I’ve always had a special talent for being despised. So, after my engagement was broken off, my legion of lifelong rivals descended like vultures, eager to gloat. “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Vance, finally getting what she deserves.” “How’s bankruptcy feel? Your fiancé won’t lift a finger for you, but if you beg me, I might consider helping you out.” “Good thing he called it off. Marrying you would have been the end of him.” A cold smile spread across my face. I opened my contacts and sent a group text designed to make them all sick: “I guess you haven’t heard your parents approached mine about a proposal. Well, I said yes. The engagement party is after the holidays :)” Thirty seconds later, the replies started flooding in. “Seriously?” “What kind of wedding dress do you like? No reason, just curious.” My face: “?” 1 My engagement was over. Rosen Hugh’s mother came to deliver the news herself. Her smile was painfully pleasant, her manners impeccable. She prattled on about how children should be free to make their own choices, putting on a grand show of civility. I sat sipping a glass of freshly squeezed juice, placing a restraining hand on my father’s arm just as he was about to erupt. “Oh, it’s fine,” I said, my voice bored. “I don’t like Rosen anyway.” It was a childhood betrothal, nothing more. Arranged marriages are a relic of the past. Good riddance. Mrs. Hugh’s smile faltered. “But Rosen cared for you so deeply, and you actually…” She bit back the rest of her accusation, remembering she was the one breaking things off. This was supposed to be a win for her. She forced another smile. “Well then, Helen, I wish you the best of luck in finding someone else.” I took another sip of juice and tilted my head. “And I wish Rosen the best of luck in landing the heiress to Apex Holdings.” Never mind that the Hughs had been kissing up to Apex for ages with nothing to show for it. But who knew? Maybe their pretty-boy strategy would actually work this time. Maybe Rosen’s handsome face would be enough to make the Apex heiress lose her mind and let the insignificant Hughs latch onto her family’s empire. It wasn’t impossible. Mrs. Hugh’s face went stiff. She read the mockery in my expression and shot me a venomous glare. I glared right back. Muttering a string of clichés under her breath—“a fallen queen is no better than a peasant,” “we’ll see how long that pride lasts,” “don’t come crying to us,” “acting high and mighty when you’re about to be bankrupt”—she finally swept out the door. 2 Mrs. Hugh’s tirade of a bitter, wannabe matriarch didn’t affect me in the slightest. I went back to directing the movers. My father, who had been simmering in silence, finally slammed his hand on the table. “She couldn’t wait a single day to call it off! She must have heard those vicious rumors about us going bankrupt!” “They’re not exactly rumors,” I said, rummaging through a drawer for the emergency cash I’d stashed over the years. “We’re broke.” The news of the Vance family’s impending financial collapse had been the talk of the town. The truth was, our company’s capital flow was frozen. I knew the money had been diverted for another purpose and would be back soon, but the details were confidential, so we remained silent. For now, we were genuinely tight on cash—so tight that we had to move out of our mansion in the Compound temporarily. The Hughs must have heard we were moving and taken it as confirmation of our ruin, which sent them scrambling to cut ties. Social climbing is human nature. My father, however, was far less composed than I was. “Helen,” he fretted, “you’ve never been popular, and your people skills are… lacking. Now that we’re out of money, those boys in the Compound are going to make your life a living hell.” His choice of words was, as always, infuriating. I shot him a look, but after confirming he was being his usual clueless self and not actually insulting me, I just rolled my eyes. “Them? If any of them tries to bully me, I’ll take them down with me.” 3 I grew up in the Compound, a gilded cage filled with a pack of boys who were, by societal standards, my childhood friends. We were neighbors, forced to see each other constantly. But the animosity was mutual and intense. We’d been at each other’s throats since we could walk. Because they all looked like Prince Charming and knew how to act the part, our clueless elders were always singing their praises, calling them “fine young gentlemen” and “men of character.” It was enough to make you gag. My father used to tell me I should try to make friends with them. But who in their right mind would want to be friends with those arrogant jerks? I’d scoffed at the very idea. 4 There are no secrets in the Compound. The second Rosen’s mother left, my phone lit up. It was a group chat named “The Compound’s Finest (13).” And it was currently on fire. “@HelenVance, just saw the Hughs leaving your place. What happened, get