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The night before our engagement, my fiancé, Vincent Moretti, and his so-called "partner" pulled off a lightning-fast legal marriage at a casino chapel in Malibu. Vincent brushed it off with a smirk. "Just a joke. We'll file for divorce tomorrow. Everyone knows Elena and I are like brothers." Elena, however, slapped the brand-new marriage certificate down on the gambling table, chin tilted in defiance. "Black and white, legal document. What, you all just gonna stand there gawking? Where are the wedding gifts?" The family and friends around the table blinked in stunned silence—then burst into even louder laughter and whistles. "Alright then," said Lucas Hale, one of Vincent's grinning cousins, eyes flicking between Vincent and me. "I've got a spare stake in the Pacific Coast line sitting idle. I'll throw that in as a gift. But house rules—if you want it, you gotta win it fair with the dice." I said nothing. I simply pulled out a high-backed chair and sat down at the green-felt table. Vincent's brows drew tight. I met his stare with a calm smile. "A wedding game with dice? Count me in." ...... The moment I settled in, a hush fell over the table. Vincent reached out, trying to put an arm around my shoulder. "Come on, Sophia. Don't do this. It was just a joke. You know what these twenty-four-hour chapels are like. Don't take it seriously. Go home, get some rest." I shifted to avoid his touch, my eyes sweeping over the blinding white marriage certificate before landing on Elena's smug face. "Hands off. Legally speaking, she's your wife now." Vincent's face darkened. His voice turned sharp, irritated from being called out in front of everyone. "I've told you a thousand times—Elena and I are ride-or-die. She's my friend. Even if something did happen, what does it have to do with you?" I didn't answer. I'd heard it all before. Because of Elena, he'd forgotten our anniversary dinner. Because of Elena, he'd left me stranded in a dangerous neighborhood. Because Elena got drunk, he abandoned me in the middle of the night to pick her up. And now, he went and legally married another woman in a beachside chapel. The excuse was always the same: "We're friends." The air around us turned cold. Elena, sensing the tension, swayed her hips and sauntered over again. She dropped herself onto Vincent's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Enough, Vince," she cooed. "Stop talking." Then she turned to me with a sugary smile, eyes glinting with provocation. "Sophia, Vince and I didn't mean anything by it. We got drunk, went a little crazy. We'll annul it tomorrow. If it bothers you that much, I'll apologize." She grabbed the expensive whiskey bottle from the table and tilted it back, chugging straight from the bottle. Vincent's expression changed instantly. He reached to grab it from her. "What the hell are you doing?! That's strong stuff! You trying to kill yourself?" When he looked back at me, his gaze was icy, with a flicker of anger. "Sophia, enough. Don't ruin the mood." I let out a low, bitter laugh. "No worries. I know how to take a joke. Everyone says I'm too proper, too 'refined' to fit into your world. Well, let me witness this legally recognized 'wedding joy' and offer a little gift." The table went silent for a beat. Then a few of them laughed awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. "That's more like it, Sophia! You should've joined in earlier. Vince always kept you locked away like some fragile flower," said Marco Rossi, Vincent's longtime friend and second-in-command. He nudged Vincent. "Come on, Vince. Show some manners. She's still your fiancée, after all." But Vincent only leaned back on the couch, pulling Elena tighter into his lap, his arm possessive around her waist as if daring me to react. "Don't look at me. Tonight—at least legally—she's Mrs. Moretti." The others saw I was still calmly smiling, my eyes fixed on the marriage certificate. They started making noise, trying to drown out the awkwardness. "Alright, alright! Congrats to the newlyweds! What a wild wedding! Now, how are we playing again?" Elena, thriving in the chaos, chimed in. "Old rules—dice game. But Sophia's a refined type, fancy school and all. Let's keep it simple for her. High roll wins. And since we're celebrating my and Vince's 'legal union,' the losers don't just drink—they put something on the line." People groaned and laughed. "No way! Everyone knows you and Vince are dice masters! Now you're married, we're all screwed!" Vincent kept his hand lazily resting on Elena's waist. He didn't even glance at me as he sneered, "If you can't play, don't sit at the table. Just admit you're out." Marco stood up in mock urgency, slipping off his limited-edition Rolex Daytona. "I'm in! This is my gift to the happy couple!" That lit the fire. One by one, others began tossing down their luxury items—family-crest rings, custom diamond cufflinks, Patek Philippe watches. Rita Vaughn hesitated, then dropped her Bulgari diamond necklace onto the table. Vincent said nothing. His eyes briefly flicked toward me before he unfastened his platinum cufflinks—custom-made, the ones I gave him for our engagement anniversary, with our initials engraved inside—and tossed them onto the table like they were nothing. My heart paused. Elena squealed, grabbing Vincent's hand, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I want Rita's necklace, baby. Win it for me. That'll be my wedding present!" I said nothing. Instead, I reached up and removed the full-diamond Van Cleef & Arpels studs from my ears, placing them gently on the green felt, not far from the cufflinks. "Congratulations on your wedding. A legally recognized union deserves to be celebrated. I'll play, and send my gift too."