Shane

I don’t remember walking back to my room. In my desperation to put distance between me and my parents, I must’ve climbed the stairs in a daze. Now I’m here—pacing, seething, peeling the remnants of the night off me like they’re suffocating me. 

I yank off the sports jacket, tossing it across the room, the sharp crack of buttons hitting the hardwood barely registering over the pounding in my skull. My tie’s next. I rip it loose with a harsh tug, flinging it away like a noose I just barely managed to escape. 

I can’t catch my breath. Each inhale comes shallow, too fast, like the air is refusing to fill my lungs. The room spins, my chest rises and falls with quick, desperate bursts. 

My shirt’s wrinkled, untucked, clinging to me like the netting of a trap. I run a hand through my hair, tugging hard at the roots, as if I could pull the anger from my body, or at least find some release from the tension gripping every muscle in my frame.

And there it is. 

Like an omen from hell. 

The damn ring box.

Bent. Mangled. Distorted. Still sitting on the dresser like a silent threat, daring me to pretend there’s still a way out of this. Beside it, the notecard. My lines. They’re printed in my mother’s handwriting—neat, looping, rehearsed to the syllable. A monologue in a performance she’s already sold out. 

"Amanda, you’ve stood beside me for years. Tonight, in front of the people who matter most, I want to ask you the most important question of my life..."

What the ever loving fuck?!?!

I tried to read the rest on the hellish ride home. I really did. But I couldn’t make it past that first line without feeling sick.

I glance at it again, and the burn in my throat returns. Her words loop in my mind, like some sick reel playing on repeat. My mother’s voice in the back of the limo, giddy and focused, completely oblivious to my pain as I sat there in silence, utterly devastated.

“You’ll stand just after your father’s holiday toast,” she’d said, waving a manicured hand like she was sketching the scene into existence.

“Everyone will turn to you. You’ll tap your glass, say a few sweet words about family, and then—” She clasped her hands together. “You turn to Amanda. Take her hand. Tell her she’s the love of your life—just like it’s written. Get down on one knee. Say it slowly, let it breathe. We want emotion, but not too much. And then the kiss—don’t forget the kiss! You’ll lean her back, elegantly, sweetly. The kind of kiss women will see on the cover of People magazine and swoon over. A prince kissing his princess. The love story of this century.”

She beamed. Beamed. As if she hadn’t just narrated the moment I lose everything I actually want. And then the kicker—

“The press will eat it up. ‘Heir to the Montgomery Empire Makes Holiday Proposal’—I’ve already given exclusive rights to People, Vogue Legacy, and Town & Country magazines. The coverage is going to be beautiful. And elegant. And amazing. Everything a Montgomery engagement should be.”

I blink hard, forcing the memory away.

The walls feel like they’re closing in. The realization that my life is scripted, and I’m just a puppet trapped on their strings, is as infuriating as it is crushing.

My palms curl into fists at my sides. 

I want to scream. To run. To disappear. But I can’t. On my father’s order, I’m not allowed to leave the house. Not until tomorrow night, after I’ve played the part written for me on that card, in front of an audience my mother curated. He even brought in his security team, parading them before me like a show of force, driving home the fact that from now until I fall in line with their plans, I’m their prisoner.

The gold accent on the ring box catches the light, inciting a fresh surge of rage. With nowhere for it to go, I swipe my arm across the dresser, sending everything crashing to the floor. The sound echoes through the silence, loud and violent.

The box lands upside down with a dull thud, rolling a few times. The notecard flutters down beside it—face up, like a cruel ‘fuck you’ from the universe. A final, mocking laugh in perfect cursive.

I stare at the mess on the floor, fighting to catch my breath. 

Slowly, I reach for my phone, my hand hovering over the screen as the weight of what’s ahead presses down on me. I need to make this call—need Nick’s help to cut through the chaos in my head, to figure out how the hell Becca and I can survive this. But I hesitate. Because once I say it out loud, once I speak it into truth, there’s no turning back.

Still, I know I have to do this.

I tap Nick’s name. Lift the phone to my ear and release a shuddering breath. It rings only once.

“Jesus, man. I’ve been trying to reach you,” he answers, his voice sharp with tension. “What the hell happened?”

I sit on the edge of the bed, spine tight, my hand dragging through my hair. “They’re making me propose tomorrow night,” I say flatly. “At Christmas Eve dinner.”

Silence.

“Your father and Amanda will be there. So will the press. My mother has already sold the story. Heir to the Montgomery Empire Makes Holiday Proposal. That’s the headline they’re going with. She actually said that. Smiled when she said it.” My voice cracks as I shake my head in disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nick snaps. “They’ve actually—”

“She wrote my lines, Nick.” The words slice through the silence. “A speech. On a notecard. She handed it to me in the limo like I was some pageant contestant about to take the stage.”

I swallow hard, forcing back the tightness in my throat.

“She told me where to stand. When to get down on one knee. When and how to kiss Amanda. What to say before I do it. Even the guests, Nick—journalists, influencers, the damn board of directors. All handpicked for the most impact.”

