Chapter 1

Hector Sherman and I had been back together for three years, but he stood me up on our wedding anniversary.

That night, at the Golden Summit, I saw him wrapping his arms around another woman, one who looked uncannily like the woman he could never forget.

In that moment, I finally understood. Our remarriage had never been a second chance. It was his way of keeping another woman alive in his life, and I was nothing more than a pathetic substitute.

He didn't know that I was already pregnant.

I kept the truth to myself, handed him the divorce papers, and vanished completely from his world.

Years later, my lace art stunned the international art scene. When he finally tracked me down, he stood in the rain and asked for my forgiveness.

The cruelest joke? Jocelyn Harris, the woman he'd never forgotten and the one we all thought was dead, woke up.

None of that mattered. I took the arm of the man who loved me deeply and met Hector's bloodshot eyes with a faint smile.

I said, "Mr. Sherman, your true love is back. You don't need to trouble yourself with me anymore."

*****

Today marked the third anniversary of our remarriage. I spent the evening cooking a table full of Hector's favorite dishes and waited from dusk until well past midnight. The food went cold, and so did my heart.

Every tick of the clock on the wall felt like a sharp jab straight into my nerves.

In the end, it wasn't him who showed up. It was a call from his assistant, Cody.

Cody sounded as formal as always on the phone. "Hi, Mrs. Sherman. Mr. Sherman has an important meeting tonight at Golden Summit. He'll probably be back late. Just let you know."

Golden Summit. The name hit me like a spell, knocking the wind out of me.

It was the most exclusive spot in Clowell, the kind of place only the big shots hang out. And it was where I first met Hector three years ago.

Back then, he was dropping outrageous amounts of money at the tables, all because of another woman.

My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through it.

I hung up the phone, changed out of my loungewear into a simple dress, and before I knew it, I was driving to the one place I'd sworn I'd never go back to.

*****

Under the night sky, Golden Summit looked massive, its entrance glowing with bright lights. When I gave Hector's name, the staff immediately led me inside.

A huge chandelier cast shimmering light everywhere. The air smelled like cigars, wine, and expensive perfume. The whole place felt extremely luxurious.

Natalie, a friend I knew well, grabbed my arm, her gaze complicated as she pointed toward a carved screen not far away. "Lyra, what are you doing here? Mr. Sherman is—"

I followed her gaze. Just one glance, and I froze.

Behind that curtain was the man I'd been waiting for all night, my husband Hector, sprawled comfortably on a red couch.

He held a cigar between his fingers, the ember flickering against his handsome face. Smoke drifted around him, blurring his sharp profile, but it couldn't hide the careless smile on his lips.

He had his arm wrapped around a woman, holding her close.

She wore a tailored pink dress that showed off her slim figure, her expression soft and almost fragile.

On the dark table in front of them sat a small mountain of gifts. High-end jewelry, limited-edition designer bags, and even the keys to a brand-new Ferrari.

Everyone around them was cheering him on, praising how generous he was.

He smiled faintly. The scene was painfully familiar. When we first met, he had worn that same casual expression while throwing money at another woman.

The past was playing out again right in front of me.

Natalie leaned in and whispered in my ear, her voice full of sympathy. "That's Sierra Reyes. She's been the talk of the scene lately. People call her the young version of Jocelyn. I heard she's Mr. Sherman's new girl. He spoils her like crazy."

Jocelyn Harris was a scar between Hector and me that would never truly heal. She was the woman Hector had loved the most, the one who died too young.

I stared blankly at Sierra, unable to look away.

Her eyes, her expression, even the faint curve of her lips when she lowered her head to smile all resembled the woman in the faded photo Hector kept in his drawer.

Not identical, but close enough to make anyone do a double-take.

I finally understood. These three years of getting back together and acting like everything was fine were never the love story I thought they were.

I finally understood who Hector had truly been looking at every time his gaze drifted past me into the distance. And those rare moments when he seemed gentle, they weren't meant for me either.

I was merely a stand-in, kept by his side because I was similar enough. A cheap replacement to comfort himself.

A surge of nausea twisted my stomach, and I pressed my hand hard against my mouth.

Then a faint but unmistakable flutter stirred low in my belly, like the soft beat of a butterfly's wings. Our child was quietly reminding me that he was there.

I froze where I stood, as if struck by lightning, every ounce of strength draining from my body. The sheer absurdity of it and the grief swallowed me whole.

Natalie grabbed my arm, concern in her voice. "Lyra, are you okay? You look so pale."

I shook my head and turned away awkwardly. With people watching, some sympathetic and some clearly curious, I hurried out of there as fast as I could.

When I returned home, I could no longer hold it in. I collapsed onto the cold floor, tears pouring down.

I had been so excited, thinking this baby was a new beginning, a mark of our love, but would it mean the same to Hector?

Would a baby born to a stand-in even matter to him?

My love, my marriage, even the child growing inside me had been nothing but a cruel joke.