The bouquet slipped from my fingers, hitting the marble with a thud no one else seemed to hear. \n\nI was still staring at the photo—Damian’s hand on her hip, Lillian’s smirk against his shoulder, the same hotel suite we’d booked for our honeymoon—when the wedding coordinator tapped my elbow. 'Signature needed, Miss Holloway. Final payment authorization.' \n\nTwo hundred fifty thousand dollars. Due in six hours. Default penalty: public credit seizure and asset forfeiture. My father would lose the house. My sister’s tuition. Everything. \n\nA shadow fell across the aisle. An old man in a charcoal overcoat stood there, untouched by the chaos. He didn’t offer condolences. Just a black envelope edged in gold. 'Your future isn’t written yet,' he said. 'But it will be—if you open this.'