Nick exhales harshly on the other end. “These people are fucking insane.”

I don’t disagree.

“You can’t do this,” he says. “You can’t go through with it.”

My jaw locks. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do. Shane—”

“No, I don’t.” The words come out louder than I meant, but I don’t walk them back. “If I don’t propose tomorrow, they’ll move the wedding up to June. I’ll lose her, Nick. I’ll lose everything—especially the life I want with her. Proposing now buys me time. Four years. Four years to find a way out, to fix this. To earn Becca’s trust, her love, her future. I just hope she hangs on long enough to let me try.”

I run a hand over my face, my body vibrating with defeat and despair, not knowing what to do with any of it. “If I walk now, I’ll lose Becca anyway. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not the next day. But eventually. Because they’ll destroy her, Nick. You know they will. If I don’t fall in line, they’ll tear her apart just to prove they can.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

Then, quietly, Nick says, “So what the hell are you going to do? This is fucking crazy.”

I sink to the floor, my back hitting the edge of the bed as I drag a hand down my face. My legs feel like they don’t belong to me anymore—numb, heavy, useless. I brace my elbows on my knees, pressing a palm to my forehead like I can physically hold myself together.

“What else can I do?” I murmur. “I’ve got to go through with it. And I’m going to have to tell her.”

The silence on the line stretches, but I know Nick’s still there.

“It’s just… What if she thinks I chose this?” My voice shakes, the fear in my chest so intense it sends tremors through my body. “What happens when she sees those photos in the press? What if she thinks that’s what I wanted all along? That I stood up there with Amanda smiling and presenting the engagement to the world, because it means something to me.”

I feel my throat tighten, my chest constrict. I press the heel of my hand into my eyes until the pressure hurts.

“She’ll think I was lying to her. That I didn’t mean all the things I said. That I didn’t love her enough to fight harder.”

The panic claws its way up again, rough, raw, suffocating.

“She won’t—” Nick tries to interrupt, but he doesn’t get it.

“She will. She’s been hurt her whole damn life,” I say, my voice cracking. “By the people who were supposed to love her—your father, her mother, the aunt and uncle who stood by and let it all happen. The whole damn town. And now I’m just one more. Another person who looked her in the eye and made her believe she was loved, that she was safe—only to tear the ground right out from under her.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Nick speaks, steady and low. “You need to stop this, Shane. Beating yourself up. Always assuming the worst.”

I swallow hard, but I don’t say anything.

“You didn’t choose this,” he continues. “You’re in an impossible situation, and you’re trying to protect her the only way you know how. She’ll see that. Even if it’s hard, even if it hurts, she’s going to understand. The real villains here are them. Our parents. Put the blame where it belongs, and stop making the guilt your own.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me.

“Because this is how they work. What they do,” he says bitterly. “Our parents. Their friends and associates. The whole damn machine. They twist love, loyalty, devotion—turn it into something ugly. Transactional. They use it to manipulate, to coerce, to bend others to their will. But that’s not what you have with Becca, Shane. Don’t you dare let them poison the love you have for her, too.”

I close my eyes. His words hit hard—because deep down, I know he’s right. But it doesn’t make the ache any less sharp.

“She’s going to look at the headlines, Nick. At the pictures. At the way I kiss Amanda in front of the world—and she’s going to believe that’s what’s real. And if by some miracle she sees it for what it is, she’s still going to run. To save herself from the pain and heartache. From the fear. From the blatant public rejection. She’s going to push me away.”

Nick’s quiet for a second. “Then you have to make sure she understands why you’re doing this. That every fucked-up piece of this plan is you fighting for your future together. That she’s the reason behind every lie, every move you make going forward. All of it. It’s for her. To protect the life you both want.” 

The silence stretches between us—thick, heavy, dense enough to drown in. I let it sit there for a minute. Let myself sit in it. Because once I say what I’m about to say, there’s no going back.

“I have to tell her. Tonight.” I finally whisper.

There’s no hesitation in Nick’s voice. “Yeah. You do.”

“She deserves to hear it from me,” I add, my chest tightening. “Before it happens. Before anyone else gets to her. Before the media spins it into some fairytale.” Plus, I wouldn’t put it past my mother to leak the story, even before it happens.

“Exactly,” Nick agrees. “You let someone else frame this, and you’ll definitely lose her.”

I press the heel of my hand against my sternum, like I can stop the ache there. “My parents made it clear—I’m not allowed to leave the house. Not until after the engagement tomorrow. They said I need to ‘stay out of sight’ until the headlines break.”

A bitter laugh rumbles in Nick’s throat. “Of course they did.”

“That means…” I swallow hard. “I have to do it over the phone. After she gets off work.”

The thought alone feels like a knife to the gut. Not being there to hold her. To catch her when the truth hits. To ground her while I explain why it looks like I’m about to shatter everything we’ve built. To look her in the eye when I tell her what’s about to happen. That this nightmare is real, but necessary all the same. That I’m doing this for us.

My voice is barely there when I speak again. “This is going to break her.” I close my eyes. “And I don’t know how to stop it.”

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