Tiffany, a bold, unapologetically Black woman with a mouth that rarely misses, suddenly finds herself trapped inside a tragic romance novel-as the second female lead, Deja Moreau.
Her mission? Break off her engagement to one of the wealthiest men in...
As she walked through the grand entrance, her family was waiting in the foyer like a welcoming committee—or an inquisition. Her mother stepped forward first, wringing her hands.
"We just saw Mr. Zuo leave," her mother said, voice all concern and practiced grace. "Is everything alright, dear?"
Deja smiled. "Everything's fabulous. I'm having dinner with his mother."
Her mother's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh! That's wonderful news! I have the perfect dress for you—"
"No need," Deja cut her off with a wave of her hand. I'm going to make an absolute mess of this dinner. His mother will hate me so much she'll beg him to break off this engagement. It's giving 'unacceptable' and I love that for me.
The family exchanged alarmed glances, their eyes widening at her internal monologue, but Deja was too preoccupied with her plans to notice their reactions.
"I'm going to my room," she called, practically floating on a cloud of scheming.
As soon as she disappeared up the stairs, Trevor turned to his parents, his face pale. "That cannot happen! If she ruins dinner with Mrs. Zuo..."
"I know, I know," her father muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We have to do something."
Meanwhile, Deja entered her bedroom and immediately went to her closet, humming to herself as she rifled through the expensive clothes. "Hm. None of this says problematic peasant with bad influence vibes," she muttered.
She tossed designer gowns aside with growing disdain. "Where's the flavor? The disrespect? The drama?"
She decided go out and buy an outfit. She turned to her mirror, studying herself. She left her afro out, bold and defiant, crowning her like the chaos queen she was. Her skin gleamed. Her curls bouncy and her bare face said, I woke up like this, and unfortunately for you, I stayed that way.
She threw on an old t-shirt and sweatpants and headed back downstairs, keys in hand.
Her mother caught her at the bottom of the stairs, smiling too hard. "Where are you off to, sweetheart?"
"Out," Deja replied simply, already heading for the door.
To find the ugliest outfit ever constructed. Something that says your son's taste is in danger and so is your lineage.
Her mother's smile remained fixed, though her eyes tightened slightly at the corners. "Oh, okay dear. Have a nice time," she said sweetly, pretending she hadn't just heard Deja's devious plan.
As soon as the door closed behind Deja, her mother rushed to the phone.
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The thrift shop was a treasure trove of fashion disasters, exactly what Deja was looking for. She bypassed anything remotely tasteful, making a beeline for a rack of clothes that looked like they'd been rejected from an 80s music video for being too outrageous.
