Destiny Picked a Better Man

“And honestly, Claire looks better in that dress than you ever could.”

Claire had her back to him. The smug look on her face said it all.

Still, her words came out laced with guilt.

“Miss Meyer, if you don’t want to give it up, that’s fine. A dress this elegant… there’s no way nobody like me deserves to wear it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucas said without hesitation. “The woman I love could never be a nobody. Destiny is just living off her parents. She’s not so high and mighty herself.”

With that, he handed the dress over to the tailor.

The old tailor didn’t move. He stood there, calmly waiting for my instructions.

After all, the Meyers had been this shop’s top patron for generations, going all the way back to his great-great-grandfather.

Lucas clearly didn’t like that.

“You—”

“She wants it?” I interrupted Lucas. “Then let Miss Monroe have it.”

Lucas finally seemed satisfied.

“Since you’re being reasonable,” he said, smug as ever, “I’ll have dinner with you once a month after we’re married.”

The way he said that was like he was doing me a huge favor.

In that moment, something clicked.

The change in his attitude had started the moment he learned the Meyers were the most powerful family in the country, while the Whitmores barely made it into the top ten.

I used to love how fearless he was when we were younger, how he never measured a person’s worth by money or status.

But after that, he started using “you Meyers” like a curse. Constantly reminding me that I was nothing without my parents. Always putting me down, always mocking me, and using my love for him as an excuse to say the cruelest things.

Truth was, he was insecure.

The thought made me laugh.

“Lucas, what makes you so sure I'm going to marry you?”

...

Lucas smirked, like I’d just told the world’s funniest joke.

“You’ve been chasing me since we were kids,” he scoffed. “Every birthday wish was the same—you wanted to marry me when you turned twenty.

“Well, you’re twenty now. Do you think you'll marry someone else?”

Claire snuggled into his chest, a smug edge in her voice.

“Though I guess with the Meyers’ status, every heir in the country’s probably fighting to marry her.”

“She could have every prince on his knees—she’d still only want to marry me,” said Lucas.

With that, the two turned and walked out.

Before leaving, Lucas tossed one last order to the tailor.

“Have the dress altered and sent to my house. And those tacky cufflinks—make them square. No initials.”

The tailor watched him go, then turned to me with a sigh.

“Miss Meyer, should we…”

“If she wants it, she can have it,” I said, sitting back down and sketching again. “I’ll design something new. And forget what he said about the cufflinks. He’s not my fiancé. He doesn’t get a say.”

That night, I had a friend’s birthday party.

Halfway through the night, Claire finally arrived—late, of course. One of Lucas’s bodyguards followed behind, carrying a red plastic bag.

He placed it down by my feet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Meyer. I was going to return the dress right after the concert, but Lucas insisted we stay a little longer… in the car.

“But Miss Meyer is famous for being generous. I’m sure you don’t mind, right?”

I looked down at the bag.

The 3 million dollar dress was stuffed inside like a rag, crumpled into a wrinkled ball.

What's worse was the white stains that stood out starkly against the crimson fabric.

The people around me gasped. Some were angry for me. Others just watched with amusement.

“Claire's picking a fight with Destiny right in her face, yet she's still keeping calm. Guess Destiny really is head over heels for Lucas.”

“Destiny can love him all she wants. Mr. Whitmore only has eyes for Claire.”

“Pathetic. The Meyers’ only daughter being humiliated like that… at this rate, the whole family business might as well belong to the Whitmores.”

I looked away, not even bothering to react and called for someone to throw it out.

“If Miss Monroe likes it, that’s all that matters.”

My indifference made Claire’s smugness fall flat. She clenched her fists and stalked off to the last table, the one reserved just for her.