Chapter 1

At the wedding, my groom, James Carter, disappeared for seventeen minutes.

The emcee stalled awkwardly onstage. The groomsmen called him eight times. No answer. Guests started whispering.

I stood by the champagne tower in my ten-foot train, hearing his mother explain in a low voice, "James probably had an emergency at work."

I knew that wasn't true.

Because the moment he vanished matched exactly when Emily Shaw left the ballroom.

I set down my bouquet and walked down the hotel's fire exit. My four-inch heels hit the concrete steps one by one, each like a nail driving into bone.

When I pushed open the third-floor door, I heard her crying, "James, don't worry about me. Today is your wedding day."

"Never mind." James's voice was low and urgent. "The ambulance is coming. You had a high fever. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

I stood at the corner, watching him kneel on one knee, lifting Emily into his arms.

She wore a pale blue bridesmaid dress, her forehead pressed against his chest, her fingers clutching his suit lapel like a drowning person gripping the last piece of driftwood.

James didn't see me. He carried her out through the other end of the fire escape, the sharp echo of his shoes fading away down the stairs.

I leaned against the wall and pulled out my phone to call the emcee. "Mr. Carter has an emergency to handle. The ceremony will be delayed by thirty minutes."

The emcee said, "But Ms. Bennett..."

"I said postpone it."

After hanging up, I realized my fingers were still shaking. Not because I was angry, but because I was freezing.

March winds whipped through the fire escape, and my wedding dress left my whole back bare. Goosebumps crawled up from my arms to my collarbone.

I stood there for two minutes, then walked back into the ballroom, putting on a smile as I told the guests that James had gone to pick up an important client and to go ahead and start eating.

I even toasted three tables for him. By the time I reached my fifth glass of red wine, one of the groomsmen, David Miller, James's childhood friend, couldn't take it anymore.

He walked over and put his hand over my glass. "Olivia, that's enough."

I lifted my eyes to him. "You know where he went, right?"

David's face twisted as he'd chewed on broken glass.

I didn't need him to say anything. I set my glass down and grabbed my phone to call James.

It rang seven times with no answer. I hung up and immediately dialed again.

The third time, he finally picked up, his voice barely above a whisper. "Olivia, something came up at the company..."

"James," I cut him off, "the wedding video is still rolling. When you carried Emily out of the fire escape, the photographer was right at the second-floor window. He caught everything on camera."

There was a full ten seconds of silence on his end.

I kept going, "There are over three hundred guests here today. Your dad's business partners, your mom's relatives, and three media outlets. Is that what you want everyone to see?"

"What do you want?" His voice shifted, suddenly guarded, something I'd never heard from him before.

We'd known each other for eight years, been together for four, and he'd never spoken to me like that.

Suddenly, the pain in my heels didn't seem to matter anymore.

"I'm not asking for anything," I said quietly. "I'll be waiting for you in the dressing room on the third floor. Only you."

I hung up and walked out. David called after me, but I didn't look back.

The dressing room was at the end of the third-floor hallway. I sat in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection: flawless makeup and perfect hair, like a display mannequin.

I grabbed a makeup wipe and wiped the lipstick off hard. The bright red smeared across my chin and mouth, like I'd devoured something bloody.

When the door opened, I didn't turn around.

James walked in, his suit jacket gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

He stood in the doorway for two seconds, then came up behind me and rested his hand on my shoulder. "Olivia, I'm sorry.

"Emily was burning up to 103.3°F. She was stuck alone in a rented place, no family to help her. All I did was get her to the hospital."

"Mm." I picked up another makeup wipe. "When did she move into your heart?"

His fingers went rigid.

I turned around, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.

He really did have a gorgeous face: sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a tiny dimple on his right cheek when he smiled. There was a time I thought nothing in the world could compare to that.

"James, we've known each other for eight years," I said quietly. "Whenever you lie, your right eyebrow always arches. You did it twice."

His hand slid off my shoulder.

"I'm not here to blame you," I said, standing up. My wedding dress pooled around my feet like melting cream. "I want to tell you one thing."

"What is it?"

"I've known about you and Emily for six months."

His eyes went wide in shock.

"Do you remember last September, when you said you had a three-day business trip to Haville?" I yanked a stack of photos from the vanity drawer and slapped them down on the table.

I added, "Those three days, you were with her in Haville for her abortion. Your name was on the family consent line."

His face drained of color, inch by inch. "You were investigating me?"

"You send her 6,000 dollars every month, through your mom's bank card. She lives in an apartment on the west side of the city.

"David covers her utilities for you. And those so-called 'casual' photos she posts online? The backgrounds are your office's floor-to-ceiling windows, your car's rearview mirror, your living room coffee table."

I rattled it all off in one breath, my voice steady, like I was reading a report. "James, I'm not stupid."

He stepped back, bumping into the vanity behind him.