Seriously? I have a black belt in Taekwondo. Did she really think her flailing would scare me?

I snapped a roundhouse kick, and she crumpled to the floor, wailing.

The crowd gasped, their eyes wide with horror. "Oh my god! How could she do that to Miss Yara!"

"If Mr. Sinclair finds out, he'll tear her limb from limb."

"Not even God can save her now."

Their whispers were just background noise. I felt nothing. The Sinclairs owed their entire empire to my mother's support. There was no one in this city I needed to fear.

I slapped my card on the counter again. "Ring it up!"

The sales associate, trembling, finally swiped my card and bagged the dress.

I took the bag and turned to leave.

But Yara scrambled up from the floor, blocking my path again. "You're not going anywhere!"

I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers in front of her face. "What's wrong? Want another taste of my fist?"

Yara flinched instinctively. I scoffed and started to walk away.

Just then, a black Maybach pulled up to the curb, and a sleek, thin-soled leather shoe stepped out onto the pavement.

You have no idea what a relief it is to see a man in a shoe like that.

My eyes traveled up from the shoe, and my heart skipped a beat.

He had to be at least six-foot-three, with broad shoulders and long legs. And his face—it was a masterpiece. Sharply defined, perfect from every angle.

Yara immediately burst into tears and ran to him.

"Grayson, honey, she stole the dress I wanted, and then she hit me…"

So this was him. My fiancé.

I'm a sucker for a handsome face, and Grayson Sinclair was practically sculpted to my exact specifications.

For a face like that, I decided I could forgive his earlier rudeness.

I put on what I hoped was a charming smile. "Hello. I'm Vivian Vance, your fiancée."

No wonder Mom was so sure I’d be satisfied with this match. She knew me too well.

The onlookers gasped in unison.

"What! She's Mr. Sinclair's fiancée!"

"A fiancée is way more important than a stepsister! No wonder she was so bold!"

"Not necessarily! It all depends on who Mr. Sinclair favors."

Grayson’s gaze landed on me, his tone hostile. "Don't flatter yourself. This engagement was something my father arranged on his own. I never agreed to it."

Yara clung to his arm, leaning her head intimately on his shoulder, her eyes full of provocation.

"Look at your ugly face," she sneered. "Why would Grayson ever marry you?"

Someone in the crowd chimed in, "Exactly! Mr. Sinclair would marry a proper heiress, not some country bumpkin!"

"A girl like her wouldn't even get a job cleaning toilets at the Sinclair Group!"

I know I’m not some drop-dead gorgeous supermodel, but I'm far from ugly. Why did I sound so repulsive coming from their mouths?

People are always so quick to suck up to the powerful and kick those who are down.

"Grayson Sinclair," I said, my voice ringing with defiance, "go home and tell your father that I'm calling off this engagement. It's you who isn't worthy of me!"

My mom had told me how hard his father had worked to secure this alliance with our family. If he found out his own son sabotaged it, Grayson would be in for a world of hurt.

The thought brought a sliver of satisfaction, and I couldn't be bothered with these idiots anymore. I turned to leave.

But Yara, emboldened by her backup, stepped in front of me again.

"Don't you run away, you bitch! You stole my dress and you hit me. We're not done yet!"

I looked at her, unimpressed. "And how do you propose we settle this?"

Thinking I was scared, Yara raised her hand to strike me.

"I'm going to beat you until I'm satisfied."

In one swift motion, I caught her wrist, and with my other hand, I delivered a crisp, clean slap across her face.