Firefighter Grant has always believed that love conquers all. Until he finds divorce papers in his wife’s car, tied to a deal with her ruthless father. Betrayal burns deep, but Meghan has something else up her sleeve… Soon, a high-stakes game begins, where love, loyalty, and revenge collide in a way no one sees coming.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never been the kind of guy who was happy sitting behind a desk and doing a boring job. I was never the kind of guy who wore a suit, other than for funerals or weddings.

I am a hands-on, grease-in-your-face kind of guy, who grew up in a family where hard work meant everything. And the one lesson we always had growing up was: you stood by your family no matter what.

That’s the only kind of life I know.

But then I met Meghan, and things got a bit twisted.

I’ll never forget the night we met. The guys and I were taking part in our usual chili cookoff. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was what we loved to do on our quiet evenings.

Not that we were allowed to say the word “quiet.”

“Don’t even think about saying the ‘q’ word, Grant!” my partner, Phil, said as he squeezed a lemon.

“I wasn’t going to!” I exclaimed. “But I think you mentioning it counts. It’s on Phil, everyone!”

And just like that, our fire alarms went off, alerting us to a tragedy.

There was a fire in the apartment building just off the university campus. It was close to us, so being the closest fire station, we were the ones to save the day.

When we got to the apartment building, smoke was already pouring from the windows.

“Right, you all know what to do!” our captain shouted, giving us our orders.

Just when we thought we had everything under control, I heard a bark from inside the building.

“Got it, Grant?” Phil bellowed over the sound of the hose.

“Got it!” I said, already running into the building. I didn’t think. I just moved.

I made my way through the smoke and debris, following the anxious barks. I finally found the little guy. A terrified golden retriever, curled in a corner, whimpering, its fur singed at the edges. Scooping it up, I sprinted through the suffocating heat, barely making it out before the ceiling collapsed behind me.

“It’s okay, boy,” I said, holding onto him. “You’re safe now.”

The moment my boots hit the pavement, a woman ran straight toward me. Tear-streaked and panicked, she fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around the trembling dog.

And then, before I could even process it, she threw herself at me.

“Thank you!” she gasped. “Thank you for saving my baby!”

And that was Meghan.

“It was my apartment,” she said. “I started the fire. I put fries in the oven and was sitting on the couch waiting for the timer to go off. But I must have fallen asleep. I’m so sorry! Look at the mess I’ve made of everything. And I was so sure I lost this guy…”

Her voice trailed off as she reached down to hug the dog again.

Before I knew what I was doing, I invited her back to the firehouse.

“Listen, ma’am,” I said. “We’re almost done here. If you want, you can come back with us. We’ve got everything you and the little guy need. Until your family gets to you, I mean.”

Meghan smiled shyly and then nodded.

And that was the beginning of everything.

Meghan was everything I wasn’t. She was graceful and smart and born into a world of old money and quiet luxury. The complete opposite of me.

But somehow, Meghan still chose me.

Her father, though? Yeah, that man hated me from the get-go.

Paul wasn’t just rich. He was old-money rich. Like, the kind of man who could buy a politician with pocket change. When he saw me, he didn’t see a firefighter. He saw a stray dog that his daughter had dragged home. A charity case. Something that she would get bored of.

The first time we met, he shook my hand like he was testing the grip of a wrench. He was always with the polite smiles, the fake pleasantries. But I knew what he thought about me.

“I’m sure Meghan will outgrow this fool,” I overheard him telling his wife, Miranda, once.

“Darling, don’t say that,” Miranda said. “Meghan seems happy. Really happy. I think this is real.”

“Over my dead body, Miranda!” he exclaimed.

But she loved me. Meghan loved me. And she made that clear.

For years, it was all that mattered. Life moved on. We got married. We built a life together. She worked in non-profit law, and I kept running into burning buildings.

Sometimes, I’d catch her staring off, looking like she had something on her mind. But whenever I asked, she’d just smile.

