Amanda didn't have a moment of peace. The second she arrived home, Milena Solis whisked her away to a salon. By the time they were done with her hair and makeup, she looked every bit the elegant Harris bride, even if she felt like a soldier heading to the front lines.
Tonight's dinner was at a renowned five-star restaurant in the North. It was an intimate affair—just the two families, fewer than ten people in total.
Amanda, draped in a graceful silk dress, followed her mother to the table. The seating was a clear divide: the Solis family on the left, the Harris family on the right. Old Mr. Harris sat at the head, and directly opposite Amanda sat Javier and his parents.
The moment she sat down, she felt a heavy gaze from across the table. It wasn't Javier looking at her, but his father, Dylan Harris. Dylan was in his late forties, bearing a striking resemblance to Javier, but his eyes were fixed on Milena Solis with a longing that bordered on scandalous.
"Mr. Harris hasn't changed a bit over the years, has he?" Kevin Solis remarked, his smile tight and fake. He had noticed Dylan staring at his wife since the moment they walked in.
Dylan snapped out of his trance, realizing he'd been caught. He offered a thin, practiced smile. "Not at all, Mr. Solis. And you seem exactly as you were back then as well."
Kevin let out a sharp, mocking snort. This old fox is getting bolder with age, he thought. He was ready to fire back a sharper insult, but Milena squeezed his hand under the table.
"Enough," she said smoothly. "We're here to discuss the children's marriage, not to gossip about the 'good old days.'" She then turned her gaze to the woman sitting silently beside Dylan. "Am I right, Tiffany?"
Tiffany Harris raised her chin, her eyes sweeping over Milena with cold contempt. "Mrs. Solis is right. As we get older, we really should learn when to keep our mouths shut."
"That's enough!" Mr. Harris barked, slamming his cane against the floor. The sound echoed through the private room, silencing the four adults who were seconds away from a full-blown argument. Dylan and Tiffany had just returned from an overseas trip, and it seemed decades of separation hadn't cooled the old animosity between these families.
Tiffany turned her scrutinizing, disdainful gaze toward Amanda. "What is there even to discuss, Father? Amanda clearly doesn't want to be embarrassed, which is why she's insisted on no wedding."
Amanda remained calm, meeting Tiffany's gaze without flinching. Javier sat beside his mother, his head down, refusing to look up.
Amanda couldn't help but feel a chill. In her previous life, she hadn't understood why Tiffany hated her so much, or why Dylan's "affection" felt so suffocating. Now she knew: Dylan loved Milena, not his own wife. That obsession had turned Tiffany into a monster and Javier into a weapon that eventually destroyed the Solis family.
Milena didn't let the "embarrassment" comment slide. She smiled faintly, though her eyes were ice. "Tiffany, dear, try to think before you speak. Old Mr. Harris brought the betrothal gifts to our door. It's not as if we went begging for Quentin's hand. Furthermore, my daughter isn't 'rushing' a marriage because she's pregnant and has no other choice. So please, tell me—where is the shame?"
The table went silent. Tiffany had been pregnant with Javier when she forced her way into the Harris family; Milena had just slapped her across the face with the truth. Tiffany's face turned a mottled purple.
"If there's no shame," Tiffany hissed, "then why hide it? Going from the nephew to the uncle... your daughter's morals are clearly a reflection of your own."
Milena let out a sharp, genuine laugh. "And what if she does? Is the Harris family suddenly living for the approval of others? You're so worried about her morals, yet you don't seem to notice how many 'friends' your own son keeps in the shadows."
Amanda swallowed hard. Her mother's combat skills were legendary. She noticed Javier's hands shaking as they gripped his silverware. Seeing the atmosphere turn toxic, Amanda reached out and gently touched her mother's arm. "Mom," she whispered, shaking her head.
Milena took a breath, reeling in her temper for her daughter's sake.
The silence was broken by the sound of a serving spoon. Quentin, who had been watching the exchange with an unreadable expression, calmly placed a piece of tender fish into Milena's bowl.
"My sister-in-law is away from home so often that she isn't quite up to date on family matters," Quentin said, his voice low and magnetic. He didn't look at Tiffany, but the coldness in his tone was undeniable. "Please don't take it to heart."
He then looked around the table, his presence commanding the room. "The wedding will be handled according to Amanda's wishes. She is my wife, not a public exhibit. She doesn't need to introduce herself to anyone."
It was an iron-clad statement. Even Tiffany didn't dare argue with Quentin when he spoke in that tone.
Quentin turned the lazy Susan, bringing the steamed fish toward Amanda. "Try this," he said gently. "It's the best dish here."
Amanda smiled and began to eat. Seeing Tiffany's pale, furious face across the table, she felt a surge of gratitude. Quentin didn't just protect her; he shut down the entire Harris hierarchy with a single sentence.
After the tense meal, the families prepared to leave. Quentin, however, caught Amanda's hand. "I'll take her home," he informed the Solises.
The two of them strolled down the busy main street. The midnight air was cool, and the city lights blurred into a soft glow.
"Amanda." Quentin stopped under a streetlamp.
"Yes?" she asked, looking up at him. She wondered why he wanted to walk at this hour.
Quentin reached into his pocket and took her hand. He slid a sparkling diamond ring onto her finger.
Surprised, Amanda instinctively tried to pull back—not out of rejection, but out of shock. Quentin held her hand firmly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
"Mandy," he said, his voice echoing softly in the quiet street. "This is our wedding ring. Wear it."