Chapter 1 

Destiny

"You piece of shit!" I scream at the waves, my voice raw from twenty minutes of cursing the Atlantic Ocean like it personally wronged me. "You absolute waste of oxygen!"

The beach is empty at this ungodly hour, which is perfect because I'm standing here in my rumpled bridesmaid dress from last night, makeup probably streaking down my face, yelling at the water like a madwoman.

"Six years, Terrell! Six fucking years!"

A wave crashes against the shore, and I swear it's mocking me. Even the ocean knows I'm pathetic.

The weight of Grandma Evelyn's ring pulls at my right hand where I switched it after... after everything. The antique diamond catches the early morning sun, and my stomach churns. Three generations of Williams women wore this ring for their engagements. My great-grandmother, my grandmother, my mother before she passed.

And me? I wore it for exactly forty-seven seconds last night before my whole world imploded.

The Roseland Hotel ballroom is perfect. Twinkling lights, the soft jazz quartet, and two hundred of Atlanta's elite watching as I drop to one knee in front of Terrell. My hands shake as I pull out the velvet box.

"Terrell Marcus Washington," I begin, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. "You've been my everything for six years. My best friend, my partner, my—"

"Destiny, don't." His voice cuts through my rehearsed speech like a blade.

"Baby, I know it's unconventional, but—"

"Get up." He's not even looking at me. He's looking at everyone else. At their phones already coming out. "Please, just get up."

"I love you," I push on, because maybe he's just shocked. Maybe he needs to hear the rest. "Will you—"

"I said get up!" He grabs my elbow, yanking me to my feet. The ring box tumbles from my hand, skittering across the polished floor. Someone gasps. Multiple cameras flash.

"We need to talk," he hisses, dragging me toward the exit. "Not here. Not like this."

I pick up a shell and hurl it at the water with all my strength. It disappears into a wave without even a satisfying splash.

"'Not like this,'" I mimic in my best Terrell voice. "You know how he wanted it? Behind closed doors where nobody could see him dump me. Where he could control the narrative."

Another shell. Another pathetic throw.

"But I had to push. Had to be bold. Had to take charge like always." I laugh, but it comes out cracked. "You know what he said when we got outside? Do you?"

The ocean doesn't answer, but I tell it anyway.

"He said, 'Why do you always have to emasculate me, Destiny? Why couldn't you let me be the man for once?'" I kick at the sand, sending a spray toward the water. "The man? THE MAN? I'm sorry, was I supposed to wait another six years for you to grow a pair?"

My fingers twist the ring, a habit I picked up from Grandma. She used to do it when she was thinking about Grandpa, gone fifteen years now but still the love of her life. She gave me this ring on my twenty-first birthday, made me promise to only give it to a man worthy of our legacy.

"I'm such an idiot," I whisper to the waves.

The sun climbs higher, reminding me I've been out here since 5 AM, still in last night's clothes, still processing the humiliation. My phone buzzes in my purse for the hundredth time. I don't need to look. It'll be another notification about the videos. Someone caught the whole thing, and apparently my public rejection is this morning's entertainment for all of social media.

#SheProposedHeSaidNo is actually trending. In Atlanta. I'm trending for being pathetic.

"You know what?" I shout at the ocean, working myself back up to rage because it's better than crying. "Fuck him. Fuck his fragile masculinity. Fuck his—"

"JASMINE?" The name tears out of my throat as yesterday's final revelation hits fresh. "He's been sleeping with Jasmine. She's PREGNANT."

I spin in a circle, arms spread wide, laughing maniacally. "Plot twist! The man who couldn't commit to me after six years knocked up his coworker. Beautiful. Oscar-worthy. Somebody get Tyler Perry on the phone!"

The ring catches the light again, and suddenly I can't stand it. Can't stand what it represents. Three generations of successful love stories, and here I am, the one who broke the chain. The one who couldn't make it work. The one who proposed to a cheater on stage like an absolute fool.

"You want to know what the worst part is?" I ask the universe, my voice breaking. "I knew something was off. I KNEW. But I thought a grand gesture would fix it. Thought if I showed him how much I loved him, how ready I was..."

