Rosa's POV
"You'll marry Gerald Whitmore in three months."
My father's words hit me like a slap. I stare at him across his massive desk, sure I heard wrong. "What?"
"You heard me, Rosaline." Victor Rivera doesn't even look up from his papers. He signs something with his expensive pen, completely calm, like he just told me to pick up dry cleaning instead of marry my dead sister's fiancé.
My hands shake. "Dad, that's insane. Gerald was engaged to Julie. Julie's been dead for three years—"
"Which is exactly why this makes sense." Now he looks at me, and his eyes are cold. So cold. "Gerald agreed to honor the family alliance. The Whitmores need our fashion distribution network. We need their manufacturing empire. You're a Rivera. You'll do your part."
I can't breathe. The office suddenly feels too small, too hot. "But... but I don't even know Gerald. We've barely spoken since Julie's funeral."
"You'll have three months to get acquainted." My father stands, walking to his window that overlooks Manhattan. His back is to me now, like I'm already dismissed. "The company is dying, Rosa. Julie's death destroyed our reputation. The scandal, the lawsuits, the bad press—we're hemorrhaging money. This merger is our last chance."
"So you're selling me." My voice comes out bitter.
He finally turns, and something flashes in his face. Anger? Guilt? I can't tell anymore. I stopped understanding my father the day Julie died and he looked at me like I was the wrong daughter to survive.
"I'm saving this family," he says sharply. "Something you've never bothered to help with. You think your little ideas in the creative meetings matter? You think anyone takes you seriously? Julie was this company's future. She had vision, talent, drive. You're..."
He trails off, but I hear the unspoken word. Nothing. I'm nothing compared to Julie.
"Gerald Whitmore is a good man," my father continues, his voice businesslike again. "Rich, powerful, respected. Most women would kill for this opportunity."
Most women aren't being used as replacements for their perfect dead sister.
I want to scream. I want to throw something. Instead, I ask the question burning in my throat. "Does he know? Does Gerald know you're making me do this?"
My father's expression answers before his words do. "He agreed to the arrangement. The wedding is set for June fifteenth."
My stomach drops. "He agreed? Gerald actually wants to marry me?"
"He wants to save his company, just like I want to save ours. Personal feelings are irrelevant." My father sits back down, already looking at his computer screen. "Your mother will handle the wedding arrangements. We'll announce the engagement next week. Don't embarrass us, Rosaline. For once in your life, do something useful for this family."
The dismissal is clear. I stand on shaky legs, my whole world tilting sideways. At the door, I pause. "Did you ask me or tell me?"
My father doesn't look up. "Does it matter?"
No. It doesn't. It never has.
I walk out of his office in a daze. The hallway of Rivera Fashion headquarters feels like a dream—or a nightmare. Employees pass by without seeing me. They never do. I'm the invisible Rivera, the forgotten daughter, the one who doesn't matter.
Julie mattered. Julie was brilliant, beautiful, unstoppable. Even now, three years after her car went off that cliff, she's still more present in this company than I'll ever be. Her designs still hang in our showroom. Her photo still dominates the lobby. Her legacy still crushes me every single day.
And now I have to marry her fiancé.
I make it to the elevator before the tears come. I jam my finger on the button, desperate to escape before someone sees me crying. The doors open and I stumble inside, stabbing the button for the parking garage.
As the elevator descends, I remember the last time I saw Gerald Whitmore. Julie's funeral. He stood by the grave in a black suit, his face like stone. So handsome it hurt to look at him. So broken it hurt to see. He loved Julie. Everyone knew it. Their engagement had been the society event of the year.
Then Julie died, and Gerald disappeared into his work, becoming a ghost of the charming man he'd been.
Now he agreed to marry me? Julie's boring little sister? The girl who couldn't compete if she tried?
Unless...
My stomach clenches with a horrible realization. Gerald doesn't want to marry me. He wants to save his company. Just like my father wants to save ours. I'm not a bride. I'm a business transaction.
The elevator dings. I step out into the dim parking garage, fumbling for my car keys. My hands won't stop shaking.
I unlock my car and slide inside, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. In the rearview mirror, I see my reflection. Brown hair pulled back in a boring ponytail. Minimal makeup. Plain gray suit that makes me look like a secretary, not the daughter of a fashion empire.
Julie would never have let them force her into marriage. Julie would have fought back, stood up, demanded respect.
But I'm not Julie. I never have been.
I'm about to start the car when my phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
My heart stops.
The message has no words. Just a photo.
It's Gerald Whitmore. Recent, based on his clothes. He's sitting in what looks like a bar, and he's not alone. A beautiful blonde woman has her hand on his arm, leaning close, laughing.
The photo was taken yesterday. One day after he agreed to marry me.
My hands start shaking worse. Who sent this? Why?
Another text buzzes through before I can process the first one.
"Ask your father what really happened to Julie. Ask him why Gerald agreed so easily. Nothing about this wedding is what you think. Trust no one."
The phone slips from my fingers.
Gerald was with another woman yesterday. My father is hiding something about Julie's death. Someone knows secrets they shouldn't and they're warning me.
I sit in the dark garage, my whole world cracking open, and realize with cold certainty:
This isn't just about saving companies.
This is something much, much more dangerous.
And I just agreed to walk right into the middle of it.