Chapter 1: The Woman on the Wet Grass
"We don't allow street people to crash celebrations for respectable folks."
The stream of freezing water struck me directly in the face before I could utter a single word.
The chill drenched my tattered wrap, my threadbare top, and the cheap footwear I had purchased just hours ago from a secondhand shop on the outskirts of Nashville. For a second, the vast garden of the grand Belle Meade mansion turned into a blur—the pristine white roses decorating the tables, glass chandeliers suspended from oak branches, servers carrying trays of bubbly, and perfectly groomed attendees who initially went dead silent...
...and then erupted in mockery.
"Look at this woman!" the future bride cried out, holding a green hose in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. "She just strolled right in as if she belonged here. What's she going to do next? Ask for an invitation to our ceremony?"
A few ladies raised their hands to their faces—not because they were shocked, but to conceal their giggles.
A gentleman wearing a custom navy suit raised his phone to capture the moment as if it were a reality show.
Nobody intervened.
Nobody shouted, "Stop."
I dropped to my knees on the wet grass.
The cold blades stung against my bare skin.
Without uttering a sound, I pressed my canvas shopping bag firmly against my chest.
Concealed within, shielded by a water-resistant sleeve...
...my phone kept documenting every single moment.
"I... I was just trying to find Mr. Ethan Carter," I whispered, making myself sound weak on purpose.
The young lady knelt down to face me.
Vanessa Mitchell possessed the kind of striking, flawless looks that belonged to someone who knew her appearance could buy her way into any room.
She was dressed in a tailored cream-colored couture gown.
Minimalist diamond studs.
Impeccable cosmetics.
An immaculate grin.
And eyes that held absolutely no warmth.
"Mr. Carter doesn't take appointments with random drifters who trespass on private estates," she remarked with a sugary tone.
"Particularly not in the middle of his engagement celebration."
Behind her, her mother chuckled quietly.
Patricia Mitchell eyed me from head to toe with absolute disdain.
"Remove this woman immediately before she spoils our photographs."
Her husband, George Mitchell, didn't even deign to look in my direction.
"And search her bag before sending her away."
His tone was completely cold.
"We wouldn't want her stealing anything."
I drew a breath.
Not out of fear.
But out of sheer rage.
Just fifty feet behind them, inside the mansion, my son Ethan Carter was conversing with business partners who had traveled in from Dallas, Atlanta, and Chicago.
He was unaware of my presence.
I had planned it that way.
I had arrived entirely on my own.
No chauffeur.
No personal bodyguards.
No high-end luxury fashion.
No signature jewelry that any financial journal would point out.
No prestigious family name.
For one basic motive.
I had to see for myself what sort of person my son was planning to bind his life to.
Vanessa had just handed me the truth on a silver platter.
A young server stepped forward hesitantly, holding a folded cloth napkin.
"Ma'am..."
His voice shook.
"Are you okay? Please let me help you stand."
Vanessa whipped around to face him.
"If you lay a finger on her..."
She grinned.
"...you'll be out of a job before we serve dessert."
The young server went rigid.
I gave his hand a soft, reassuring squeeze.
"It is quite alright, dear."
I offered him a gentle smile.
"Today, everyone is revealing their true colors."
Vanessa tossed her head back and let out a loud laugh.
"Oh, give me a break."
"Now the street woman is trying to lecture us on morality."
Water trickled down from my silver hair.
Slipped past my collar.
And pooled in the creases of my fingers.
I stared straight into her gaze.
"Look at me very carefully."
My tone was absolutely steady.
"This is the final day you will ever abuse another human being and get to believe that there are no repercussions."
The grin vanished from her face.
"Is that meant to be a threat?"
I merely offered a smile.
Because at that very second...
The glass doors slid open.
"Ethan!" a voice shouted.
My son walked out onto the patio holding a glass of bubbly.
The very second his eyes fell upon me kneeling in the dirt...
All the color instantly rushed out of his face...
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