“Everything is fine, love. I’m just tired from drawing up contracts and looking through paperwork.”

Of course, I believed her.

Until the day I found the documents in her car.

I wasn’t snooping. I’d left my watch in the center console and was rummaging around when I saw the envelope. Thick, official-looking. Important.

My name wasn’t on it, but hers was.

I don’t know what made me open it. Call it instinct. Call it stupid. Call it whatever you’d like. But the moment I unfolded that contract, my stomach dropped.

It was paperwork for a mansion with at least twenty photographs attached. It was a beautiful and huge place with a lake view (!?). It was the kind of place that I couldn’t even dream of affording.

But the worst part?

The fine print on the last page, after the signed divorce papers.

The house would be Meghan’s… if she went through with a divorce.

Oh, and she needed to provide proof of said divorce.

My hands shook as I reread the words. My throat closed up.

It had finally happened.

All the whispers, all the side glances, the disapproving nods from her family… they had gotten to her. Hadn’t they?

Meghan was leaving me.

I picked up my phone, fingers unsteady as I texted her.

Meg, I was looking for my watch in your car and I found some paperwork. I’m not judging. I just need to understand. If this is really what you want, then honey, I won’t stand in your way.

And then I waited.

By the time I got home, Meghan was already there, standing in the living room. She was pale and upset. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

“You really think I took the deal?” she asked.

Her voice was steady, but there was a clear edge to it.

“Grant, seriously?” she added.

“What else am I supposed to think, Meghan?” I asked. “I saw the damn papers!”

She stepped closer to me. Her eyes were fierce.

“You only saw one part of the truth,” she said.

“What’s the other part? There’s more?” I asked, heart pounding.

She took a breath, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small velvet box.

Inside was a man’s wedding ring.

“Will you marry me?” she asked.

I think my brain short-circuited in that moment.

“What?”

“Again,” she added, smirking.

I stared at my wife like she had lost her entire mind. But then, then she started explaining.

Paul wanted me gone. He always had. He made her an offer.

“I had to leave you and then get the house,” she said simply. “So I agreed. And I signed the papers. I played the game he wanted me to play.”

But it turned out that she only played his game so that she could pull off this…

A plan. A trap. A web of white lies to lead to her, our, happiness.

The divorce went through. Legally, Meghan was no longer my wife.

Should I have questioned it? Sure. But I trusted her.

That was step one. As for step two?

Meghan got full ownership of the mansion. Paul made sure that the contract technically kept the house under their family assets for a minimum of five years. He thought that it gave him control.

But what he didn’t expect… was that Meghan would transfer the property immediately.

“Straight into a non-profit trust, Grant,” she said. “I knew exactly how to structure it. The second the house was in my name, I filed the paperwork. It is ironclad. Non-reversible. Even my father can’t fight it now.”

And step three?

Meghan sent Paul an invitation.

Dear Dad,

I would love for you to join me this Saturday at my new home. It’s for a special charity event. It’s an opportunity to see how generosity can truly change lives.

Meghan

The night of the event, Paul walked in smug as ever, expecting to toast to Meghan’s new life without me.

He had no idea.

The grand dining room was packed. There was live music, fresh flowers, champagne, and even a chocolate fountain.

Meghan took the microphone, poised and radiant as ever, and she smiled at her guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “Let me introduce the man of great heart and compassion. The man who made it all possible. My father, Paul!”

Applause erupted. Paul straightened his tie, smirking as he walked to the center.

And then Meghan twisted the knife.

“It is thanks to my father’s generosity that we have officially established a foundation for fire victims in this mansion. It will serve as a refuge, providing emergency housing and support for those in need.”

Silence.

And then there was a ripple of applause.

Paul’s smile faltered. His nostrils flared as the realization dawned on him. But he couldn’t object, not in public. Not when people were applauding his kindness and generosity.

And then it was my turn.

I walked onto the makeshift stage and dropped to one knee. I held up that velvet box.

“Meghan,” I said. “Will you marry me, love?”