The Miner's Daughter Takes Manhattan

Chapter 3

I wasn't expecting to run into Rosalie Simmons at the haute couture atelier.

Decked out in jewels, she carried herself like a true socialite, every inch the part.

When she saw me, she was mid-video call with Vincent Crawford and, clearly aware of my presence, deliberately raised her voice.

"Vincent, Uncle Howard said Evelyn's here to pick out her engagement dress. What a coincidence running into her!"

The second Vincent caught sight of me on screen, his smile stiffened, frozen in place.

"Evelyn, don't waste your time. No matter what you wear, you'll never compare to Rosalie."

Rosalie pretended to be concerned, though it was clear she was loving every moment.

"Don't say that. You'll hurt Evelyn's feelings."

She spun around, flaunting her gown like it was a trophy.

"Do you like it? Vincent gave it to me. It's just a little big, so I'm here to get it altered."

I had no intention of playing along—until I recognized the dress.

"How did you get this?" My voice turned sharp, cold as ice, and I glared at Vincent.

"Did you steal it?"

This was the last piece my grandmother—may she rest in peace—had designed for me.

As a world-renowned designer, she had poured everything into that gown.

In my past life, I had promised Vincent I would wear it when we married.

"Take it off. Now." My tone was frosty, commanding.

Rosalie's eyes welled with fake tears.

"This was a gift from Vincent!"

"Evelyn, have you lost your mind?" Vincent snapped, his anger flaring.

"You're making a scene!"

"This dress was locked in the Hawthorne mansion! How did you get it?" I demanded.

"I bought it!" he spat, his patience thinning.

"Keep pushing me, and I won't hold back."

Rosalie, suddenly off-balance, stumbled. The expensive fabric ripped beneath her feet, and the sound of it echoed through the atelier.

A sharp slap rang out, the sound cutting through the tension in the room.

Rosalie's hand shot to her cheek, her shriek loud enough to rattle the walls.

"Evelyn, just because you're jealous doesn't mean you can hit me!"

Vincent's roar boomed from the phone.

"Evelyn! Apologize, NOW!"

"Enough!"

A voice like gravel sliced through the air, and out of nowhere, Sebastian Pierce stepped in, pulling me into his embrace, his presence a protective shield.

Rosalie's posture stiffened, her eyes narrowing in contempt.

"Who do you think you are? Do you even know who I am?"

"All I know," Sebastian said, his gaze icy and dangerous, "is that this is the Hawthorne heiress."

He turned to face her, the intensity of his stare making Rosalie shrink back.

"And you just laid your hands on the future head of the Hawthorne Group."

The mention of "Hawthorne heiress" silenced Rosalie, and even Vincent was rendered speechless.

Sebastian draped his suit jacket over my shoulders with a smooth gesture, his voice a quiet command.

"Miss Hawthorne, let me take you home."

That evening, at the birthday gala, Vincent stormed toward me, his expression dark as a thundercloud.

"Uncle Howard wants the four of us in his study," he muttered under his breath.

"Last chance. Apologize now, and maybe I'll forgive you."

He grabbed my arm too roughly, almost sending me tumbling in my gown.

But before I could stumble, a pair of strong hands steadied me.

Sebastian looked down at me, his eyes filled with concern.

"Are you alright?"

Vincent scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain.

"A nobody like you thinks you can compete for an arranged marriage? Don't get ahead of yourself."

When I stayed silent, his sneer deepened.

"Evelyn, don't come crying to me later."

Half an hour later, in my father's study, the heirs of the Four Great Houses gathered.

From the adjacent monitoring room, I watched as the lawyer began reading the decree:

"After due consideration, Sebastian Pierce has been selected as the betrothed of the seventh-generation Hawthorne heir and will concurrently assume the role of the Group's next CEO."