Everyone knew the Everett-Johnson drama was a total train wreck. No one would be crazy enough to jump into that mess. It was asking for trouble, plain and simple.

Brynn wasn’t ready for this—dead quiet stretching out forever. She stood there on the stage, all eyes glued to her like she was the butt of some twisted joke. Her grip tightened on the mic, knuckles turning white. She bit her lip, starting to second-guess herself, about to say something to cut through the awkwardness—

Then the hall doors flew open. A good-looking guy walked in, and Brynn’s eyes locked onto his—dark, mysterious ones that threw her off balance.

“I’ll marry you,” he said, cool and steady.

Meanwhile, Portmare International Airport was like a ghost town. The huge terminal was empty except for a line of black-suited bodyguards standing stiff at security, looking antsy. In the VIP lounge, a few sharp-dressed guys were pacing around, waiting.

If any of Portmare’s big names saw this, they’d be shocked—these weren’t just random hotshots; they were the kind of people who could make the whole city move with a nod. But right now, they were stuck, stressing over one person showing up.

A guy with glasses in a neat suit burst in, out of breath. “Sir, the president’s gone.”

Y was mayor of Portmare. His face scrunched up. “Gone? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“His jet didn’t land here,” the assistant blurted. “It hit a private airstrip instead. And he went straight to the Everett family?”

“The Everett family?” The mayor blinked, confused.

The guys in the room swapped looks, totally lost. Obviously, they didn’t even know who the Everetts were. It wasn’t their fault. The Everetts had some sway in Portmare, sure, but they weren’t exactly hanging with the top dogs.

“Find out more about the Everetts,” the mayor said, his voice sharp. “Do it now.”