Eight Fiancés. One Queen. Zero Regrets Chapter 03

Eight Fiancés. One Queen. Zero Regrets Chapter 03

I became a Vance at twenty-one.

I’d just clocked out of my part-time job, holding a discounted gas station sandwich, when it started pouring.

Three black sedans were parked outside.

I assumed some executive had blocked the sidewalk, so I walked around them.

The door opened.

Grandpa Harold stepped out with a mahogany walking stick.

The moment he saw me, his eyes turned red.

“Aurora.”

I took three steps back.

A scam? A kidnapping?

Then he pulled out half of a jade pendant.

The other half matched the one my mother had left me before she died.

Her maiden name was Vance.

She had been the family’s only daughter, who disappeared decades ago.

Grandpa Harold searched for twenty years.

By the time he found me, she was already gone.

I went from “Aurora from that small town” to the sole Vance heiress.

Absurd.

But what was even more absurd was that the Vances ran deeper than anyone knew.

They weren’t some flashy nouveau riche family chasing media attention.

They were old money.

Legacy funds, biotech patents, tech equity, and decades of accumulated influence.

Half the prestigious families in Lake George had benefited from Vance support at some point.

After I was officially recognized, suitors practically wore down the doorstep.

Grandpa Harold got tired of it.

He summoned the eight most suitable heirs instead.

I sat beside him at the head of the table, holding a bowl of organic chia pudding, feeling like I’d wandered into a high-stakes matchmaking event.

Grandpa Harold said, “My granddaughter just came home. She’s not merchandise. You want to marry into the Vance family?”

“Fine. But the choice is hers. Whoever she picks moves forward. If she picks no one, you all leave.”

Eight men stood below.

None of them looked humiliated.

Reid spoke first. “The contract can include a unilateral termination clause. Miss Vance retains sole discretion.”

Colt said, “Her personal security is my responsibility.”

Tristan Ellison said, “Health and medical care are my responsibility.”

Ford said, “Evidence, notarization, chain of custody—that’s me.”

Zane said, “Information security is mine.”

Dashiell grinned. “Media and public image.”

Sullivan Cross said, “Asset management. I can handle that.”

Lachlan spoke last, slow and easy. “Then I’ll make sure she lives comfortably.”

Grandpa Harold glared at him. “That sounds like the least serious answer.”

Lachlan smiled. “But it’s the most important.”

So I ended up with eight fiancé candidates.

It sounded insane.

But everything was written into the contract—black and white.

I could choose one.

I could choose none.

Until I made my final decision, they were obligated to protect my reputation, safety, health, legal standing, information, and assets.

That was the leverage.

That was the power of the Vance family.

I wasn’t too proud to accept it.

I had spent too many years without an umbrella.

Now eight people wanted to hold one over me.

Why would I say no?

Living well wasn’t about impressing people with how much you could suffer.

I had never believed that being protected was shameful.

What’s shameful is needing help while pretending you don’t.

That night, I brought all eight of them home for dinner.

The moment we walked in, the butler handed me an envelope.

From Grant.

A white envelope.

Handwriting still as neat as ever.

A short message:

[Aurora—meet me. There are things I don’t want you to keep getting wrong.]

I read it and laughed out loud.

Dashiell leaned closer. “Wow. That tone—what is he, your high school principal?”

Colt said, “Toss it.”

Reid said, “Keep it.”

Ford nodded. “Preserve the original.”

I placed the invitation on the table.

Outside, the wind was picking up.

I stared at those words and remembered him in the rain that night: Don’t drag me into your mess.

Now he was dragging himself back in.

Fine.

He was offering his face up.

Who was I to turn down a free swing?