“I love her.” Graham’s voice was firm in a way I hadn’t heard at the dinner. “I don’t care what she has or doesn’t have. She’s kind. She’s real. She’s an incredible mother. Those things matter more than money.”

“You sound like a greeting card.”

“And you sound like Mom, which should concern you, by the way.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“The only thing you’re protecting is your inheritance. Which, news flash, isn’t threatened by me getting married.”

“It is if she tries to take half of everything.”

“There is no everything, Sloan. I work at a car dealership. I’m not some millionaire she’s trying to trap.”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

I backed away from the window, heart pounding.

He defended me. Really defended me. Not the weak Mom is just protective excuse from dinner. This was real pushback, real loyalty.

Maybe he was different after all.

But the universe apparently decided I hadn’t been tested enough that night, because as I made my way back inside, I heard Patricia’s delighted voice from the front door.

“Meredith, what a wonderful surprise. I had no idea you were in town.”

I froze.

Meredith—Graham’s ex-girlfriend, the one Patricia had loved, the one who was perfect for her son.

I positioned myself where I could see the entrance without being obvious about it.

Meredith Callahan was everything I was pretending not to be: tall, polished, wearing a dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent in my fake struggling mom life. Her hair was salon perfect. Her smile was practiced and radiant.

She walked in like she was on a runway in Milan. I walked in like I was on a budget in Target. Clearance section. Final markdown.

“Graham,” Patricia called out, “look who stopped by. Meredith was just in the neighborhood.”

Just in the neighborhood, right? In a neighborhood where every house cost at least $2 million and nobody just stopped by without an invitation.

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