False Theft, Kidney Demand

I stared at Brandon, champagne glass frozen halfway to my lips. "A wedding planner? But we haven't even set a date yet."

Brandon's eyes sparkled with excitement as he refilled his own glass. "That's the beauty of it, Lib! Amirah Bell—you remember me mentioning her?—she's offering to plan everything for us. Free of charge."

Something in his enthusiasm made my stomach tighten. "Your childhood friend? The one you've been texting lately?"

"She's not just any friend," Brandon continued, either missing or ignoring my discomfort. "She's the Bell heiress. Billions, Liberty. Actual billions."

I set my glass down, unconsciously reaching for the simple silver necklace my father had given me years ago. My only luxury in a deliberately ordinary life.

"That's... generous of her," I managed. "But don't you think it's a bit premature?"

Brandon's smile faltered. "Why are you always so hesitant about good things? This is a massive opportunity—not just for our wedding, but for Garcia Enterprises. Do you know what connections like this could mean?"

I did know. Better than he realized. But I couldn't tell him that.

"I'd just like to meet her first," I said softly. "Before we commit to anything."

"Perfect!" His smile returned instantly. "I've already arranged coffee tomorrow."

Of course he had.

* * *

The café Brandon chose was unnecessarily upscale, with marble tabletops and gold-rimmed cups that probably cost more than most people's entire dinner sets. I'd dressed carefully in my most presentable "ordinary" clothes—dark jeans and a cream sweater that had actually cost four figures but looked deliberately understated.

I spotted her immediately. It would have been impossible not to.

Amirah Bell swept through the door in a cloud of expensive perfume, draped in designer labels from her sunglasses to her stilettos. But what caught my eye was the necklace—an ornate gold piece with a distinctive pendant that made my blood run cold.

"Brandon, darling!" She air-kissed both his cheeks before turning to me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And you must be Liberty. How... quaint."

I extended my hand. "Nice to meet you, Amirah. Brandon's told me so much about you."

"Has he?" She raised an eyebrow, sliding into the seat closest to Brandon. "Funny, he's told me almost nothing about you."

Brandon laughed nervously. "Let's order, shall we?"

For twenty minutes, I might as well have been invisible. Amirah dominated the conversation with stories of their shared childhood, exclusive parties she'd attended, and wedding plans she'd already begun making. Brandon hung on her every word, nodding enthusiastically.

"Now," she said suddenly, turning to me with calculating eyes, "we need to discuss your measurements."

I blinked. "My measurements?"

"For the dress, obviously." She reached into her designer bag and pulled out a measuring tape. "Stand up."

I glanced around the crowded café. "Here? Shouldn't we schedule something at a bridal salon?"

Amirah laughed, a tinkling sound like breaking glass. "Oh, honey, those places are for people who can't afford custom. I need to take these myself."

Before I could protest further, the café door opened again and three impeccably dressed women entered, making a beeline for our table.

"Perfect timing!" Amirah called out. "Ladies, meet Brandon's fiancée. I was just about to measure her."

My face burned as I looked to Brandon for support. He was staring at his phone, thumbs typing rapidly.

"Brandon," I whispered. "This isn't appropriate."

He finally looked up, irritation flashing across his face. "Liberty, Amirah is doing us a huge favor. Can you please just cooperate? You're being difficult."

The words stung like a slap. I stood frozen as Amirah circled me, measuring tape in hand, calling out numbers loudly enough for nearby tables to hear.

"Waist 26—well, more like 26 and a half. We'll need to work on that." Her friends tittered, one openly taking photos with her phone.

"Bust 34B—oh dear, we'll definitely need some help there." More laughter.

I closed my eyes, fingers finding my necklace again, clinging to it like a lifeline as Amirah continued her humiliating assessment of every inch of my body. Brandon remained focused on his phone, a slight smile playing on his lips as he texted someone—probably Amirah herself, given how often her phone pinged.

"Well," Amirah announced finally, stepping back to survey me like a disappointing purchase, "we have our work cut out for us, don't we, ladies?"

As her friends nodded and smirked, I sank back into my chair, face burning, fingers still wrapped around my father's necklace. The one thing connecting me to my real life—the life where no one would dare treat me this way.

Brandon finally looked up. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

I couldn't find the words to answer him.