The Wrong Girl Burns Bright

She pushed the door open and walked inside.

Harold, Rosalind, and Nora sat on the couch like they'd been waiting.

The second Harold saw her—the smell of alcohol on her, clothes a mess—his face darkened.

"Where the hell have you been? Coming back this late, looking like that—what do you think you look like?"

Cleo didn't even answer. She headed straight for the stairs. "I'm not marrying Damian anymore. Where I go, what I wear—that's my business."

Nora stood and walked over, barely hiding the excitement in her eyes. "Cleo, Dad said... you're giving the engagement to me. Is that true?"

Cleo looked at her—fake sweet, all sugar—and felt nothing but disgust. "Yeah, it's yours. Isn't taking other people's scraps your thing?"

"Watch your mouth!" Harold snapped. "A man like Damian is a dream match people would kill for! This marriage is a once-in-a-lifetime win for our family!

"I already spoke to the Jouberts about switching the bride. Compared to you, they're clearly happier with Nora.

"Just don't come crying when you regret it!"

Cleo let out a quiet laugh, voice steady. "Relax. I don't do regrets."

Rosalind sighed from the side, voice dripping fake concern.

"Cleo, I don't mean to criticize, but your temper's out of control. Without marrying into the Joubert family, what respectable family would even take you?"

Cleo's gaze snapped sharp, her eyes going ice-cold. "And who do you think you are, lecturing me? Some washed-up side piece?

"Maybe focus on your own daughter. Just because you stole something doesn't mean you get to keep it. Don't end up losing everything after all that scheming."

Rosalind's face flushed, then went pale. She had nothing left to say. Harold looked ready to blow.

Cleo didn't bother with another word. She turned and headed upstairs, straight to her room.

***

Early next morning, before Cleo was even awake, Damian showed up.

Same as always—cool, composed, flawless. First thing out of his mouth: "The reflection essay."

Cleo leaned on the doorframe, sleep shirt hanging loose, collar slipping just enough.

She yawned. "Didn't write it. Never will."

His face went cold, his voice sharper. "When are you going to learn to behave?"

"I was born this way." She held his gaze, eyes steady and defiant. "Behave? Not happening. I don't do control."

"You—"

Before it could snap, Nora stepped in right on cue.

She wore a simple, elegant dress, posture straight, smile soft.

"Damian, don't blame Cleo." Her voice stayed gentle as she handed him a neatly written letter. "She might've just been in a bad mood last night. I already wrote the reflection essay for her. Is this okay?"

Damian took it and skimmed. When he looked back at Cleo, the disappointment hit harder.

"Look at your sister, then look at yourself. Same house, same upbringing. Why can't you learn some basic sense from her?" His tone cooled. "Forget last night. Don't let it happen again. Go change. You're coming with me to a business reception later."

"Nope." Cleo didn't hesitate. "Not going. Take Nora. She fits your standards better, right?"

Damian's brows pulled tight. "Cleo. You're my fiancée."

The words hit sharp.

There it was. He wasn't marrying her because he wanted her—just because the engagement was set. The Joubert family didn't back out of deals.

It had nothing to do with love.

If he had a choice, he would've picked Nora a long time ago.

'Fine,' she thought. 'This time, you get exactly what you want.'

Nora jumped in, soft as ever. "Damian, maybe Cleo's not used to formal events. I'll go with her. If she misses anything, I'll remind her."

She took Cleo's arm and steered her upstairs. "Cleo, I'll help you pick something."

The door shut. Cleo yanked her hand free, eyes gone cold.

"No one's here. Who are you putting on a show for?"

The softness dropped off Nora's face, even if her voice stayed steady. "You're mistaken. I really do want us to get along."

"Get along?" Cleo let out a short laugh. "Not in this lifetime. Unless you're dead. Actually—even then, I'd celebrate on your grave. Might even bring your mom."

Nora finally cracked. "Don't push me. You think I like flattering you? Once Damian knows the bride is me, he'll be even happier. Someone like you was never worthy of him."

"Oh?" Cleo lifted a brow, stepping closer, voice edged with mockery. "Then why didn't you say that just now? Not confident? Or scared he'd call it off the second he realized it's you?"