Chapter 3Not Mr. Right

Even though I'd already made up my mind, already braced myself for it, hearing Maia put it so plainly still hit like a fist closing around my heart.

Under the lamplight, Maia's eyes glistened.

"You're already the design team lead. You've got the talent, the ability, and a family with money behind you. I've got nothing."

So that was her excuse for stealing my man.

"And if I said no?"

The pleading vanished from Maia's face in an instant. She grabbed my injured finger and leaned in close, spelling it out word by word.

"He gave those measurements himself. Don't you want to think about why he remembers my size so well? Don't you want to know how far we've gone?"

I didn't answer. I picked up my coffee and threw it in her face.

Maia yelped. "Jude, this is my fault... I'm the reason your ring and your dress came out the wrong size..."

The next second, Charles came storming out of the kitchen. He didn't spare me a glance — just grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Maia's head, dabbing at her carefully.

Then he rounded on me. "What's gotten into you? It's not her fault the sizes are wrong! If you're angry, take it out on me!"

He planted himself between us, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes, like I wasn't his fiancée, wasn't his girlfriend at all, but his enemy.

I bit my lip, my voice shaking. "Aren't you going to ask what she said to me first?"

Charles glanced at Maia, his eyes full of tenderness. "She's carefree. She's never had a scheming bone in her body. Whatever happened, it's your fault, no question.

"Maia's your best friend. Why can't you cut her some slack instead of embarrassing her like this?"

He didn't ask a single follow-up question. He'd already decided everything was my fault.

The room went dead silent, nothing but Maia's stifled sobs.

After a long moment, Charles let out a breath, glanced at me, and his tone softened without him even seeming to notice.

"Sorry, I was too harsh. But you really did go too far this time.

"I thought what I was about to ask might be a bit much, but now, I think you owe Maia an apology.

"Why don't you just hand over the credit for the SE project? Give it to her."

I stood up, staring at him like I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

Last month, chasing that design contract, I'd pulled seven or eight all-nighters in a row and landed myself in the hospital. He'd been the one telling me back then, "I've got you covered. You don't have to push yourself that hard."

He knew perfectly well that landing this project all but guaranteed my promotion to head of the design department.

And now, he wanted me to hand it over.

Maia didn't say she didn't want it, and she didn't try to smooth things over either. She just gripped Charles's sleeve tighter and stepped closer to him.

I stared, unable to look away, at their two hands twined together through the fabric of his sleeve.

Quietly, I asked, "And if I refuse?"

Charles frowned. "Maia's been running herself ragged for your wedding. The least you can do is give her the project as thanks. If you won't agree to it, the wedding gets postponed indefinitely."

I clenched my fists and repeated myself. "You're sure about this?"

He didn't answer. He just took Maia's hand — her face full of wounded innocence — and walked straight out the door.

Before it closed, he looked back at me and sighed. "We're going out to eat. Think it over. Once you've come to your senses, the wedding goes ahead in three days like planned."

He never said what would happen if I didn't come to my senses.

But the sight of his fingers laced through Maia's said it all.

"About the wedding — I already changed grooms."

The only answer I got was the door clicking shut.