Chapter 1

This was the last letter I'd ever write to Sebastian Shaw.

The next day, he'd marry Lexi Lloyd, the woman he'd been obsessed with for years, his first love. And I, the woman known as Mrs. Shaw, bound to him by contract for three years, would officially vanish from his life after sunset today.

My lawyer would hand him this letter, along with my ashes.

I could already foresee that he'd skim it, frown, and think I was being dramatic, like I was making a big deal out of nothing.

But there was never anything there to begin with. It had started with a contract, plain and simple.

I played the role of his quiet, obedient wife, keeping his family off his back and shutting down all their matchmaking attempts. In return, he covered my mom's sky-high medical bills.

*****

During the first year of our marriage, I lived like I was studying Lexi's life like it was a case file.

I'd fill notebooks like a reporter chasing a lead, my pen scratching like I was grinding down the last scraps of self-respect I had left.

The first page of my diary read: She likes pale blue dresses, tailored at the waist. Cilantro makes her gag. She'll dig it out of her burrito bowl one leaf at a time, annoyed, like it personally offended her.

To play the role of Mrs. Shaw well, I cut off the hair I'd spent ten years growing and had it styled to match hers—long, sleek, perfectly straight.

The expensive silk dresses clung to me like they were alive—cold, slippery, suffocating. Like something crawling on my skin.

That night, I copied what I saw in the photo, tying on an apron and working in the kitchen.

The range hood buzzed overhead, pounding against my temples.

As I clumsily sliced the veggies, the blade slipped, sending a sharp pain through my fingertip. Blood spilled out, dotting the pale slices with bright red.

When Sebastian got home, I was still at it, plating the dish I'd tried to recreate from memory.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, barely spared my hand a glance, then looked at the food.

"Lexi never adds balsamic in this," he said coldly.

I instinctively pulled my finger back, the wound still throbbing, and a wave of nausea rose in my stomach.

He stepped closer, his long fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

There was no warmth in his eyes, just mockery. "Natalie, even imitation has its limits. No matter how much you try to look like her, you can't hide that poor, desperate vibe underneath."

My throat went dry, and I couldn't get a single word out.

In the middle of the night, a high fever hit me hard. Cold sweat soaked my skin as I sank helplessly into the soft mattress.

Half-awake, I felt a cool hand on my forehead, and then a bitter pill pressed between my lips, its taste spreading across my tongue.

I heard Sebastian sigh quietly in the darkness. The sound was so soft, I wondered if I'd imagined it.

At the very end of my diary, on that night when he was drunk, he pressed his lips close to my ear, his breath thick with alcohol, and whispered, "Natalie..."

He didn't call me Lexi.

It was the first time he'd ever said my name. My heart skipped a beat, and my fingers trembled.

My heart skipped a beat, and my fingers trembled.

Maybe there was still something worth holding onto after all.

By our second year together, I was tired of pretending and sick of living as someone else.

Sebastian took me to a business dinner.

The banquet hall reeked of perfume and booze, making me dizzy.

Alex Robbins, one of his business buddies, waved his drink and gave me a drunken, playful look.

"Mr. Shaw, the more I look at your wife, the more she reminds me of Ms. Lloyd from back in the day. Especially when she keeps her head down. You really are devoted, even your replacement is this stunning."

The laughter and chatter around us seemed to freeze.

My nails dug deep into my palm, the sting kept me grounded. I wanted to bolt, but my legs felt glued to the floor.

Sebastian paused, his hand still gripping the glass. He turned, his gaze sliced toward Alex, and his voice was deep and sharp as a knife.

"Mr. Robbins, you've had too much to drink. She's my wife, Natalie. She's not anyone's shadow."

In that instant, my heart pounded like it was trying to burst out of my chest.

I went back to my studio, the only place in the Shaw mansion that wasn't shaped by Lexi's style.

I ripped off those pale blue dresses and pulled on an old, paint-splattered T-shirt. No more pretending to dance ballet like her.

Instead, I grabbed my palette and smeared color wildly across the massive canvas.