His Trial Bride, My Exit Plan
Chapter 3
No one moved until I walked out.
Then Flora's voice cut through. "Really, Mia? Making up some taaffeite ring story? Dad didn't even give ME one—why would he give it to her?"
The crowd jumped on it.
"Yeah, right. Like that ring's real."
"She even paid some guy who sounds just like Austin Anderson—the guy who basically runs the Anderson empire. Bet that cost a fortune."
Warren finally relaxed, smirking. "Please. Like she could ever land my uncle? No one else would even want her. Just being dramatic. Give it a few days—she'll be begging me to take her back."
Laughter burst out again, all the tension gone.
"Told you. She's obsessed with Warren."
"She'll drop the drama before the wedding."
***
The wind hit hard as I tried flagging a cab.
Then a sleek car rolled up.
Window down. Him.
Sharp jaw. Clean lines. Cool like he didn't even try.
"Get in." Calm voice. Zero room for debate.
I slid in. "Mr. Anderson."
He laughed. "That formal? Think I'm skipping out before payday? Relax. I keep my promises. Just call me by my name."
I did. That's when he nodded—like that's what he'd been waiting on.
He didn't bring up the scene back there. Maybe he was being nice.
He drove me straight to what should've been my future with Warren. But the second I saw those stupid flowers—[Warren Anderson and Mia Montclair Forever]—I felt sick.
This was supposed to be my home. Now it made my skin crawl.
The wallpaper? Loud and ugly. Flora's "forest vibe." Warren went with it, no questions.
She hated portraits, so our photo got swapped for some bland landscape.
She trashed my lavender garden. Warren turned it into a dog park—for her dog.
The more I saw, the worse it felt.
Right in front of Austin, I ripped the flowers off the wall, grabbed our photo, and cut Warren out.
"This isn't my home anymore."
I threw my stuff together, ready to crash at a hotel.
Austin had been leaning on the door, arms crossed, quiet. Then he stepped in, grabbed whatever I couldn't reach.
"If you need anything, say it. You don't have to handle this alone—not with me here."
I mumbled a quick thanks. Didn't push him away.
He packed fast and carried my suitcase like it weighed nothing.
The whole ride, I braced for him to drop me at the Montclair estate. My stomach was a mess.
But he didn't.
He pulled up to the city's most expensive hotel. Booked the presidential suite.
"I'll come by on the wedding day."
Then he handed me a black card. Eyes soft. Shadowed lashes. A hint of a smile that made me wonder if he was waiting for an invite in.
My heart skipped—I bolted.
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