The champagne flowed like water at the Beaumont summer estate on Long Island, and Scarlett sat at the center of it all, surrounded by six men who loved her with a devotion so total it resembled worship.

The year was 1925, and America was drunk on its own optimism. The Beaumont name still carried weight in certain circles—old money, pre-war, the kind of families that owned buildings in Manhattan and vacations in Newport. What they did not own was money. Their fortunes had been leaking for years, absorbed by bad investments and worse tastes, but Scarlett, at twenty-one, knew nothing of this. She knew only the endless cycle of parties and dances and the way her six brothers looked at her across crowded rooms, as though she were the only source of light in a darkening world.

James, the eldest at thirty-five, was the family's last gentleman. He had inherited their father's habit of standing straight and speaking quietly and pretending that everything was fine. Richard, the gambler, had accumulated debts that Scarlett assumed were figures on paper—abstract, remote, not the kind of things that kept a man awake until four in the morning in his study with a bottle of bourbon and a ledger open before him. Charles, the writer, published novels that sold poorly but reviewed respectably in certain magazines. He wrote about Scarlett often—her laugh, her dresses, the way she tilted her head when she listened—and she believed he wrote because he loved her. She did not understand that he wrote because he needed to monetize her.

The change began on a Thursday in October. Scarlett had come to James's study to return a book he had left on her dresser and found him speaking in low tones with a man she recognized as Mr. Harrington, a banker whose name she had seen attached to婚约 discussions in her brothers' conversations.

"Twenty-one years old, healthy, well-bred," James was saying. "And the Beaumont name, though diminished, still opens certain doors."

"The Harringtons want a daughter," Mr. Harrington replied. "We have the means to restore your family's standing. A modest settlement for the bride, and the Beaumont estate remains solvent for another generation."

She did not hear the rest. She backed out of the room slowly, her hand on the doorframe, and walked down the corridor until her legs stopped working and she slid to the floor and sat there for a long time, surrounded by the sound of jazz music drifting from the ballroom.

Author Note & Copyright:

© 2026 - Authored by Z R ZHANG ( EL9507135 -- シュピシッバスホイシャチー[⾘、　] 中国 ویگ ⭑⭰ Росусуттет Мецесцесцес Дкедошенн 🎉 Passnummer عرق جراز سفر CHN Passport) and his beloved father.

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