Page 1 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER ONE

SUNNY

T he wedding gown is perfect. It was designed by one of the most elite fashion companies of this century—Bellamore.

It’s one of a kind, hand-stitched, and it was custom-made for me two months ago.

The silk molds to my body like it was made to remember me, and every inch of it whispers elegance and exclusivity against my curves.

I’m stepping into the next chapter of my beautiful, perfect, charmed life.

But right now, I can’t help but feel like a dressed-up prop that’s pinned down. I’m just trying to breathe.

The bridal suite smells like roses and expensive perfume and hair spray. The energy is odd. My therapist would say it’s excitement, but it feels like anxiety. The whispers about the two powerful families coming together are not helping my nerves. Let me be clear: I don’t have cold feet.

Stylists circle me like bees, adjusting curls and dabbing my makeup.

My mother is chatting with two of her best friends in that well-practiced tone.

My best friend, Cora, is filming behind-the-scenes videos to create a montage of memories while my other bestie, Jade, complains about her peep-toe designer heels.

“Has anyone seen Skye?” I ask, searching around the room for my sister.

Everyone shakes their heads. I keep my expression neutral because I’ve learned I’m asked fewer questions when I don’t give reactions.

From boardrooms to black-tie galas, I know how to command a room.

I’ve had media training since I was ten, interviews since I was sixteen, and my parents have controlled my image longer than I’ve had control of my heart.

That happens when you’re in line to become CEO of your family’s highly successful company.

Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

It’s one I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl, my fairy tale moment.

I’m finally marrying the man I love after four years of being together.

Donovan has always understood the weight I carry and never asked me to set it down.

He held my hand when the press got too loud, when the world spun too fast, when the sun shone too damn bright.

I found safety with him, and for a woman like me, softness in a man is rare to find. It still doesn’t make sense that I’m nervous.

We’re both marrying into two different empires. Into legacies that were formed before we ever existed, that are full of scrutiny. He’s never seemed intimidated by the success I’ve had. If anything, him by my side is like armor.

A quiet panic has been circling my chest for the last twenty minutes. It’s emotion that comes before something big and life-changing happens. It’s too loud in the room, and I need to step away from the chaos and clear my mind. I need a breath to center myself before I become a wife.

No one notices as I slip out of the room. I’m careful not to step on my veil as it trails behind me. My heels click against the marble floor. There’s a room at the end of the hall, and I push the door open and move inside, but I immediately know I’m not alone.

Through the thin wall, I hear a soft, familiar laugh that’s followed by his voice. It’s laced with amusement, which only confuses me more. My stomach hollows as the skin at the back of my neck prickles. Instinctively, I brace myself for impact.

I move toward the sound, unsure what I’m even looking for.

There’s another door, slightly cracked, light spilling through the narrow seam.

That’s when I hear her whisper his name— Donovan.

She says my fiancé’s name desperately, the man I’m supposed to marry in less than an hour.

I don’t need to push the door open; the crack is wide enough to see my little sister and my fiancé.

My world shatters.

His lips are on her neck, and her laughter follows.

Donovan whispers back to her in the same tone that told me he loved me yesterday.

The same one that proposed and promised me forever.

Her dress is hiked up over her thighs, and his hand is dipping inside her panties.

They’re pressed together like they’ve done this a hundred times before, like this isn’t the first time, but a pattern I somehow never noticed.

They’re giggling and kissing like they’re in love. They’re treating this day like it’s a joke, like I’m the joke.

I don’t gasp or run or fling the door wide like a woman in a soap opera. I don’t need to see more than I already have. I’ve gotten enough confirmation.

I step back, the fabric of my gown brushing against the doorframe as I leave. I’m done. I’m done performing and pretending. I move down the hallway that feels like a trail to my personal hell. Every step echoes like a countdown to an ending, not a wedding.

I enter the bridal suite, and it takes all of two seconds for the noise to catch me.

Cameras. Champagne. People who believe I’m moments away from the best day of my life congratulate me.

I’ve never been so fucking pissed. I look around, feeling numb from head to toe.

My mother says something, but I can’t take it, so I leave everything behind.

The last thing I want to do is draw attention to my escape.

“Okay, make sure you’re back in ten minutes,” she calls to me, then returns to her conversation with her friends.

I move toward the front exit, and people on the sidewalk stare at me.

“Look, she’s a princess,” one little girl says to me as I strut past her.

I try to smile, but it feels forced.

A valet stops me when I walk up to the vintage Camaro convertible that has a Just Married sign attached on the back. “Ma’am, excuse me.”

