Then the crowd shifted near the stage, and I saw a floral arch that clearly had not been arranged for a simple gathering. Dylan stepped forward holding a microphone and a velvet ring box, and I initially assumed it must be some staged performance until I saw the woman standing before him.
Her name was Alyssa Morgan, my stepsister and also his executive assistant for the past eighteen months. She covered her mouth in dramatic surprise while he dropped to one knee, and the room erupted into cheers as if I had never existed.
“I should have done this sooner,” Dylan said warmly as he looked up at her with a devotion he had never shown me. “Alyssa, you are the future I choose.”
