I’d been Jasper Grayson’s sugar baby for five years. So had my twin sister.
She did the fucking. I took the cash. We had our division of labor down to an art.
Graduation night, we were in some sleazy Vegas club when Raine spotted a male model with abs sharp enough to slice bread. She leaned in, eyes gleaming.
“Skye, you going to the wedding or am I?”
I lazily grabbed the dice from the table. “High roll goes. Simple.”
Before we could even roll, that smug-ass voice cut through the noise behind us.
“Bro, how’s my sugar baby taste?”
Gavin’s voice, calm as hell. His twin, Jasper, just sipped his whiskey and shrugged. “Nothing special.”
Raine and I froze, staring at the identical faces across the room.
“Wait—who’s the sugar daddy?” we said in unison.
We crouched down behind our booth like two feral cats.
“Right side?”
“Left side?”
I whispered, “Didn’t you screw Jasper?”
She snorted. “I don’t look at faces when I fuck. Unless he drops his pants, I can’t tell.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Before we could sort it out, Jasper smirked and shot a look at his brother. “You going to the wedding or me?”
Gavin hesitated—barely—then grabbed the dice. “Roll for it.”
“You’re on.” Jasper grinned and started shaking the dice box.
A couple of drunk rich brats from the next table egged them on.
“C’mon, Jasper, roll red and you’re locked in as the groom!”
“Hell, both of you should go. Let’s make this a real-life love triangle sitcom!”
“Imagine the look on Skye’s face when she finds out she’s been passed around like a joint at Coachella!”
The chick sitting in Jasper’s lap giggled into his neck. “Skye’s living the dream. Two Grayson brothers fighting over her? I’m jealous.”
Everyone cracked up. Jasper chuckled, tipped her chin up, and poured liquor from his mouth into hers like some frat boy porno scene. “Want the two of us to tag-team you next, babe?”
She melted against him, cooing, “Mm, no thanks. I’m loyal to my bad boy.”
Raine and I shot each other a look of mutual disgust—and something else. A flash of something that stung behind her eyes.
Regret.
“Bro, you lost.”
Jasper had rolled a six.
Not that he looked pissed. He gave the girl in his lap a lazy smile. “She wants to see the northern lights. Guess I’ll play tour guide.”
He turned to Gavin. “Wedding’s in five days. Cover for me till then—I’ll be back in time to say ‘I do.’”
Gavin nodded, expression unreadable.
A bunch of the guys started hollering about going racing, testosterone practically leaking from their pores. Jasper laughed, slapping the table.
“Losers owe me fat-ass wedding gifts. Skye loves counting cash more than love letters.”
Everyone laughed like it was hilarious. No one caught the venom in his words.
Jasper threw a wink at Gavin. “You in?”
Gavin shook his head, distracted. “Nah, gotta go rehearse for the big show.”
We all knew what “show” meant.
After the crowd left, Raine and I peeked from behind the booth, breathing a synchronized sigh of relief.
We glanced at the dice. No need to roll anymore.
Raine tilted her head. “Chatty, cocky? That’s Jasper.”
“Quiet, soft eyes?” I nodded. “That’s Gavin.”
And just like that, we knew.
The charade was up. This job was toast.
“Economy’s shit anyway,” I muttered. “Guess it’s time to bail.”
Raine didn’t even blink. “If you run, I run.”
That night, we split. Raine went for a checkup. I went home to pack.
On the way, I booked a rental house in coastal Oregon. Private, remote, ocean view. Train ticket set for five days later—same day as the wedding.
When I walked into the penthouse, Gavin was fresh out of the shower. Towel around his waist, hair dripping, muscles on display.
He sat on the edge of the bed, flipping open a small velvet box.
“Come here,” he said, crooking his finger.
I went.
He pulled me into him, pressed his face into my chest, and without a word, slipped a cold silver ring onto my left hand.
Then he took my right, kissed the ring finger softly, and smiled like nothing was broken.
“Baby,” he whispered. “Five days. You’ll be wearing the most beautiful pink diamond on the planet. Right here.”
I nodded. Couldn’t even fake a smile.
He leaned in to kiss me again, arms already wrapping around my waist—
And then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, face tightening. Answered in a voice smooth as silk. “Yeah. On my way.”
“You heading out?” I asked.
He kissed my forehead like we were still some wholesome Hallmark couple. “Just a work thing. Get some sleep. Don’t wait up.”
He disappeared into the bathroom to dry his hair.
Phone buzzed again. I picked it up.
His passcode was my birthday. Both brothers used the same one. They knew I’d never snoop.
Until now.
First—and last—time.
Messages from a contact named “Viv” lit up the screen.
“Gavin baby, heard you’re marrying Skye. No way I’m missing this show.”
“I’m back in town. Pick me up, okay? I’ll be waiting. 😘”
Vivian.
Vivian Summers.
Jasper’s little childhood princess, the spoiled socialite he used to worship. The one he’d have set the world on fire for. She vanished after high school, went off to Europe.
