After our Christmas dinner ended, I slipped under the bed, planning to surprise my fiancée. But someone else quietly crept into the room to make a phone call. It was my future mother-in-law’s familiar voice—and what she said made my breath catch. My hands began to shake uncontrollably as I clamped one over my mouth, terrified I might make a sound and give myself away.

The guest room of the Gable family home smelled of lavender potpourri and old dust. It was Christmas Eve, and outside, the snow was falling in thick, cinematic flakes. Inside, the house was warm, filled with the scent of roasted ham and the murmur of distant laughter.

Clara Vance, heiress to the Vance Shipping fortune, was lying on her stomach under the antique four-poster bed.

She felt ridiculous. She was twenty-four years old, wearing a red silk dress that cost more than this entire house, pressing her face against scratchy floorboards. But she was in love, and love made you do stupid things.

In her hand, she clutched a velvet box. Inside was a Patek Philippe watch—a vintage model from 1952. She had spent three months tracking it down. It was her Christmas gift for Liam, her fiancé. Liam loved vintage things. He said they had “soul,” unlike the sterile luxury Clara had grown up with.

He’s going to love it, Clara thought, suppressing a giggle.