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Stolen Soulmate (Crowne Point 2)

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Worst fucking timing.

“I called off the wedding, Story,” I repeated.

She shook her head.

The silencing tapping of crystal filled the air like wind chimes, and we both looked to see my mother and Lottie in the center of the room.

“Toast!” my mother said cheerfully, raising her glass.

The dread grew and knotted.

I closed my eyes.

Fuck.

“To a Christmas wedding,” Mrs. du Lac said.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“To the future Mr. and Mrs. Grayson Crowne.”

Cheers rang out, crystal clanked, and everyone shouted for me and Lottie—my future wife. I briefly caught Lottie’s eyes, miserable and broken.

“This is so fucked up,” Story whispered.

My mother’s eyes locked with mine, a tight, satisfied smile on her lips.

Why hadn’t I seen it coming? It was classic Tansy Crowne, vintage Beryl. They don’t give in that easily. They never declared check-mate. They would throw the board out and place their pawns exactly where they needed them to be.

When I looked back, Story was halfway to the door.

“Story, wait!”

I ran after her, grabbing her.

“You have to believe me,” I said. “I didn’t do this.”

“I can’t keep watching you choose her,” Story cried. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep being the girl behind the girl.”

“Let me prove it to you.”

I shoved cake off one of the tables. Million-dollar rings that would go home as party favors clacked to the ground. Diamonds skittered across the marble floor. And the room went silent. I climbed atop the table, shoes smashing into frosting. Then I bent down, giving Story my hand.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes were wide, darting around the room.

“Choosing you.”

I didn’t give her a choice this time, ripping her up on the table with me. I pressed her against my body, anchoring her lower waist.

“Everyone came here for an announcement?” I yelled.

Tansy’s nostrils flared, the only sign of displeasure she’d show in public. Lottie sank into the book stacks, putting a hand over her face. I hated doing this to her, hated that our parents had left me with no choice. We were puppets to them, and they were trying to cast our strings in steel.

“Looks like you got the wrong information. Weird.” I glared at my mother. “She’s who I choose. When I get married, it’ll be to her.”

I gripped Story’s face between my palms, then whispered against her lips so only she could hear.

“I want to kiss you, Story. I want the whole fucking world to know you’re mine. I want it cast in stone.”



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