The metal burns against my finger. Or maybe that's my imagination.

"You don't deserve this ring," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm talking to Terrell or myself. "You don't deserve what it represents."

I work it off my finger, the band catching slightly on my knuckle like it knows what I'm about to do. Like it's trying to stop me.

"Three generations of love," I say, holding it up to the light one last time. The diamond fractures the sunrise into a million tiny rainbows. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything I'm not. "Well, here's to breaking tradition."

I rear back, putting every ounce of rage and hurt and humiliation into the throw. The ring sails through the air in a perfect arc, glinting once, twice.

"Oh my God."

The reality of what I just did hits me like a physical blow. That's not just any ring. That's Grandma Evelyn's ring. The ring that survived the Depression, World War II, the Civil Rights Movement. The ring that's been in my family for ninety years.

And I just yeeted it into the Atlantic Ocean.

"No, no, no, NO!" I sprint toward the water, my dress tangling around my legs. "Please, God, no!"

I scan the waves frantically, looking for any sign of... there! Something glints just beyond where the waves are breaking. Without thinking, I plunge in.

The cold shock steals my breath. My dress becomes dead weight immediately, the layers of tulle and satin turning into anchors. I push forward, eyes locked on where I saw the glint.

"Please," I gasp, diving under.

Salt burns my eyes as I search the murky water. Nothing. I surface, gulp air, dive again. My fingers scrape sand, grab at shells, find nothing but disappointment.

I come up sputtering, and that's when I realize I've drifted. The beach looks farther away than it should. Much farther.

"Oh shit." I try to swim back, but the current has other ideas. Each stroke seems to pull me sideways instead of forward. "Oh shit, oh shit."

My dress weighs a thousand pounds. My legs tangle in the fabric. A wave slaps me in the face, filling my mouth with salt water. I cough, sputter, try to stay calm, but calm went out the window when I threw a priceless family relic into the ocean.

"Help!" The word comes out waterlogged. Another wave pushes me under.

This is how I die. Not peacefully in my sleep at ninety. Not surrounded by grandchildren. But drowning in the Atlantic in a bridesmaid dress because I was too dramatic to process rejection like a normal person.

I surface again, arms screaming, legs barely moving. The current spins me around, and I've lost sight of the beach entirely. Just water everywhere, endless and—

A strong arm locks around my waist.

"Are you trying to kill yourself? Stop fighting," a deep voice commands in my ear. "I've got you."

I want to explain that I'm not trying to kill myself, just retrieve my grandmother's ring, but another wave chooses that moment to slam into us. My rescuer's grip tightens as he powers through it, swimming with steady strokes that make my flailing look even more pathetic.

"That's it, just relax," he says, like I'm not in the middle of the worst twenty-four hours of my life. "Let me do the work."

His voice has that particular tone men get when they think they're being heroic. Patronizing wrapped in a savior complex with a side of condescension. But since he's currently the only thing between me and becoming fish food, I stop struggling.

The swim back takes forever. Or maybe it just feels that way because I'm being towed like human cargo by some stranger who probably thinks I'm trying to pull a Virginia Woolf. By the time my feet touch sand, I'm coughing up half the ocean and my dignity is officially negative.

"Jesus Christ," my rescuer mutters, hauling me onto the beach. "What the hell were you thinking?"

I collapse on my hands and knees, spitting out salt water and trying to catch my breath. When I finally look up, I have to blink twice because the sunrise is creating some kind of halo effect behind him, and for a second I think maybe I did drown and this is some kind of angel.

Then he opens his mouth again, and nope. Definitely not an angel.

"I saw your proposal video," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. His very nice chest, my traitorous brain notices. "Look, I get it. Rejection hurts. But this?" He gestures at the ocean. "This is permanent. Whatever that guy did, he's not worth this."

"I wasn't—" I start, but he's on a roll.

"No man is worth dying for. Trust me, I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but you'll find someone else. Someone who actually deserves you. Someone who won't leave you standing there with a ring in your hand while everyone watches."

