His Promise of Frozen Pizza

I was shaking with rage, unable to speak. Behind me, the relatives on my Aunt Eleonora's side were roaring with laughter. Chloe was doubled over.

"Aveline, even kids on the street don't play with those paper rings anymore. Your fiancé is just so generous, ha!"

"What are you standing there for? Say yes! Go live your pure little life with your man from the streets!"

"Enough!"

Papa slammed a beer mug on the table, then turned to me, his finger trembling as he pointed.

"Aveline, if you insist on marrying a man like him, I will disown you. You will no longer be a Sterling, and you will no longer be my daughter."

Mamma, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes, took Papa's arm and led him out of the room.

I was about to follow when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I glanced down. It was a transaction alert for two hundred thousand dollars.

Before I could process it, a woman pushed open the door from the adjacent, music-blaring party and strode in. It was Gia Bellucci, Miguel's childhood friend, the girl who grew up next door.

She wore an expensive watch and twirled the keys to a Maserati as she sauntered into our private room as if she owned the place.

I was still wondering when Gia had gotten so wealthy when I heard the chatter around me.

"Wow, Miguel really went all out for Gia. I think it's her birthday, he's making it a huge deal. Booked the whole main floor, gave her a sports car—the works."

"Honestly, you can tell a man's heart by how he treats people. If he's this generous to a childhood friend, imagine how good he must be to his actual fiancée. She's so lucky."

I stared at the two-hundred-thousand-dollar transaction on my phone. Then I looked through the open door at the lavish banquet next door—the very scene I had imagined for my own engagement party.

The same man had arranged both parties. One got a feast and a sports car; the other got a table of cold pizza.

For ten years, I had lived with Miguel in a tiny apartment. I had drunk until my stomach bled at business dinners for him. For him, I had set aside my status as the Principessa of the Sterling family to beg for favors from politicians I despised.

He always told me that one day, he would make it all up to me. Instead, he had humiliated me in front of my entire family, then turned around and spent my family's money to celebrate Gia's birthday.

"Aveline, what's with your parents? I put all this together for them, and they just walk out!"

Miguel hurried after me, his voice already whining before he was even at my side.

I found it grimly amusing. "All this? You mean the frozen pizzas? Or the cheap draft beer?"

Miguel noticed the ice in my tone. He reached for my hand, his voice softening.

"Aveline, don't be like this. You know I'm not good at these things. I'm a straightforward guy. To me, marriage is about conquering the world together."

"And speaking of which, I'm getting worried about you. When did you start caring so much about all this superficial nonsense? I told you, those old-money rules are corrupting you."

"You should learn from my Mamma, be more down-to-earth, more practical—"

"What about her?"

I cut him off, pointing to Gia, who was flashing her car keys to anyone who would look. Then I held my phone up to his face, the screen displaying the transaction record.

"You took the money my family gave you for our party and used it to throw her a birthday bash and buy her a sports car. Is this what you call being 'old-school,' Miguel? Is this your idea of staying true to your roots?"

Gia's eyes immediately reddened. She hid behind Miguel, staring at the floor. "I thought you knew, Aveline. I thought Miguel told you he was planning something for my birthday. If it's going to cause a problem, I'll just return everything."

She made a show of trying to take off her watch. Miguel stopped her, holding her hand. He turned to me, his face a mask of impatience.

"Aveline, have you made enough of a scene? Gia and I grew up together. Is it a capital crime to be nice to her on her birthday?"

"You're my fiancée. What's yours is mine. I'm spending my own money to buy a gift for a friend. What business is it of yours?"

I was trembling. "Your money? Miguel, your start-up capital, your connections, even the streets you control—tell me, what do you have that didn't come from the Sterling family?"

His expression hardened. Then he raised his hand and slapped me across the face.

"If you want to throw a princess tantrum, do it somewhere else. I'm not your dog, Aveline, here to follow your commands. You think I've put up with you all this time because I'm weak? Fine. You want to end this? Let's end this."

The rest of his words were swallowed by the ringing in my ears.

I stood there, looking at the man I had loved for ten years, and felt something inside me shatter.

"Fine," I said, my voice hollow. "We're done."