Chapter 1

The invitation arrived on a Tuesday, its gold embossing catching the morning light that streamed through my apartment windows. Ten years. Had it really been that long since we were bright-eyed college students with our whole lives ahead of us? I traced my finger over the elegant script announcing the UCLA reunion gala, feeling a familiar tightness in my chest.

Four years ago, I would have thrown it directly into the trash. Two years ago, I might have considered it before declining. But now, as marketing executive Isabella Chen, I had carefully constructed a life where the past couldn't touch me. Or so I told myself.

'You should go,' my assistant had said when I mentioned it offhandedly at the office. 'Show them all how far you've come.'

She didn't know what I'd lost. Who I'd lost.

I twisted the simple silver ring on my finger—Ethan's last gift before he vanished from my life without explanation. I'd never been able to take it off, this final tether to the man who had shattered my heart on what should have been the beginning of our forever. The day we were supposed to register our marriage.

'Fine,' I whispered to my empty apartment. 'I'll go.'

* * *

The ballroom of the Beverly Wilshire glittered with chandeliers and success stories. Former classmates mingled in designer clothes, trading business cards and life updates with practiced enthusiasm. I smoothed down my midnight blue dress, a shield of silk and confidence, and accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

'Isabella Chen! Is that you?'

I turned, plastering on my professional smile—the one that never quite reached my eyes. An hour of small talk followed: yes, I was doing well; no, I wasn't married; yes, the marketing firm was thriving under my leadership. I navigated the conversations with the same precision I applied to client pitches, revealing nothing of substance while appearing completely engaged.

And then the room shifted.

I felt him before I saw him—that inexplicable awareness that had never faded despite years of silence. My body tensed, champagne glass frozen halfway to my lips as my gaze drifted across the room.

Ethan Morrison stood by the bar, devastatingly handsome in a tailored charcoal suit that accentuated the broad shoulders I once knew so intimately. His dark hair was shorter now, styled with careful precision, but his profile remained achingly familiar—the strong jaw, the slight curve of his lips when he was listening intently.

My heart hammered against my ribs as if trying to escape, to cross the room to where it had always belonged. Four years of carefully constructed indifference crumbled in an instant.

Then I noticed the woman beside him.

She was striking—tall and elegant with honey-blonde hair cascading over bare shoulders. Her hand rested possessively on Ethan's arm, a diamond ring catching the light with ostentatious brilliance. I recognized her from tech industry magazines: Victoria Sinclair, daughter of Silicon Valley mogul Richard Sinclair.

The champagne turned bitter on my tongue.

Before I could retreat, find a quiet corner to rebuild my composure, Ethan turned. Our eyes met across the crowded room, and for one breathless moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his gaze—recognition, regret, longing? But it vanished so quickly I wondered if I'd imagined it, replaced by a cool detachment that felt like a physical blow.

My feet moved of their own accord. Four years of unanswered questions propelled me forward, weaving through clusters of alumni until I stood before them. Close enough to see the tiny scar above Ethan's eyebrow from a basketball injury our sophomore year. Close enough to smell his cologne—different from what he used to wear, another reminder of how much had changed.

'Ethan,' I said, proud that my voice didn't betray the earthquake happening inside me. 'It's been a while.'

His eyes—those warm brown eyes that once looked at me with such love—skimmed over me, then deliberately shifted away. 'Isabella. You look well.'

Victoria's smile remained fixed as her gaze performed a swift assessment, categorizing and dismissing me in seconds. Her diamond-adorned hand tightened on Ethan's arm. 'You must be from Ethan's college days. I'm Victoria Sinclair, his fiancée.'

Fiancée. The word pierced through me like a blade of ice.

'Congratulations,' I managed, the silver ring suddenly burning against my skin. 'When's the wedding?'