dumped? Looks like the ice princess is finally melting.” “@HelenVance, how’s bankruptcy feel? If you beg me, maybe I’ll consider helping you out.” Someone had even added Rosen to the chat. The group count ticked up to (14). “@RosenHugh, man, Helen never even liked you. It was an arranged thing. You’re better off.” “@RosenHugh, thank God you dumped her. Marrying her would’ve been the end of you.” … A cold smirk touched my lips as I swiped open a private message. Then, I selected all of them and sent a group text designed to ruin their day. “I guess you haven’t heard your parents approached mine about a proposal. Well, I said yes. The engagement party is after the holidays :)” The chat, which had been scrolling nonstop, froze. Dead silence. All I could see was a string of “…” bubbles as they typed and deleted their replies. Picturing the looks of pure disgust on their faces brought me a profound sense of satisfaction. 5 Rosen didn’t reply. He was at an academic conference overseas. He’d apologized yesterday, telling me he was the keynote speaker and would be offline all day. I didn’t think a day without texting was a big deal, but I sent back an “Okay” to let him know I’d gotten the message. Given the time difference, his last message had been a “good morning,” followed by photos of several designer bags with the question, “Which one do you like?” Before I could reply, his mother had shown up. Honestly, Rosen wasn’t a bad guy. The Hughs were new money, having only moved into the Compound a couple of years ago. It wasn't until Mrs. Hugh showed up, beaming and holding the family heirlooms that symbolized our betrothal, that my father even remembered my grandfather had drunkenly arranged the whole thing years ago. When the Hughs lived in another state, the engagement was a forgotten joke. Now that they were neighbors, we had to decide if it was still on. My father asked for my opinion. I told him I’d wait and see. The Hughs didn't push, but Rosen naturally started spending more time with me. He had a gentle demeanor that masked a certain distance from the world, but he was always attentive to me. He remembered all my preferences, brought me gifts from his travels, and planned surprises for every holiday. He was diligently playing the part of a perfect fiancé. So, despite my initial annoyance with the whole arrangement, after spending so much time with him, I had grudgingly come to accept the fact that I would one day marry him. We could always get divorced if it didn't work out. But now, it was over. I stared at the devastatingly handsome photo on Rosen’s profile for a few seconds, felt a brief pang of regret, and then blocked him. He was nice to look at, but he wasn’t mine anymore. Out of sight, out of mind. 6 The older generation in the Compound had always been kind to me. Even though their offspring were insufferable, I was genuinely fond of the aunts and uncles. Since we were moving out tomorrow, I decided to go say my goodbyes. My phone buzzed as I was heading out the door. My dear rivals had replied. “Seriously?” “What kind of wedding dress do you like? No reason, just curious.” “Tsk, fine. My parents have always liked you. Might as well make them happy.” “After the holidays? That’s too long. Let’s move it up. You’re welcome.” My face: “?” I felt like one of those confused old men staring at their phones on the subway. They were all insane. I had to admit, their counter-attack was brilliant. The boomerang effect of their replies left me thoroughly disgusted. I resisted the urge to block them all, but only because I was about to visit their parents. Instead, I sent a single, unified reply: “Sent to the wrong person :)”. 7 My first stop was the Warrens’ house. Rhys Warren opened the door. He was tall, with dark, intense eyes that made you feel small when he looked down at you. We had nothing to say to each other. Which was a shame, because we’d actually gotten along as kids. Mr. Warren was a fantastic cook, and whenever he made something special, he’d invite me over. Rhys would silently push my favorite dishes closer to me. But we grew to despise each other as teenagers. It happened one day when I was visiting and nearly tripped. He caught me, his arms wrapping around me in an accidental hug. The next second, he recoiled like he’d been burned, shoving me away as if I were radioactive. With a look of pure horror on his face, he stormed into the bathroom and started showering. For a solid hour! When he finally came out, I confronted him, incredulous. “What, do I have some kind of infectious disease?” All Rhys said was, “…Stay away from me from now on.” From that day on, our relationship turned glacial. We barely spoke. So, I moved to walk past him without a word, as usual. But this time, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “‘Wrong person?’” A humorless smirk twisted Rhys’s lips. “Who was it meant for?”
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