PART 2

When I hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the velvet box as though it contained the last piece of the woman I used to be.

Three years ago, I had left my father’s home after a bitter argument, certain that Spencer’s love mattered more than wealth, status, or a family name.

My father warned me back then that if I walked through that door for that man, I should not come back crying.

I walked through it anyway, and By the time I cried, it was far too late.

My phone vibrated again, and Paisley had sent me another video, this time from the ballroom. Chandeliers, glasses, music, and women dressed as though they had stepped out of luxury magazines filled the screen.