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The man undoubtedly had blue eyes, a striking detail that made him stand out immediately. But what startled me was the contrast: he was nothing like Lucas yet somehow everything like him. Handsome, yes—looks clearly ran in the family—but where Lucas was muscular and imposing, this man was lean and tall, his frame more delicate. His arms carried some muscle, but his face was... angelic. And there was something else—he was charismatic, in a flirty, effortless way. Every person who approached him received a charming smile, one he even directed at me.

Ash. The singer. The National Crush.

My new brother-in-law.

I understood why the President had grimaced earlier when talking about him. Most likely, it was because Ash hadn’t followed the family tradition of entering the business world.

Ash greeted everyone with ease, including me, but he didn’t linger. He disappeared into the crowd as if the spotlight wasn’t quite his place, at least not tonight.

The President cleared his throat, signaling the start of the evening’s formalities. The room grew quieter as he stepped forward, a commanding presence. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I thank all our friends and family who have joined us to celebrate the engagement of my son, Lucas, to this lovely young woman, Ella Wilsonville. May we all bless them as they embark on their new journey together.” He nodded, the formality hanging in the air like a ritual.

With the speech concluded, the music began. Couples gravitated to the dance floor, while others sought out the buffet tables. I tried to blend into the background, hoping to observe, but my escape was short-lived.

“Can you dance?” Lucas asked, extending a hand with a cocky grin.

I raised an eyebrow. “I hope you’re wearing good shoes,” I replied, my voice carrying a playful threat. Of course, I knew how to dance. He had no idea what he was in for.

Without missing a beat, he slid his arm around my waist, and I instinctively rested mine on his shoulder. The photographers swarmed, their cameras clicking furiously. There’s nothing like the chaos of a perfectly timed photo right as someone’s mid-bite or mid-step. It was always a camerman who woke up and chose violence with his timings.

He twirled me effortlessly, and I kept up with every turn, though I couldn’t help but wish for a gown that would have swirled dramatically around my feet. As we moved across the dance floor, there were moments when his hand brushed mine, or I felt his gaze linger. But I focused on the music, the rhythm guiding us. A few others on the floor tried to match our pace, but we outshined them all.

The song came to an end, and before I could remember my earlier promise to stomp on his foot for being so presumptuous, others approached to ask for a dance. I graciously accepted their offers, moving on to my next partner, Brian.

As we danced, Brian was surprisingly easy to talk to, filling the gaps between steps with casual conversation. He made me laugh a few times, and the next song ended quicker than I realized. With the dance over, I excused myself and slipped toward the drinks table, my throat suddenly dry from all the attention.

I ordered a glass of wine when a voice interrupted my moment of solitude.

“So, you’re the bride,” a sharp, feminine voice said.

I turned to face her. She had flaming red hair, styled in waves, and wore a sharp business suit that screamed power. Her makeup was bold, almost as bold as the arrogance in her expression.

“Scarlet,” she introduced herself. “Lucas’s childhood friend. And one of his closest business partners.” She paused, letting her words hang in the air with a sense of superiority. “I know him better than anyone.”

Ah. There it was, the thinly veiled threat. Translation: I’m close to him, and you don’t matter.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked. “So?”

Her composure faltered for a second. “Pardon?”

“Are you trying to convince me of something?” I asked, my tone light but laced with sarcasm. “Should I be remembering your face for some reason?”

Her expression hardened. Clearly, she wasn’t used to being challenged. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she warned, a sneer creeping into her voice. “He’s just using you.”

And there it was. The jealousy, plain as day. She wanted me to feel insecure, but instead, I found myself laughing.

“At least I’m giving him something he wants,” I shot back, still smiling. “Unlike you, who clearly hasn’t been able to give him anything after all these years. You may be his business partner, but marriage and business aren’t the same.”

Her face flushed, but before she could retaliate, a voice interrupted us.

“Sister-in-law, father’s calling for you,” Victor said as he approached, his polite smile in place.

“Excuse me,” I said, turning to Scarlet with a saccharine smile. “It was lovely meeting you.”

Scarlet didn’t say a word, but the fury in her eyes was unmistakable.

As Victor led me away, he leaned in slightly. “Stay away from her,” he whispered. “You don’t want to invite that kind of trouble.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Scarlet,” he responded, his tone cold.

Of course. Scarlet. Just another thorn in a rose-filled garden.

"I know that already! I mean how dangerous is she?" I snap back.

"You could say she's a Beyonce." He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, well." I sigh

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