I walked into the BBQ party soaked and covered in mud, and my fiancée’s father sneered at me, “You really look like trash.” I clenched my fists, ready to turn around and leave… when the mansion doors slowly opened.

“That gate… there.”

I stared ahead in disbelief.

The enormous iron gates belonged to the Whitmore estate.

Before I could even process it, the guards swung them open the second they saw her. We drove through winding gardens toward the mansion. She thanked me softly and said, “You have more class than most people who walk into this house.”

I barely had time to breathe before staff hurried her inside. I parked quickly and rushed around to the backyard where the BBQ party was already in full swing.

Guests dressed in designer clothes turned toward me immediately. My hair was soaked. Mud streaked across my dress. My shoes were ruined.

Ryan stepped forward with concern in his face, but his father, Charles Whitmore, raised his drink and laughed loudly.