Zara's POV
The champagne glass slipped from my hand.
I didn't hear it shatter. Couldn't hear anything over the roaring in my ears as I stared at Marcus—my Marcus—down on one knee in the middle of La Belle Vie, the fanciest restaurant in the city.
This was it. The moment I'd dreamed about for two years.
Except his hand wasn't reaching for mine.
It was reaching for Lila's.
"What—" The word died in my throat.
"Lila Cross," Marcus said, his voice loud and clear, projecting to every single person in the restaurant. "You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?"
The world tilted sideways.
Lila—my best friend since college, the girl who'd held me when I cried, who knew all my secrets—squealed and threw her arms around Marcus's neck. "Yes! Oh my God, yes!"
They kissed. Long and deep, like they'd done it a thousand times before.
Because they had.
"Surprise, Zara!" Lila pulled back from Marcus, her eyes finding mine across the room. Her smile was pure poison. "Happy birthday, sweetie."
Laughter erupted around me. Not the happy kind. The cruel kind that cuts right through your chest and shreds everything inside.
I looked around wildly. Everyone was watching. Phones were up, recording. The whole restaurant—no, wait. These weren't random people. I recognized them. My coworkers. My neighbors. People from my gym.
This wasn't Marcus proposing to Lila.
This was my surprise birthday party.
"You should see your face," Marcus said, standing up and wrapping his arm around Lila's waist. Like they were a couple. Like I was nothing. "We've been planning this for weeks."
"Six months, actually," Lila corrected, running her fingers through his hair in a way that made my stomach turn. "That's how long we've been together. Six beautiful months."
Six months.
Six. Months.
The room spun. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself, but my hand found only air. Someone had moved the chair. I stumbled, barely catching myself.
More laughter. More phones recording my humiliation.
"Why?" The word came out broken, barely a whisper.
"Why?" Marcus laughed. "Come on, Zara. Look at you. You really thought a guy like me would end up with a charity case like you?"
The words hit like punches.
"You were convenient," he continued, and the cruelty in his voice was something I'd never heard before. Or maybe it had always been there, and I'd been too stupid to notice. "Your dad's jewelry connections, your appraiser contacts—that was useful. But dating you? God, it was exhausting. All that baggage. All that trauma. Lila's actually fun."
"And pretty," Lila added, smirking. "Don't forget pretty."
Someone near the bar wolf-whistled. A woman I thought was my friend from work shouted, "Burn!"
I couldn't breathe. The air was too thick, too hot. My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall.
Not here. Not in front of them.
"The look on your face is even better than we imagined," Lila said, pulling out her phone. She angled it at me, recording. "Smile for the camera, birthday girl. This is going viral."
That broke something in me.
I ran.
Shoved past tables, past laughing faces, past the waiters who jumped out of my way. Someone tried to grab my arm—I yanked free. The exit seemed a million miles away, but I finally crashed through the door and into the rain.
Cold water hit my face, mixing with tears I could no longer hold back.
Behind me, the restaurant door opened. Laughter spilled out into the night.
"Zara, wait!" It was Marcus. Not because he cared—I could hear the amusement in his voice. "We got you a cake!"
More laughter. Someone was definitely still filming.
I ran harder, my heels slipping on wet pavement. One broke. I kicked both shoes off and kept running barefoot through puddles, through alleys, not knowing where I was going. Just away. Away from them. Away from the worst night of my life.
My phone buzzed in my clutch. I yanked it out, ready to throw it in the nearest trash can, but the name on the screen stopped me cold.
Stepmother Catherine.
She never called. Not unless something was wrong.
With shaking hands, I answered. "Hello?"
"Your father is dead."
The words were flat. Emotionless. Like she was telling me the weather.
I stopped running. Stood there in the rain, soaked to the bone, unable to process what I'd just heard.
"What?"
"He passed an hour ago. Heart attack. Very sudden." A pause. "He changed his will last week. Everything goes to Bella. You get nothing."
Nothing.
"You're not welcome at the funeral. Don't bother coming to the house—we've already packed your things. Whatever you left there is on the curb."
The line went dead.
I stood frozen in the rain, my phone clutched in my hand, my entire world crumbling around me.
No boyfriend. No best friend. No father. No inheritance. No home.
Nothing.
My phone buzzed again. A text from a number I hadn't seen in three years.
Viktor: I heard what happened. I'm sorry, kid. Meet me at the old warehouse. Midnight. I have one last job for you. Could change everything. But Zara—this one's dangerous. Don't come unless you're desperate.
I looked down at the message, rain pelting my face.
Desperate?
I laughed. The sound was hollow and broken.
I had nothing left to lose.
I typed back: I'll be there.
Another buzz. Different number. Unknown.
I opened it.
My blood turned to ice.
It was a photo. Of me. Taken tonight. Running from the restaurant.
Below it, one line:
Your real birthday gift arrives tomorrow. Happy 25th, Princess. Time to learn who you really are.