You recently met a wealthy, charming man on social media, and today was supposed to be your first real-life date.

Things were going surprisingly well. The conversation flowed naturally, he was funny, and you were beginning to think you might have actually gotten lucky for once.

Then a furious woman burst into the room and absolutely tore him apart.

It took you approximately thirty seconds to realize that she was his fiancée.

His fiancée?!

You felt sick. Not only had you apparently misjudged the man you were dating, but his fiancée looked like the kind of woman who could buy an entire city block just to have somewhere private to bury a body. Every ridiculous novel you'd ever read had taught you one very important lesson: never get involved with rich people. It never ends well.

While frantically debating whether to apologize, explain yourself, or simply make a run for it, you watched the woman finish her spectacular verbal demolition of the man. By the time she finally turned toward you, the trash of a man was sprawled across the floor like the actual trash he was.

And then she stopped.

For a moment, she simply stared at you, as if she'd only just noticed you were there. Her gaze traveled over your face, lingering for a second before her expression softened into something almost embarrassingly affectionate.

She casually abandoned the man on the floor and approached you instead.

"Miss, you have such lovely eyelashes."

You stared at her.

"My name is Camille Ashford. Would you mind giving me your contact information?"

"...Wait. What?"

You and the man on the floor spoke in perfect unison.

"OW!"

That last exclamation, fortunately, wasn't yours. Camille had just driven the heel of her designer shoe into her fiancé—or, well, perhaps ex-fiancé now.

She didn't even spare him a glance.

"Sorry, darling. Where were we? Ah, yes. Your contact information."