"I. Wasn't. Trying. To—"

"The water's treacherous here. Riptides everywhere. You could have died." He runs a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets flying. "Look, I don't know you, but I was at that fundraiser-slash wedding last night. I saw what happened. And yeah, it was brutal, but—"

"Will you shut up for one second?" I snap, struggling to my feet. My dress weighs approximately three tons and I probably look like a drowned rat, but I've hit my limit. "I wasn't trying to kill myself, you self-righteous jackass. I dropped my ring. My grandmother's ring. The one that's been in my family for three generations. I was trying to get it back."

He stares at me, and for the first time I get a good look at my "savior." Tall, definitely over six feet. Dark hair plastered to his head. Blue or maybe green eyes—hard to tell with the sun behind him. The kind of jawline that belongs on magazine covers. And currently wearing an expression that suggests he doesn't believe a word I'm saying.

"You threw a family heirloom into the sea," he says flatly.

"I was angry!"

"So you decided to... what? Punish the ring?"

"I wasn't thinking clearly, obviously!"

"Clearly." His tone drips sarcasm. "So instead of one bad decision, you made two."

"Excuse me?"

"Throwing the ring. Then jumping into dangerous waters in a dress that weighs more than you do." He ticks them off on his fingers like he's listing my failures. "In an area known for riptides. Alone. At dawn."

"I didn't ask for your opinion—"

"You asked for help," he cuts me off. "Screaming for it, actually."

"Because I was drowning!"

"Because you were reckless!"

We stand there glaring at each other, me dripping and furious, him all righteous indignation in wet khakis. The worst part is he's not wrong. It was reckless. And stupid. And now Grandma's ring is gone forever because I had to be dramatic about my pain.

"Look," he says, his tone softening slightly. "I'm sorry about what happened last night. That was... rough. But you need to be more careful. You need to think before you—"

"Oh my God, are you seriously mansplaining water safety to me right now?" I squeeze water out of my hair, mostly so I don't have to look at his stupidly concerned face. "Thanks for the rescue, but I'm good now. You can go back to... whatever it is judgmental beach joggers do at dawn."

"I wasn't jogging." He pulls out a phone from his miraculously dry pocket—of course he has waterproof pockets—and checks the time. "Shit. I have a meeting."

"Don't let me keep you," I say sweetly. "I'll just be here, reflecting on my recklessness and poor decision-making skills."

He gives me one last look—part exasperation, part something else I can't identify—then shakes his head. "Try not to throw anything else in the ocean."

"Try not to assume every woman in distress needs your wisdom," I shoot back.

He's already walking away, but I catch what might be a smile tugging at his mouth. "For what it's worth," he calls over his shoulder, "the guy's an idiot. Anyone who'd reject a woman willing to propose in public isn't worth your grandmother's ring."

Then he's jogging up the beach—so he was a beach jogger—leaving me standing there in my ruined dress with no ring, no fiancé, and no dignity.

"Thanks for the pep talk, asshole," I mutter to his retreating form. And, maybe, I should have thanked him properly. Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed. I cover my face with my feet kicking, so stupid!

The sun's fully up now, warming my wet skin. I should go home. Should check my phone. Should figure out how I'm going to tell Grandma I lost her ring in the stupidest way possible.

Instead, I sit down right there in the sand, bridesmaid dress and all, and let myself cry. Not pretty tears, but big, ugly sobs that shake my whole body. For the ring. For Terrell. For Jasmine's pregnancy. For the proposal that went viral for all the wrong reasons. For the stranger who saved my life and made me feel like an idiot in the span of five minutes.

But mostly for myself. For the woman who thought a grand gesture could fix a relationship that was already broken. For the woman who literally threw away her family legacy in a moment of rage.

The ocean keeps rolling in and out, indifferent to my breakdown. Somewhere in its depths, my grandmother's ring is settling into the sand, another treasure for the sea to keep.

And I'm left with nothing but wet sand, a ruined dress, and the knowledge that tomorrow, I have to face the world that watched me fall apart in real time.