Chapter 3
"It's beautiful," I said, picking up the bracelet and letting the cool diamonds slide through my fingers. "But... It's not really my style."
Andrew's smile faltered slightly. "What's wrong? I thought you liked diamonds."
"I do like diamonds," I said, tilting my head with a playful innocence. "But this brand... the designs feel a bit too grown-up. They're more Ms. Reed's vibe, don't you think?"
I caught it—a brief flash of discomfort in his eyes when I mentioned Ms. Reed.
"If you don't like it, that's fine," he said, closing the box with a gentle tone. "I'll take you to pick something else tomorrow."
"It's okay," I replied with a sweet smile, slipping my arms around his neck. "It's enough that you care."
He seemed pretty pleased with how "considerate" I was, and leaned down to kiss me.
But I suddenly let go and yawned. "I'm so tired. It's been a long day. I think I'll turn in early."
His kiss missed, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his face, but he quickly hid it.
"Alright, you take the master bedroom," he said, ruffling my hair. "I've got some work to finish up."
I nodded and headed toward the bedroom.
When I woke up the next morning, Andrew was already gone.
There was a note on the pillow, scrawled in his bold, messy handwriting: [Something urgent came up at the office. Breakfast is in the kitchen. Make sure you eat. I'll pick you up for dinner tonight.]
I crumpled the note in my hand, a cold smile tugging at my lips.
Something urgent? Bet he was off to take care of his precious 'sister'.
When I walked into the dining room, there was an elaborate breakfast set out on the table, and he'd even made sure the milk was warm.
He was such a thoughtful boyfriend.
Until last night, when I saw Isabelle's message flash across his screen, I would've sworn he was perfect.
Isabelle: [Andrew, my stomach hurts so bad. There's no one at home.]
I was only pretending to sleep, so I heard him tiptoe out and quietly make a call in the living room, his voice barely above a whisper.
He said, "Don't be scared, I'll be there soon. Alright, drink some warm water for now, okay?"
The way he spoke to her, so full of worry and urgency, was nothing like the gentle, almost scripted way he treated me. With me, it was all by the book; but with Isabelle, his concern was genuine, straight from the heart.
I took my time finishing breakfast, then pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
I said, "Find out everything you can about Isabelle Reed. The more details, the better."
After hanging up, I studied my reflection in the mirror, taking my time to examine every detail of my face.
Especially my eyes, they were uncannily similar to Isabelle's.
Back then, whenever Andrew was feeling affectionate, he'd cup my face and stare into my eyes with that dreamy, lovesick look, saying they were "stars fallen to earth".
But now, looking back, I realized he was never really seeing me. He was searching for someone else in my face.
How disgusting.
Later that afternoon, I received a detailed report on Isabelle.
Isabelle Reed, 25, graduated from the Parious Arts Academy with a major in ballet. Her dad was a big shot at a bank, and her mom taught at a music college. It was definitely an academic family.
She and Andrew were childhood friends, and their families went way back. Three years ago, she dumped Andrew to chase her dance dreams in Francia.
Word was, she was the one who called it quits. Andrew even flew to Parious to try and win her back, but came home empty-handed.
She'd only been back for less than a month, and she was already the principal dancer at the National Theatre Ballet.
The file included a few photos of her. She had this cool, distant aura, with eyes and brows that looked a little proud, like she was some fairy who didn't belong to this world at all.
And me? Emily Lane, just a regular girl from a regular family. I scraped my way through college with scholarships and part-time gigs, and now I was just another face at a design company.
Except for these eyes, I had nothing in common with her.
No wonder Andrew only ever saw me as her substitute.
Andrew's message popped up on my phone. [7 P.M., Michelin three-star. Got us a table.]
I stared at the screen, a slow smile spreading across my face.
Well then, guess it was time for a fancy meal.
That evening, I meticulously dressed up. I chose a dress just like the ones Isabelle always wore, went for that icy, aloof vibe with my makeup, and even picked the exact lipstick shade she had in those photos.
Looking in the mirror, I saw an almost flawless Isabelle staring back at me, a near-perfect imitation. I couldn't help but smile, satisfied with my handiwork.
Andrew showed up right on time. When he saw me, he looked momentarily dazed.
"You're really different tonight," he said, holding the car door open for me, his gaze lingering on my face.
"Don't you like it?" I tilted my head, deliberately mimicking Isabelle's distant yet captivating smile.
"How could I not?" he murmured, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "You look gorgeous."
He seemed miles away the whole drive, his fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel, a sure sign his mind was somewhere else.
I knew he wasn't really looking at me. He was searching for someone else in my face.
The restaurant glowed with candlelight, and mellow music drifted through the air.
Andrew, ever the thoughtful boyfriend, pulled out my chair and ordered what he claimed were all my "favorite" dishes, but I knew every single one was actually Isabelle's favorite.
"Are you still shaken up from yesterday?" he asked gently, reaching for my hand.
I slipped my hand away and took a sip of wine. "I'm alright, just a bit rattled. If you'd really gotten hurt waiting for me, I-"
"Don't say that," he cut me off, soft but firm. "For you, it's worth it."
Such romantic words.
If I didn't know what was really going on, I'd probably be all teary-eyed right now.