"So, all this stuff in your house is just fake junk to keep up appearances, huh?" Oliver scoffed, holding up the porcelain teacup like it personally offended him. "Gotta say, though, they're decent imitations. But that glaze? Way too fresh. Obvious knockoff."
I let out a quiet, amused laugh. "Good eye, Oliver."
Which was funny, because that teacup?
Ironically, it was the only fake thing in this entire place.
But Oliver didn't catch the irony. Of course not. He took my words as mockery, and his expression went ice-cold all over again.
"Therese, I don't have time for this." His tone turned sharp, clipped. "You've got two options today. Pay back the $500 grand and sign these agreements, or the engagement is officially over."
Oliver tossed a thick envelope onto my coffee table like it was some kind of final warning.
Then he pointed directly at me, with his finger stiff with accusation.
"And once that happens, kiss your dream of marrying into wealth goodbye. Don't come crawling back."
He paused briefly, then added with that same greasy sneer, "And your parents? They've got no pensions. Don't expect me to support them in retirement—"
Before he could finish that charming little threat, one of the bodyguards behind him leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.
"Mr. Jefferson… that vase by the window. Doesn't it look like the final lot from last month's Sotheby's auction?"
Oliver jerked his head around, following the guy's gaze.
The vase sat peacefully by the window, soaking in the late afternoon light. Its silhouette was clean and elegant, the porcelain glowing under the natural sun.
It was a 16th-century Renaissance piece—hand-fired, meticulously preserved, and worth a small fortune.
My dad had caught me admiring it during a collector's showcase and, just for the hell of it, made a sky lantern bid. He won, naturally. The man had flair.
Oliver squinted at it. I saw his face twitch. First came doubt. Then suspicion. Then, predictably, his signature smirk.
"Wow. You really went all in on this little illusion, didn't you? Even copied a fresh-off-the-market auction piece?"
I simply stood there, observing him—this man, five years older than me, who was supposed to be mature and successful. Yet, at that moment, I felt only relief.
Thank God I hadn't yet reached the legal age for marriage. If I had gone along with our families' childhood arrangement, I would already be his wife.
And honestly? That would've been the most humiliating decision of my life. Being married to him—full of surface charm but with a core of selfishness and vanity—was terrible.
With that, I exhaled a long, steady breath and pointed to the door.
"Oliver, I don't blame you for being blind. But if you're just gonna keep embarrassing yourself in my house, I suggest you leave. I'm not here to host your pity party."
Oliver's smile snapped into a scowl. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I need to marry you? Let me tell you something. Everything I've achieved, I earned. I built my business from the ground up. And the thing I can't stand most? Manipulative women like you—pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside—mooching off decent men like parasites."
He jabbed his finger in my direction.
"Your name's already in the gutter. Who else would even consider you? If it weren't for our families' old agreement, I wouldn't be wasting a single second more."
Still calm, I walked over to the Italian vase on the side shelf, picked it up gently, and turned it over in my hands so the bottom faced him.
"Take a good look," I said evenly. "That's Sotheby's official authentication code. One of a kind. Final sale price? $12 million."
I met his eyes without flinching as I continued, "You think I care about your lousy $500,000? I was willing to let this whole thing go, out of respect for our family. But honestly, I could've gifted you that money just to keep things quiet. But you know what I don't tolerate?"
I tilted my head, my tone becoming sharply pointed as I said, "Spineless, freeloading men who want to get something for nothing."
Then I took a step forward.
"Here's the deal. As long as you and your entourage walk out of my house right now and never come back, I won't press defamation charges or harassment. That's me being generous."
Oliver froze mid-scowl.
The bodyguard looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Sir, maybe there was a misunderstanding? And that vase… it might actually be real."
Oliver's hands were trembling now as he snatched the vase back, turning it over again and again. I watched the smug confidence drain from his face like someone pulled the plug.
Panic finally broke through.
He grabbed his phone and barked into it. "Kiara, doesn't your brother work at Sotheby's? Get him on the phone. I need him to check the winner of that final auction piece, the one with the highest bid!"
Oliver didn't even wait for her response before snapping again. "And get that damn lawyer I hired over here. We're settling this now. I want her to admit she used my card! If I let her into my life, she'd be riding my neck and shitting on my head!"
If he was that desperate to humiliate himself, I was more than happy to watch.
Ten minutes later, Kiara showed up with the news and a lawyer following behind.
