Chapter 1

The day Phillip Morton's first love, Briana Raymond, came back to town, the whole elite circle in Duventon was waiting for me to make a fool of myself.

He handed me a check for 15 million. "Flora, Briana doesn't want you around. Just take the money and leave."

I didn't cry or make a scene. I took the check without hesitation and pressed the signed divorce papers right against his chest.

I smiled. "Thanks for making this happen, Mr. Morton. Pretending for three years in front of you was exhausting."

Phillip frowned, his voice tinged with confusion. "What do you mean?"

I unlocked my phone, pointed at the lock screen, a memorial photo of a man who looked strikingly similar to Phillip, and grinned.

I said, "What I'm saying is, you were just a substitute, too. Now that I've got money, I don't need a knockoff anymore."

That night, Phillip, the prince of the Duventon elite, went crazy.

*****

Phillip's face darkened right before my eyes.

He locked his gaze on the photo on my phone. The man in the picture had gentle eyes and a soft expression. He looked uncannily like Phillip.

But there was a faint scar above his right eyebrow, giving him a wilder edge.

"Flora, what are you trying to pull right now? Is this your idea of a joke?" Phillip demanded, his tone sharp.

He snatched my phone from my hand and slammed it hard onto the floor.

With a loud crack, the screen shattered into pieces, the memorial photo instantly reduced to scattered shards.

"You faked a dead guy's photo just to mess with me? That's seriously messed up!" he spat.

He straightened his suit collar, still creased from when I slapped the divorce papers against his chest.

"Take the check and get lost. Don't push me, or I'll have my bodyguards toss you out," Phillip warned, his voice icy.

I stared at the phone's broken pieces on the floor and didn't even flinch.

After all, the real photo was locked away in my safe. The one on my phone was just a digital copy I kept around to mess with Phillip.

I bent down, picked up the phone, popped out the SIM card, and with no second thoughts, tossed the latest model right into the trash, making sure he saw every move.

My actions were smooth, not a hint of attachment or sentiment.

"Yeah, it's messed up," I said, brushing the dust off my hands and shooting him a grin. "Since you gave me this phone, I'm returning it to you now."

My attitude totally pissed Phillip off.

Back then, I was always obedient around him, never daring to raise my voice, always tiptoeing, afraid I might disturb him.

But now, I felt like someone he'd never met, and he could sense his authority slipping away.

Just then, a soft, delicate voice floated down from the staircase upstairs.

"Phillip, don't be so harsh. Ms. Coleman doesn't have anywhere to stay, and it's pouring outside," Briana called out.

Briana stood there in Phillip's shirt, bare-legged, looking freshly woken and relaxed, with a suggestive red mark on her neck.

She was Phillip's first love, the woman he'd been searching for in me these past three years.

As soon as Phillip heard her voice, his whole demeanor softened. He turned and strode over, pulling her into his arms.

He sneered, "Don't bother with her. She can't last a day without me. Give it three days, and she'll be crawling back, begging at my feet.

"Flora, don't even think about taking anything from this place except the clothes you're wearing. The Morton family doesn't keep traitors around."

I glanced down at the coat Phillip had picked out for me.

He'd had it custom-made, so I'd resemble Briana even more.

Without a word, I slipped it off and dropped it carelessly on the floor.

Underneath, I was only wearing a flimsy white blouse.

I didn't give Phillip another look. I turned, pulled open the villa's front door, and walked out into the darkness and pouring rain.

Behind me, I caught Briana's surprised gasp and Phillip's cold scoff.

The rain drenched me instantly, icy drops running down my cheeks.

But I felt a rush of freedom.

It had been three years.

I had to stare at Phillip's face, no matter how much he reminded me of someone else, and force myself to cater to his every whim, even though it made me sick.

Phillip stood by the floor-to-ceiling window upstairs, watching me leave, his brows tightly knit.

He tugged at his tie in irritation and instinctively reached into his pocket.

There was always a box of mints in there.

It was Lawrence Hood's favorite brand, so I'd gotten used to always slipping a box into Phillip's pocket.

But this time, his hand came up empty.

"Damn it," Phillip muttered.

Phillip clenched the check in his fist and slammed it against the glass window in a burst of anger.

I made my way back to my shabby apartment.

This was my only haven in the city, and the place where I kept all of Lawrence's keepsakes.

I pulled an old wooden box out from under my bed and opened it.

Inside was a thick pile of sketches, plus a photo kept safe in a sturdy frame.

Lawrence grinned in the picture, the scar above his right eyebrow catching the sunlight and standing out even more.

My fingers trembled as I gently caressed Lawrence's face in the photo.

"Lawrence, I finally made it. I've got money now," I whispered.