders. You’re doing this the hard way.”

I was thrown into the back of the car. The door slammed shut.

The interior was arctic. My wet clothes clung to me. I trembled uncontrollably.

Marco glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Should have kept your mouth shut. Know your place next time.”

I shut my eyes, blocking him out.

Twenty minutes later, we were at the film festival’s backstage entrance.

I was hauled out of the car.

Down the hall, in a crowded dressing room, Sofia held court. She wore my dress. Flashbulbs popped around her. Vincent stood beside her, one hand possessively on the small of her back, smiling for the cameras.

He saw me, said something to the reporters, and strode over.

He frowned at the sodden garment bag in my grip.

“Why do you always make such a mess?” His tone was that fake, exasperated concern. He started to shrug off his tailored jacket. “Just do as you’re told, Elara. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

My stomach turned. I jerked away.

His jacket fell to the dirty concrete floor.

His face hardened. The mask slipped.

“My patience,” he said softly, dangerously, “is gone.”

He grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. “Put the dress on. Now. You will follow Sofia onto that carpet and you will manage her train. If you embarrass her…”

He let go of my chin and reached into his inner pocket.

He pulled out a ring.

My breath hitched. It was a simple band with a deep green emerald. My grandmother’s. The last thing I had of her.

“Vincent! Give it back!” I lunged, but he held it high, just out of reach.

A cruel smile touched his lips. “Carry the train. You get it back.”

He held the ring over the hard floor. “Or I drop it. Your choice.”