Chapter One
What would you do if the man about to propose… handed the ring to someone else?
Because that’s exactly what I thought was about to happen.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped my phone for the third time.
“Rowan,” I hissed, ducking behind a row of flower stalls, “tell me you hit record.”
He didn’t look up. Just adjusted the camera on its tiny tripod, jaw tight, shoulders tense.
“For the fifth time,” he muttered, “yes. It’s recording. Front angle. Backup angle. Clear audio. This disaster is being documented in high definition.”
“Best day of my life,” I whispered, smiling like I wasn’t seconds away from fainting.
Today, I was getting engaged.
At least… I was sure I was.
The town square of Briarwood Falls buzzed with music and laughter. Spring lanterns swayed above us, vendors shouting over one another, kids running with sugar-dusted hands. The annual Bloom Festival always turned our quiet mountain town into something loud and alive.
And today—of all days—Evan had chosen this moment.
My boyfriend.
My client-turned-boyfriend.
My almost-fiancé.
I tugged my scarf into place, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. My lipstick. My hair. My posture. My heartbeat.
“You look fine,” Rowan said flatly, finally glancing at me. “You always do.”
Rowan Hale.
My best friend since childhood.
Six foot three, gym owner, permanent scowl, annoyingly good-looking in a way he pretended not to notice.
He looked wildly out of place among pastel ribbons and jam jars.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m convinced this should’ve been private,” he replied. “Public proposals are emotional ambushes.”
I laughed nervously. “You’re just grumpy because you hate crowds.”
“I hate watching people get hurt.”
That earned him a look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
I watched the crowd instead, fingers twisting my scarf. Evan had been strange lately—checking his phone constantly, acting distracted, canceling dinners. But then I’d seen it.
The ring box.
Small. Velvet. Dark blue.
He’d said it was a keepsake.
Please. Who keeps memories in a box meant for diamonds?
“He’s nervous,” I said, more to myself than Rowan. “That’s how you know it’s real.”
Rowan’s mouth tightened. “He forgot your birthday last month.”
“He remembered the next day.”
“After Facebook reminded him.”
“That still counts.”
Rowan didn’t respond. Just adjusted the focus again, harder than necessary.
I smoothed my hair. “Can you check my lipstick?”
He sighed. Looked anyway.
“It’s perfect, Leni.”
The nickname made my chest do something stupid.
He’d been calling me that since I’d fallen out of his tree at eight years old trying to steal peaches.
We had rules.
We were just friends.
We’d promised never to cross that line.
“Rowan,” I whispered, suddenly breathless, “what if he doesn’t—”
The music cut out mid-song.
My heart slammed.
And then I saw him.
Evan.
Tall. Handsome. Confident. Walking straight toward me through the crowd.
My foot started tapping uncontrollably.
And then… someone stepped in front of him.
A woman.
Blonde. Elegant. Effortless. The kind of beautiful that didn’t need to try.
She laughed.
Touched his arm.
My smile froze.
“It’s okay,” I told myself. “Colleague. Cousin. Random stranger.”
Then she reached into his coat pocket.
Pulled out the box.
My stomach dropped so hard I swear it hit the pavement.
He handed it to her.
Not me.
Her lips brushed his ear. His hand slid to her waist like it belonged there.
The world went quiet.
“Oh,” Rowan said softly behind me.
I didn’t hear him.
I was already moving.
“EVAN!”
Every head turned.
He looked up—eyes widening.
“You want to explain,” I yelled, voice cracking through the square, “why you’re giving my ring to someone who isn’t me?”
The woman blinked. “Actually, I’m a wellness coach.”
“Fantastic,” I snapped. “Does cheating come with that certification?”
Evan stammered. “Lena—this isn’t—”
I tripped.
Of course I did.
Because humiliation loves an audience.
I crashed straight into her, the two of us stumbling in a tangle of limbs and gasps.
Rowan was there instantly, hauling me up like gravity itself had personally offended him.
“He never loved you,” the woman said calmly.
Evan didn’t deny it.
“I was trying to find the right moment,” he said. “But… we don’t fit.”
The words shattered something inside me.
The crowd murmured. Someone laughed. Someone gasped.
Then Rowan stepped forward.
The air shifted.
“If you say another word,” Rowan said quietly, “this gets ugly.”
Evan swallowed.
Rowan’s hand rested on my back—steady. Protective. Solid.
“You didn’t lose her,” Rowan continued. “You proved you never deserved her.”
Silence.
He turned me away from the crowd.
“Let’s go,” he said.
As he guided me through the noise and stares, one thought echoed louder than all the rest:
What if the man who saved me… was the one I never should’ve made rules with?
