Chapter One

Shannon Weaver’s favorite childhood toy was Barbie.

She absolutely loved Barbie growing up. Barbie was perfect. Her skin was flawless, her face was symmetrical, and her blonde hair was pin straight; she had the muscular boyfriend, Ken, she had the prettiest friends, and she had successes in anything she did.

As she grew up, Shannon not only idolized Barbie—she wanted to become Barbie. So, during high school, Shannon attempted to become perfect. She took as many AP classes as possible, participated in a myriad of sports, associated with multiple friend groups, and spent her free time either in the salon or at the mall. 

And her hard work paid off.

Shannon graduated from Yale University with the highest honors, and afterwards, she nabbed a job as a fashion editor at Nylon Magazine. As the years went on, her success not only shot up but so did her paycheck. 

Currently, Shannon stood in front of the mirror, inspecting her makeup for any noticeable mistakes. After applying a few more coats of Maybelline mascara to her lashes, she nodded in approval before checking her gold Rolex watch for the time.

Fantastic, she thought, I have another hour until the engagement dinner. Another hour to worry. 

As those thoughts flashed into her mind, she placed her quivering hand up to her heart. Shannon was never one to be nervous—why would she be nervous if everything was perfect—but today was a special occasion. She was introducing her fiancée to the rest of her family, and she wasn’t sure whether they would approve of her partner or not. 

“They’ll love him,” she reassured herself while bending over to slip her nude Louboutins onto her feet. “Why wouldn’t they?”

She exhaled deeply, her eyes closing as she attempted to regain her composure. Constant worrying meant worry lines on her face, and that was something Shannon couldn’t have. After all, her parents nearly kissed the ground that her beloved fiancée walked on, and they had been harsh critics of her past boyfriends. Her parents’ approval meant that her fiancée was someone special.

Someone perfect. 

Placing a loose strand of her blonde locks behind her left ear, she shot the mirror one last dazzling smile before grabbing her clutch off of the wardrobe tabletop.

This night would go perfect, and she knew it.

Hell.

Violet Weaver was visiting her own personal hell, and she would have rather stuck a thousand, scorching hot pins into her eyes. 

As glasses of unnamed liquids were being passed around the room, Violet could feel the scrutinizing glares from the help on her. When she had lived at her parents’ mansion, the maids never were fond of her; they purposely forgot to pack her lunches and to launder her clothes almost every single day. Of course, her parents never fired them; they figured that the help were just forgetful and that Violet was old enough at the age of five to make her own lunches. Lowering her eyes from the stares, she grabbed the nearest glass of wine and took a large chug. 

“Violet, darling, I didn’t see you arrive!” 

Violet’s eyes widened as she heard her mother’s high-pitched, memorable voice behind her. Cringing, she closed her eyes and took another huge sip from her glass. Crossing her arms below her chest, she pivoted around and mumbled, “Hi, Mother.”

Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Weaver was approximately five-foot-nine with silky blonde hair and blue eyes. Her nose was on the large size, but it fit her face quite well. Her lips, filled with collagen, were a dark red today, and a pair of diamond hoops hung off of her ears.

The ends of Charlie’s mouth tilted downwards slightly. “Did it take you long? I heard there was traffic for miles,” she paused, her eyes narrowing as they leered the blonde’s body. “I wish you hadn’t worn red. It makes Shannon’s eyes pop, but it makes you look dried out. How are we ever going to find you a husband if you always look sickly?” Her head shook back and forth disapprovingly. 

Violet’s eyes rolled. Everything she did just had to be compared to her older sister’s actions. If Violet got straight A’s, Shannon had A+’s. If she was accepted into New York University, Shannon was accepted into Yale. If Violet was dating a lawyer, Shannon was dating a CEO of a company.

Violet never won, and her parents reminded her that she was a failure every time they were together.

“Every color is Shannon’s color,” she muttered in response, her finger massaging her temple. She silently wished that she had brought some Advil with her; she only had been home for ten minutes, and her family was already giving her a massive headache.

“Mhmm. Anyways, go to the dining room. I’m going to usher the rest of our family there since Shannon and her fiancée will be here soon. God, I just love saying that!” Her mother gushed, her arms flailing around in excitement. After giving her youngest daughter a tiny shove in the direction of the dining room, she strutted off to retrieve the other guests.

Violet exhaled loudly as her fingers clenched like crab claws. Brushing off the imaginary grime from the bottom of her peplum skirt, she entered the dining room. As she peered around her surroundings, her jaw plummeted to the floor. Food covered every inch of the five-foot long table; there was a huge, five-pound turkey in the center with a countless other types of edibles around it. The sparkling chandelier twinkled in the low light, as well as the gold-colored plates. It was definitely a meal fit for a king, and Violet would eat like there was no tomorrow!

“Your mom has outdone herself.” 

Turning her head, she realized that the owner of the voice was Aaron Samuels, her sister’s assistant at work. At five-foot-ten, he appeared to be average height compared to Violet’s entire family. His brown, greasy locks were slicked back; his baby blue eyes had huge bags hanging underneath them, and complexion was as white as the snow in Antarctica. Aaron looked somewhat ill, but Violet didn’t feel the need to ask him what was wrong.

“This is her forté. All this party planning shit.” Violet’s eyes maneuvered about the room as she spoke, memorizing the marvelous layout of the area.

Aaron’s mouth moved upwards. “I see where Shannon got her design gene from.”

Her nose scrunched downwards, almost like Aaron’s words were dripping with a horrid stench. “I just arrived, and I have already heard her name about sixty times. Is there anything else to talk about? What about them Yankees?” 

A soft chuckled escaped his lips, and he jammed his hands into his front pockets. “I can tell that you absolutely love your sister.” 

She huffed loudly, her eyes shutting for a moment. She had intentionally moved six hours away to make communication with her family difficult. It wasn’t like she completely despised her family—she did have a place in her cold, shrill heart for them—but Violet felt worthless when she was in their company. Why would anyone care about little Violet Weaver when they had Shannon? Of course, Shannon attempted to include her sister in her life, but Violet distanced herself as best as she could. Violet barely knew anything about her sister—she found out that her sister was engaged from a cashier at a local market—and she was very thankful for that.

“She’s the light of my life,” she groaned, her fingers aching to feel the touch of another glass of wine. Sending Aaron a swift goodbye, she inched forward towards a silver plate of champagne glasses. Just as her index finger laced around the stem of the cup, Charlie’s voice boomed, startling Violet.

Snap! 

Below her, a thousand pieces of expensive glass shattered. Her eyes enlarged as she heard twenty individuals gasping simultaneously. Biting her lip, she rotated to catch sight of what her mother was screeching about before her accident.

The sight before her nearly caused her buckling knees to give in. Lacing his arm around Shannon was a tall, blonde-haired fellow dressed in fitted khakis and a white button-down. His head was nodding at whatever was leaving Charlie’s monstrous mouth, but his orbs were fixed on the blonde cowering over the dropped champagne glass.  With his lips slightly open, he almost seemed like he was about to drop, too.

It can’t be him! , she thought to herself, Maybe I think it’s him. It’s been four months; there’s no way that he’s showing up in my life again!

“Everyone, this is Noah Anderson, my fiancée,” Shannon cooed to the crowd, her fingers trailing up the arm of her beloved. Shooting him a grin, she eyed the room before wriggling her finger toward Violet, indicating for her to greet him.

Oh shit.

**

Merry Christmas, guys! This is my Christmas present to you. :) I hope you enjoyed it, and sorry that it's short. I promise the next chapter will be longer. Also, please tell me what you think in the comments!

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Until next time!