17.

Elara squealed. “Shut up!Really? It has gotten to that point?”

She had a fit, laughing and all.

I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Elara, this is serious.”

“This is hilarious,” she corrected, still wheezing. “I knew you wanted him, but having a wet dream? Oh, babe, you’re down bad.”

I scowled. “I do not want him.”

“Elara, you literally just called me at ass o’clock in the morning because you woke up soaked thinking about his dick.”

I winced. “Can you not say it like that?”

She giggled. “Okay, fine. Let me put it in scientific terms. You had a sexually charged dream featuring your stepbrother-to-be, and your cognitive dissonance is causing emotional distress.”

“Elara.”

“You want him, Evie,” she pressed, voice dripping with amusement. “So bad.”

I flopped back against my pillows, letting out a strangled groan. “No, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“I hate him.”

She snorted. “Hate-fucking is a thing.”

I slapped my forehead. “You’re a bad friend.”

She gasped. “I am the best friend. You’re just in denial. Denial is a river.”

I groaned again. “Even if I did, which I don’t—it doesn’t matter. Ryder is… Ryder. He’s annoying. He’s cocky. And he’s going to be my stepbrother.”

“Which you have mentioned for the umpteenth time. So what? It’s not like you two grew up together,” she said, unfazed. “This isn’t Sweet home Alabama.”

I cringed. “Ew. Don’t ever compare my life to that.”

She giggled. “Okay, okay. But be honest—what’s stopping you?”

I blinked at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why not?” she asked. “One night of sex won’t kill you.”

“Elara!”

She sighed dramatically. “Look, Evie, you are stressed over this. And I get it, trust me, but at the end of the day? It’s just sex.”

I bit my lip. “It’s not just sex. It’s Ryder.”

She hummed. “And what if it’s so good that it gets him out of your system?”

I stared at the ceiling, my stomach twisting.

Elara sighed again. “I’m just saying, if you’re this worked up, maybe you need a reset. Get it out of your system. Move on.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“That’s an amazing idea.”

“Elara.”

“Elara is right,” she sang.

I shook my head, exhaling. “I hate that I even called you.”

She giggled. “No, you love me. Now, do you want my advice, or do you want to continue pretending you don’t want to climb that man like a tree?”

I closed my eyes. “Fine.”

“Good girl,” she said, smug. “Now, listen up. If you really want to make Ryder sweat, you can’t just roll over for him.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You have to make him chase you,” she continued. “And I mean, really chase you. Give him a little taste, then pull back.”

I frowned. “Like…?”

“Flirt, but don’t give in,” she explained. “Make him want you so bad he’s going crazy. And when he thinks he has you? Snatch it away.”

I squinted. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

She scoffed. “Please. It’s fun.”

I sighed. “Elara, this is Ryder. He’s literally made for games like this.”

“So beat him at his own game.”

I chewed my lip. “And what if I lose?”

She snorted. “Then you win.”

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “You are the worst influence.”

“And yet, here you are, listening,” she teased.

I huffed. “Okay. Let’s say I do this—which I won’t—but if I do, how do I even start?”

She giggled. “Oh, babe. You start by making him come to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “And how exactly do I do that?”

Elara sighed like she was explaining basic math to a toddler. “First things first—you need the right weapons.”

I frowned. “Weapons?”

She grinned. “Lingerie, Evie. Sexy panties. Lacy bras. Thigh-highs.”

I groaned. “Elara—”

“Do not fight me on this,” she cut me off. “You need to feel hot. Confidence is everything when it comes to this game. And nothing boosts confidence like knowing you have something delicious underneath your clothes.”

“Elara, I am not walking around with lace and silk just to seduce Ryder.”

She smirked. “Not just for him. For you too.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I hate that this actually makes sense.”

She laughed. “I knew you’d come around.”

Before I could argue, a voice cut through the room.

“Evelyn!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Mum.

Shit.