“Yes?” I ask, tearing the sign off the back and throwing it on the ground.

I pop open the trunk, rip the veil from my head, and throw it inside. I slam it shut, wondering if a part of me always knew they were sleeping together. I thought they were friendly and was happy they got along so well. It’s all beginning to make sense.

I stop and turn to the valet. “Give me the key.”

He opens his mouth, and I speak up and interrupt him. “Look, I saw my fiancé fooling around with my little sister forty-five minutes before we were supposed to get married. I need to get out of here right now. Please. ”

“You’re going to get me fired,” he says.

“They won’t. I can guarantee it,” I tell him.

He sighs, reaches inside his pocket, then gives me the key ring that’s attached to a mini disco ball.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my jaw clenched tight.

“You’re really scary,” he says.

“I know,” I tell him, sliding into the driver’s seat.

I turn the key and shift the car into first gear, not looking back as I peel off. I drive across the city like I’m not wearing a wedding gown that cost a quarter of a million dollars, like there’s not a ceremony unraveling behind me in real time.

I pull into the private side of the bank I’ve used since I was eighteen—not the main entrance, the back one for high-net-worth clients who don’t want to be seen.

When I walk inside, I don’t ask to speak with a teller. The manager appears, smiling, until he registers what I’m wearing and the hard expression on my face.

“I need to withdraw fifty thousand in cash,” I explain.

He doesn’t blink, but I see the flicker in his throat when he swallows. “Of course. Any particular denominations?”

“Small enough to fit in a bag. Large enough not to be a pain in the ass.”

“Absolutely. No problem,” he says.

It takes less than ten minutes because they know who I am.

They don’t question the timing, the dress, or the fact that my diamond-studded heels were meant for vows, not bank offices.

I sign the slip and take the leather bag he provided that’s packed with stacks of cash.

A security officer escorts me back to my car.

There is no hesitation as I crank the engine and drive away. I have fifty grand that says I can disappear however the hell I want for however long I need.

Today, I was supposed to walk down the aisle, but instead, I’m walking away. I might have lost myself, but it’s time I remember who I am.

The bag of money sits heavy on the passenger seat, seat belt looped lazily across it.

I haven’t cried. I don’t feel like I can. My whole body is locked in something that’s colder than sadness and heavier than grief. I feel stupid and humiliated, but above all, I’m angry.

I believed in him. I believed in us .

Donovan said the right things at the right times.

He knew how to look at me when the cameras were on and when they weren’t.

That’s what hurts the most. That it wasn’t only betrayal; it was a performance, and I stupidly fell for it.

His actions were nothing more than a long, slow game that I didn’t even know I was playing.

And my little sister. My maid of honor. I don’t let myself linger on that part yet. Not when I’m still wearing the makeup she picked out and the pearl earrings my mother insisted matched hers.

The highway eventually opens wide, and I press the gas harder than I need to. The lines blur, lights stretching across my vision like ribbons I’ll never reach the end of. The silence is too much, but I keep driving, jaw locked tight, eyes focused on the road.

Somewhere past the third highway merge, long after the city lights fell behind me and the roads turned flat and empty, I remember something one of my friend’s wives said at a dinner party a few months ago.

It was a conversation that happens once the champagne kicks in, when honest opinions start slipping through.

“If I ever needed to disappear,” Lexi said, her red lips turned up into a smile, “I’d go back home to Valentine, Texas. It’s a town people drive to when they don’t want to be found. It’s charming. Friendly. In the middle of nowhere. It’s the type of place people go to get lost.”

At the time, I laughed because I never thought I’d need to disappear. Well, until now.

Four hours later, I pull off at a gas station that’s barely lit.

It has a single pump and a flickering Open sign that looks like it’s been dying since the ’90s.

I park, pull some slacks and a cute crop top from my duffel bag that was supposed to go with me on our honeymoon, then step inside a one-person restroom.

I wiggle out of the dress, realizing I have no shoes other than the heels on my damn feet.

I grab a coffee and then type my destination into the GPS that was installed in the heavily restored vintage car.

My next destination? Valentine, Texas.

A small dot appears on the screen that’s across the other side of the map.

It’s thirty-one hours away and south of nowhere, and I decide I’ll take my time driving there. I tap the route and let the voice guide me back onto the highway.

I’ve got a full tank of gas, fifty thousand in cash, no phone, zero responsibilities, and absolutely nothing left to lose.

Right now, I need to get lost, and I hope I’ll be able to find myself again. I’m not sure who I even am anymore.

But one thing is for certain: love doesn’t exist.