Figures.
Gavin stepped out, fully dressed, buttoning his shirt. I was already in bed, staring at the ceiling.
He bent over me. “Baby, I’m heading out.”
I forced a smile. “Okay.”
He stared at my lips. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I gave him a quick peck. He smiled like a man who thought he’d won.
Kissed me again. And again. Like he didn’t want to leave.
Then he left.
The sound of his sports car roared through the garage.
I wiped my mouth like I’d touched something filthy.
Then I rolled out of bed.
No time to cry. My designer bags weren’t gonna pack themselves.
They’d spoiled us—limited edition handbags, necklaces, diamonds the size of gumballs.
I stuffed them all into luggage like stolen loot.
And when I held up that emerald-cut rock the size of a goddamn grape—
I laughed so hard I almost cried.
Take it all. Every damn piece.
While packing, I came across that bright red marriage certificate Gavin gave me—back when he still thought I was stupid.
I opened it. The handwriting looked like shit. Sloppy and smug, just like him.
I laid it on the floor, grabbed a Sharpie, and scratched my name out.
Permanent. Bold. Just like the lesson I needed burned into my skull.
Love, once cracked, doesn’t go back to new. Doesn’t matter how hard you try to glue the pieces together—it’s still fucked.
I put the paper back in his personal safe. Along with all the shit he claimed was “too precious to lose.”
And then… I saw a box.
Something made me open it.
Inside were letters. Old-fashioned. No return address, just four stupid words on every envelope:
For Vivian Only.
“Vivian, how’s New York? Are you okay?”
“Heard you were crying over your thesis. Babe, don’t cry—those gorgeous eyes are for happy tears.”
“I found the pink diamond you wanted.”
“You said you wanted a dress full of stars—I designed one.”
“When you wear that gown, I’m supposed to be the first to hold your hand.”
“Vivian, I miss you. Okay, fine, I lied. I didn’t want to pressure you… but I wanted you back.”
God. Every word made me want to vomit.
I slammed the letters shut just as a ding came from my phone.
Raine had sent me three screenshots.
First: a girl holding roses. A guy down on one knee, ring box in hand. I stared at the back of the man’s head. The suit. The fucking suit Gavin wore earlier.
Next: two close-ups of diamond rings. Stunning. Breathtaking.
The caption?
“Ladies, pink or white diamond? White is so boring lol.”
“No surprises, no fate—just my childhood sweetheart kneeling down with the pink rock. Congrats to me 💍✨”
I stared at her left hand, then down at my own ring.
I slipped it off. Laid it on top of that damn marriage certificate.
Then I opened Twitter, searched the post, and after scrolling a while, left a single like and a cold-ass comment:
Congrats.
Right on cue, Gavin texted me:
“Baby, work’s insane tonight. I’m not coming home. Love you.”
Love me?
You were just proposing to someone else.
And now you’re calling me baby like nothing happened?
I stared at the screen, hands trembling. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
I almost texted:
“Gavin, aren’t you tired of pretending to be in love?”
But I erased it.
Replaced it with just:
Okay.
Three days before we dipped out of town, Raine and I were in a thrift shop, hustling with the owner over prices while downtown L.A. lit up like a goddamn fireworks festival outside.
Drones were spelling out words in the sky like a techy Valentine’s Day.
“Happy Birthday, Princess Vivian 💋”
Last year, I was stuck in my thesis defense. It was Raine who spent the night with Jasper. She told me afterward that the fireworks lasted half an hour, but he kept her tied up all damn night.
“I still can’t get the image outta my head,” she muttered, gazing out the store window. “Him kneeling with that damn ring. I think… I might’ve caught feelings.”
No shit, sis.
Fireworks lit up the skyline like it was the Fourth of July. But the girl meant to be in that penthouse suite? Was standing next to me.
I stroked a designer bag on the table and asked the guy behind the counter, “You open to offers?”
He grinned and held up two fingers.
“Don’t trust the pretty wrapping,” I said, nudging Raine with my elbow. “This designer was bought with dick. Ask for twenty grand more.”
Raine perked up instantly. “Hell yeah. Sell, sell, sell!”
The owner coughed, face flushing pink. “Uh, it’s… two thousand. Still wanna sell?”
We all froze.
Raine and I looked at each other like we’d just been told Santa was fake. Then I slammed the bag onto the counter.
“Sold.”
“Could you maybe—” Raine clutched the bag like a baby. “Bump it a little higher? Just a little?”
I patted her on the shoulder. “Honey, we wait too long, we’ll end up giving this shit away for free.”
When we stepped out with cash in hand, my phone pinged. Gavin.
Come pick me up from the club.
I turned to Raine. “You going?”
She rubbed her stomach. “I’m not feeling great. Can you go?”
I nodded. “Fine. Go home and rest. And if you’re still hurting, get some damn ibuprofen. We’ve got money now—no need to suffer like broke girls.”
She gave me a thumbs up and skipped off with the money like she just robbed a casino. Didn’t look sick at all.
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