Chapter 1

My husband of three years, Ethan Grant, dropped everything and left the moment the woman he could never forget called him.

I didn't cry or make a scene, but left him with a simple, "Let's get a divorce."

*****

After three hours of bustling around the kitchen, Claire Nolan poured all her effort into making a bowl of authentic chicken noodle soup.

The hot broth cascaded over the chewy noodles, and a satisfied smile appeared on her face. She picked up the tray, headed upstairs, and pushed open the study door.

Ethan Grant stood with his back to her by the floor-to-ceiling window, his voice low and tender as he talked on the phone, "Yeah, the clam and seafood pasta you love. I've had someone prep it already."

Claire's steps froze, the tray in her hands feeling as heavy as lead.

She knew exactly who he was calling.

It was Sophia Lane, the woman who'd just returned from abroad, a woman who shared a striking seventy-percent resemblance to her yet lived perpetually in the spotlight.

Ethan hung up and turned around, his brows furrowing almost imperceptibly when he saw her.

"Why'd you come in here?" he asked, his tone lacking any warmth.

"I made chicken noodle soup. Want to try some?" Claire said softly, setting the tray on the desk.

Ethan glanced down at the carefully prepared bowl, his voice dismissive. "Leave it there."

Claire stayed rooted to the spot.

Her gaze lingered on his still breathtakingly handsome face, which she'd stared at for three years.

But his eyes never truly held her in their sight, not a single, soul-deep glance.

Claire said suddenly, her voice so calm it surprised even herself, "Ethan, Sophia's back. Let's get a divorce."

Ethan was about to sit down when he paused, looking up with a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

But it was just surprise, no panic, no heartache, nothing at all.

"What are you throwing a fit about now?" he asked, setting down his documents and speaking like he was pacifying a stubborn child.

Claire smiled, her eyes turning teary. "I'm not throwing a fit. Ethan, it's been three years. Three years of being Sophia's substitute. I've had enough."

She turned to leave the study, not glancing back.

Ethan's voice called after her, sharp and unyielding. "Claire, step out that door, and you'll never be allowed back."

She hesitated for a split second, then kept walking, her resolve unshaken.

Back in the bedroom, Claire pulled out a suitcase hidden at the bottom of her wardrobe.

This suitcase had been ready for three years.

That was when she'd just married Ethan, filled with joy and naive belief that she'd found true love.

Later, she'd found that photo, the locked diary in his study, and her husband's late-night habit of staring blankly at his phone.

The woman in the photo was Sophia, Ethan's first love and the unspoken choice for his wife.

Claire, on the other hand, had only been picked by Ethan's mother because she looked like Sophia. She was a stand-in for the marriage he never wanted.

For three years, she'd thrown herself into being the perfect wife: taking care of his daily needs, accompanying him to every event, and even enduring the name he slurred every time he got drunk, "Sophia."

Every single time, she'd pretended not to hear.

But now, Sophia was really back.

Claire folded her clothes one by one and placed them in the suitcase, moving slowly as if performing a solemn ritual.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan: [Mom's coming for dinner tomorrow. Don't wander off.]

Instead of replying, she kept packing until the suitcase was full.

Before leaving, Claire pulled off the ring on her left ring finger and set it on the nightstand.

Ethan had bought it on a whim, never even asking if she liked the style.

She still remembered their wedding day: he'd drunk too much, held her at night, and mumbled another woman's name in his sleep.

Three years. One thousand and ninety-six days. She'd finally decided to set herself free.

Claire dragged the suitcase downstairs.

Passing the study, she noticed the door was ajar, and Ethan's voice drifted out. "She's just throwing a tantrum. Pay her no mind."

She couldn't make out what the person on the other end was saying, but she heard Ethan let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, I'll take you shopping for paintings tomorrow."

Claire tightened her grip on the suitcase handle and hurried out the front door.

The late-night wind was cool, and she stood at the villa gate, glancing back at the house she'd lived in for three years before stepping firmly into the darkness, never to look back.

*****

Three days after Sophia's return, Ethan finally went home, not because he missed Claire, but because his mother had called, saying she couldn't reach Claire and telling him to check on her.

He pushed open the door to an eerie silence.

The kitchen showed no sign of cooking, the living room was empty, and the bedroom door was open, with the bed neatly made.

Suddenly, he got a sinking feeling in his gut.

Ethan rushed into the bedroom and immediately saw the ring, sitting all alone on the nightstand.

Ethan froze, picking up the ring and recalling Claire's words from the night before. "Sophia's back. Let's get a divorce."

He'd thought she was just throwing a fit. After all, for three years she'd been so compliant, never asked for anything, never showed any sign of unhappiness.

But now, staring at the ring, he realized she might have been serious.

Ethan dialed Claire's number, but her phone was switched off.

He tried again and again, but it stayed off.

He called her company, only to be told she'd resigned three days earlier.

He called her friends, but none of them knew where she'd gone.

Standing in the empty living room, Ethan felt something he'd never experienced before.

It was a vague, gnawing sense that something had slipped through his fingers.

By the seventh day of Claire's absence, Ethan's life had fallen into complete chaos.

No one made him breakfast anymore, no one remembered to send his shirts to the dry cleaner, and no one left a light on for him at night, waiting for him.

He began searching the house for any trace of Claire, only to realize how well she'd hidden herself over the past three years.

There were no diaries, no photos, not even a single decent personal item.

All that remained was a pile of sticky notes on the refrigerator, each one whispering her habitual reminders.

[Noodles are in the pot. Heat them up yourself.]

[Stomach medicine is in the second drawer of the nightstand.]

[It's getting colder today. Bundle up.]

Ethan tore them off one by one, staring at the delicate handwriting.

Memories flooded back: Claire's cautious expression every time she handed him medicine, the hope in her eyes mixed with fear of being rejected.

What had he been doing back then? Probably scrolling through his phone, or grunting a dismissive reply without looking up.

He clenched the sticky notes in his hand, finally forcing himself to think: had he ever really looked at her in the past three years?

On the tenth day, while tidying the study, Ethan accidentally found a letter Claire had written three years earlier.

It was short, only a few lines: [I don't know why you married me, but I'll try my best to be a good wife. If one day you find the person you've really been waiting for, tell me. I'll leave quietly.]

The signature was dated on their wedding day.

Ethan stared at the letter, silent for a long time.

He finally realized Claire had known all along she was only there as a substitute for Sophia.

She'd known everything, yet she'd stayed and played her role for three years.

And him? He had no idea what her favorite food or color was.