Chapter 1

I'm a professional stand-in, moonlighting as a sugar baby.

I have a very specific type: powerful CEOs who are still hung up on some perfect, unattainable first love.

The moment I get wind that their long-lost love is about to return, I cash out and vanish without a trace.

In the industry, they call me the expert at profiting from heartbreak and ghosting with a clear conscience.

Right now, I am dutifully playing the part of the delicate, innocent first love of Jonathan Reed, the CEO of Reed Group, who tragically "passed away" years ago.

I am wearing her favorite white dress, sitting at a grand piano, and daintily poking at the keys like some ethereal prodigy.

On the outside, I'm a vision of innocence; on the inside, I'm judging him hard. Sebastian Hayes just bought his dream girl a pink diamond last month. Honestly, Jonathan is seriously slacking.

*****

"Camille, play 'Mariage d'Amour' for me again."

With his eyes closed, Jonathan Reed was leaning back on the sofa. His voice was low, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible trace of exhaustion mingled with nostalgia.

My fingers fumbled on the keys. I almost launched into "Flight of the Bumblebee."

I had spent an entire week painstakingly memorizing that one tiny segment, repeating the same few notes. If I continued to play, the facade would shatter instantly.

I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart. Slowly, I turned my head, mimicking that signature soft gaze I had studied in the files. I added just the right amount of melancholy to my voice.

"Jonathan," I whispered. "I'm a little tired tonight. That song always brings back sad memories."

If I had played one more note, my "musical genius" persona would have flatlined. I would have been mourning my own funeral.

His eyes snapped open. His gaze was sharp and analytical, as if he was seeing me for the first time.

A cold sweat broke out on my back.

Just when I thought he was about to call me out, he sighed and beckoned me over. "Come here."

I rolled my eyes internally but obediently played the part of the fragile flower, moving slowly until he pulled me into his arms.

He smelled of cedar and expensive whiskey. It was intoxicating.

"Next weekend, you're coming to an auction with me," he said, his fingers toying with a strand of my hair. It wasn't a question. "There's a sapphire necklace. I think you'll like it."

This was it! The payoff was finally within reach!

My inner world was a full-blown carnival, complete with fireworks and cheers! But I kept my cool. I responded with a delicate hum and leaned my head against his shoulder, biting the inside of my cheek just to stop myself from beaming.

According to my very expensive and very reliable source, Jonathan's childhood sweetheart, Sophie Turner, the one who had supposedly died from a rare disease, was about to make a miraculous recovery and return to the country next month.

That meant I had one month to secure the sapphire necklace, the designer bags I had been eyeing, and the downtown apartment he promised me.

The signal was given. It was time to execute the perfect exit strategy.

While I was busy crunching numbers in my head, calculating exactly how many months I could spend lounging on a tropical beach with my "severance package," Jonathan's phone on the coffee table started vibrating violently.

He knitted his brows, reluctant to break the moment.

But I was a professional to the core. Acting on instinct, I stood up, wearing the mask of a perfect partner. "I'll get it," I offered softly.

The name, Sebastian Hayes, on the screen made my eye twitch.

Sebastian was the infamous playboy of the Hayes family, whose scandals could practically lap the globe.

He was on my list of potential clients, but his dream girl was studying abroad with no set return date, making him too high-risk. I put him on the back burner.

Jonathan took the phone and put it on speaker.

"Jonathan! You check the socials yet? That stand-in of yours was spotted at the club, 'The Labyrinth,' the night before last," Sebastian exclaimed with gleeful excitement.

My heart dropped.

The night before last, I was at the club because my next target, the tech mogul Lucas Ford, a man rumored to be eternally devoted to his first love, was there.

I had staged a "chance encounter" to get on his radar.

Jonathan's gaze sharpened, slicing through me like a knife. "What are you talking about?" he spat.

"Someone took a picture of her! It's just a side view, but I'd know that profile anywhere! She went into a private room right after Lucas! The whole town is talking! They're saying your girl is two-timing you. Or hell, maybe even three-timing!"

My mind went completely blank.

Was I actually busted?

I was so careful! There were no paparazzi! Which bastard had such quick fingers?