“I gotta go,” I whispered quickly into the phone.

Elara snorted. “Have fun playing Perfect Daughter.”

I hung up, shoving my phone under my pillow just as the door swung open.

Mum stood there in her robe, looking obnoxiously elegant for someone who had just woken up. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a magazine in the other.

“Good, you’re awake,” she said, stepping inside. “Come. We have planning to do.”

I blinked. “Planning?”

“The bridal shower,” she said, like it was obvious.

I groaned. “Mum—”

“No complaints,” she interrupted, walking over and kissing my forehead. “You are the best, Evie. Now get dressed.”

I sighed but didn’t argue.

Mum was practically glowing. I hadn’t seen her this happy in years, and despite the absolute chaos that was my life right now, I wanted to keep that smile on her face.

And I knew exactly how to do it.

A surprise.

I smirked to myself.

She was going to love it.

*****

It had been two weeks since the chaos of bridal shower planning started, and somehow, it had all come together.

August 12th.

The day of my mother’s bridal shower.

School started next month, on September 3rd, and the wedding was set for September 15th—a ridiculously extravagant event that would probably shut down half the city.

I hadn’t seen Ryder since the boutique.

And he hadn’t texted me either.

Not that I wanted him to.

Mum had been too busy to notice my weird mood. 

She and Alexander had been on some retreat, something about meditation, reconnecting, and wedding prep. Basically, a very rich people thing.

And now, standing in the middle of this ridiculously gorgeous venue, I could see just how much effort had gone into this event.

The bridal shower was being held at one of the most exclusive event spaces in the city—a rooftop venue with a panoramic view of the skyline. The place was dripping in soft ivory and blush pink, with floral arrangements on every table and golden chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over everything.

Mum was dressed immaculately, of course.

She wore a white silk dress that draped over her curves effortlessly, with delicate pearl buttons running down the back. Her hair was styled in a sleek chignon, her makeup flawless—soft, dewy skin, subtle smoky eyes, and the perfect nude lip.

She looked like money.

She looked like someone who had clawed her way up from nothing.

And honestly?

She deserved it.

Years of struggling, of homelessness, of being an orphan and raising a baby in her mid-twenties with zero help. No degree. No stability. Just pure survival.

And now?

Now, she had everything.

I sighed, pushing through the crowd of guests, most of whom were dripping in designer labels. The dress code was elegant pastels, and naturally, every woman here looked like she had just stepped off the cover of Vogue.

And speaking of Vogue—

“Oh my God,” I muttered under my breath as I spotted her.

Marissa Vaughn.

Mum’s best friend.

And one of the most famous fashion designers in the world.

She had been on a business trip these past few months, but of course, she had returned for this. She was also Mum’s maid of honor, because apparently, my mother only befriended icons.

Marissa was dressed in a lavender silk gown, effortlessly elegant, her dark hair swept up in a high ponytail, her signature diamond earrings catching the light.

Mum squealed when she saw her, and they embraced like they hadn’t just FaceTimed yesterday.

“Lorelei, darling, you look divine,” Marissa gushed, pulling back to examine her. “And this—” she gestured around the venue— “is absolutely exquisite.”

Mum grinned. “Well, only the best for me, right?”

Marissa laughed. “As if you would accept anything less.”

I rolled my eyes fondly, taking a sip of champagne.

Mum really had won at life.

As I turned away from the scene, letting the elite women of high society continue their conversations, my eyes landed on her.

Riley.

My stomach instantly clenched.

What the hell was she doing here?

She caught my stare and smirked, strolling over in a light pink satin dress that fit her perfectly. Her blonde hair—still probably dyed—was styled in soft curls, and she looked annoyingly good.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms.

Riley arched a perfectly manicured brow. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Evie.” She picked up a champagne flute from a passing waiter and took a slow sip before saying, “I’m just here to celebrate my new stepmother. No big deal.”

My jaw clenched.