"And this is my friend Ursula," Sarah said, turning to Mark with a small smile. "Mayor Anthony Wexley's one and only daughter."
Mark extended his hand politely. "Nice to meet you, Ursula."
Ursula blinked for a moment, as if coming out of a trance, before quickly accepting his handshake. "Oh! Nice to meet you too, Mark."
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "You're not from around here, are you? If you were, trust me—I would've heard of you."
"You're right. I'm not," Mark said, his tone relaxed but straightforward. "I don't usually stay in one place for too long. I tend to move around a lot."
Ursula raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? So... are you a captain? A pilot?"
Mark chuckled softly. "No. Just a wanderer."
"That's enough, Ursula," Sarah cut in with a teasing glare. "Stop interrogating my husband like he's applying for a visa."
"Relax, girl," Ursula said dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "I'm not trying to steal your man. And even if I wanted to, I couldn't. You're way prettier than me."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but let's not pretend. Everywhere we go, people notice you first. You're taller, sexier—it's impossible to ignore you."
Ursula let out a musical laugh. "Flattery from you? I'm honored."
She wasn't wrong, though. While Sarah had a timeless beauty, Ursula had an undeniable presence—tall, elegant, and curvy in all the ways that made heads turn the moment she entered a room.
"My husband's thirsty," Sarah said, shifting the topic with a grin.
Ursula smirked. "Right, right." She waved down a passing waitress and turned to Mark. "What would you like to drink?"
"Just water, thank you," Mark replied with a nod.
Ursula raised an eyebrow again but didn't press. She simply smiled and gave the order, still studying Mark with quiet curiosity.
----
"How is this even possible?" Clara Whitmore asked, her voice low but seething with disbelief. "Did that Tony lie to us?"
Her eyes stayed fixed across the ballroom, narrowing on the man standing beside Sarah—tall, striking, and far too elegant to fit the word beggar.
"He said Sarah married some vagrant off the street," Clara went on, her words squeezed between clenched teeth. "And that... that man? He looks like he stepped out of a fashion magazine."
The fury bubbling in her chest had very little to do with lies or surprise. It was old—too old—and rooted deep.
Clara had always loathed the fact that despite sharing the same father, Sarah had inherited all the beauty, the charm, the effortless grace. Wherever they went as children, people praised Sarah and barely glanced at her. At birthday parties, family gatherings, weddings—it was always Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.
Even at school, the teachers favored her. Classmates flocked around her. And by the time they entered high school, boys had started sending Sarah flowers, gifts, poetry—while Clara faded into the background like a forgotten detail.
Then came college. The final insult.
Allan Walker—the man Clara had silently loved for years—had fallen hopelessly for Sarah. Of course he had.
Clara remembered the day he confessed to her, remembered the rage she swallowed and the smile she forced as she congratulated them. She had been elated when Allan broke things off with Sarah. Sure, he still didn't notice her, but at least Sarah didn't have him either.
And now?
Now Sarah had shown up with a man even more devastatingly attractive than Allan. Taller. More elegant. Magnetic in a way that made women in the ballroom fumble their champagne glasses and straighten their necklines.
Clara wanted to scream.
But she was a Whitmore. And Whitmores didn't lose their composure in public. They smiled. They stood tall. They wore envy like perfume—subtle, intoxicating, and never too loud.
Still, Clara wasn't the only one struggling to hold it in.
Lara's posture was tense beside Allan, her painted smile trembling at the corners. She had walked into this ballroom thinking she held the prize—the most handsome man of the evening on her arm. She thought she had won when Sarah was dumped and Allan became hers.
But now, looking at Sarah's mysterious husband, Lara felt like someone who traded diamonds for rhinestones.
Allan Walker's jaw had tightened, his stare frozen on the couple. He hadn't said a word in minutes.
He had expected Sarah to be devastated, to fall apart. Maybe even come crawling back. Instead, she stood across the room in a stunning dress, glowing, with a man who made him feel invisible.
Sarah hadn't lost.
She'd simply traded up.
"Who even started that rumor about Sarah marrying a beggar?" Karl muttered aloud, not expecting an answer. His gaze fixated on the man standing beside Sarah, calm and composed with an effortless elegance that made heads turn. "Does that man look like a beggar? Allan—he's even more striking than you."
The words landed like a punch.
Allan's eyes flicked to Karl with a sharp, cutting glare. His pride flared, but he kept his expression neutral, jaw locked in silence.
As if I don't already know, he thought bitterly. Did you really have to say it out loud? Was that necessary?
Lara, standing just slightly behind him, caught it. The tension in his body. The way his gaze lingered on Sarah just a little too long. The silence that spoke volumes.
And she felt it like a knife twisting slowly inside her.
Because she remembered how it all began—she was the one who approached Allan. When she learned Sarah's family was in financial ruin, she moved fast. She didn't wait for the breakup—she made it happen. She painted a future for Allan: wealth, stability, a place in her father's company. She made it all sound so logical, so secure.
And Allan listened.
He didn't stop loving Sarah—but he chose comfort over chaos, safety over love.
Lara didn't care back then. As long as Sarah didn't have him, and she did, that was enough.
But now… watching him burn with jealousy over a man who clearly eclipsed him in every way—it hurt.
She stepped closer, her voice low. "Are you regretting it?" she asked. "Are you regretting leaving Sarah?"
Allan turned to her, eyes narrowing. "What kind of question is that?"
"I mean it," she said, her voice firmer. "You're staring at her like you made the biggest mistake of your life."
"What nonsense are you talking about now?" Allan snapped, his voice sharp, but the undertone was uneven. "Why would I regret it?"