Chapter 3

The bathroom door swung open.

Derek came out towel-drying his hair. He paused when he saw me—but only for a second. Then he kept rubbing his head.

"Here for the wedding video shoot? Cancel it. I'm taking Riley dress shopping today. You can come along and help pick."

The tension in my back let go. I continued walking.

"I'm busy."

He glanced at my suitcase and frowned.

"Back to that flower shop of yours? I told you to shut it down. Why are you bringing work stuff to Riley's place?"

I didn't bother pointing out that this was supposed to be our house. I just kept walking.

Derek's voice went cold.

"Megan, how many times do I have to say it? That little studio of yours is pointless. Once we're married, you'll be home running the household and raising our kids. Might as well close it now."

I stopped. My throat tightened.

When I spoke, my voice came out strained.

"Since when did I say I'd be staying home?"

Derek gave me a look like I was being dramatic.

He pulled a suit jacket from the closet, then picked out a purple dress for Riley.

"Wear this. It'll be easier to get in and out of when you're trying on gowns."

Riley pouted sweetly.

"I don't want that one. I like the burgundy."

Derek's hand froze for half a second.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

I'd never spent a night in this house, but after the renovation, I'd put three wedding outfits in the closet: a champagne robe, a red silk nightgown, and a burgundy reception dress.

The robe was on Riley. The nightgown was crumpled on the floor. Only one was left.

Derek's eyes flicked to me, almost hesitant. When he saw my face stay calm, something like approval crossed his features. He handed Riley the burgundy dress.

"Like it? Wear it."

Five minutes had passed. He still hadn't answered my question.

He hadn't explained the mess on the floor, either.

Or maybe he just didn't care.

Not wanting to drag it out, I turned and wheeled my suitcase out the door.

Before I could start the car, someone tapped on my window. Derek looked surprised.

"Since when do you have a car? You got your license?"

I gave a flat "Mm."

His brow furrowed with annoyance.

"You're really this bent out of shape because I had Riley walk through the ceremony? I told you—she and I grew up together. She's a professional MC—"

"Mm. I understand."

I cut him off gently. That only made him angrier.

"Then it's that stupid studio of yours.

"Can you grow up? I'm the sole heir of the Teeger family. You're just the third daughter of the Powell family—we're not even in the same league.

"My wife stays home, takes care of the house, and raises the kids. Running around in public—what kind of horrible image is that?"

Something heavy pressed down on my chest.

When he'd proposed, he swore he'd respect everything about me.

Now, he not only looked down on my family name—he wanted to cage my entire life.

I clenched my jaw and started rolling up the window.

Derek straightened up sharply.

"Megan, you're not agreeing? Look at Riley. She's gentle and sensible. Why can't you learn from her?

"Let me make this clear: if you don't shut down that studio, the wedding's postponed. We'll do it whenever you come to your senses."

I hit the gas and drove off.

I returned the gift, went back to my apartment, and packed my things. Now all I had to do was wait for the appointment—then I'd be moving in with my new groom.

After dinner, one of my studio colleagues called.

I braced myself, thinking she was going to tell me we'd lost money on canceled wedding flowers. I was about to say I'd cover it—but she was crying.

"Ms. Powell, what do we do? The national floral exhibition project—Derek stole it. They bid half our price.

"But the flowers are already on the way. If we lose the deal, we eat the cost ourselves. That's easily over a million…"

My head went blank.

This was the biggest project my studio had ever landed.

And my father and I had a deal: hit thirty million in profit within a year, and I'd get a seat at the Powell Group—and a stake in the company.