Chapter 1
In the third year of Vero's marriage to Andrew Cole, his first love came back.
She heard the news from his secretary. She was in the kitchen at the time, trying to make his favorite dish, braised meatballs, when her phone vibrated. She wiped her hands and unlocked the screen. Parma’s message popped up: [Madam, Miss Shein’s flight arrives at Govaron at 3 p.m. today. Mr. Cole is personally going to pick her up.]
There was a photo attached. It was a blurry airport surveillance screenshot. But she could still make out Andrew’s tall figure standing at the arrivals gate, holding a woman tightly in his arms, as if he wanted to press her into his very bones.
The woman wore a white dress, her long hair falling to her waist. Her profile was cool and delicate, like a gardenia flower still touched with morning dew.
Tamara Shein. The woman Andrew had kept in his heart, hidden away for seven years.
The spoon in Vero's hand slipped into the pot. Scalding broth splashed onto the back of her hand, instantly turning it red. She didn’t feel the pain. She just stared at the photo for a long time, until the screen went dark and reflected her own pale face.
They didn’t look alike. Not at all.
Andrew probably married Vero only because she had a tear-shaped mole beneath her left eye like Tamara. The placement was similar, but the shape was different. Tamara's was small and round, while Vero's was slightly elongated, like a teardrop about to fall.
Vero raised her hand and touched that mole. Every time Andrew kissed her, he would close his eyes, his lips always landing precisely there. Gentle, almost reverent, as if performing some kind of ritual.
Turned out, he wasn’t kissing her.
He was kissing his first love.
Andrew didn't come home until eleven that night. Vero was sitting on the living room sofa, waiting for him. The main lights were off, and only a floor lamp bathed her in soft yellow light.
He walked in, wrapped in the scent of night dew and a faint trace of tobacco. When he saw her, he paused for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. As he loosened his tie, he asked, "Still up?"
His voice was as cold as ever, giving nothing away.
"I was waiting for you," Vero said, standing up and taking his suit jacket. She caught a faint whiff of perfume. It was a chilly floral note, not her usual woody scent.
It was the scent Tamara liked.
"Do you need something?" he asked, heading upstairs, his tone tired and distant.
Vero followed behind him, hesitating a little. "Tamara's back?"
Andrew stopped halfway up the stairs. He didn't turn around, but she saw his back tense up instantly.
"Yeah," he replied after a moment, then kept going. "It's just as well you found out. Tamara hasn't been well these past few years. She'll be staying in the west side from now on. Take care of her."
The west side of the villa, with its own entrance and a little garden, was a space he'd created just for Tamara. Three years ago, when the place was being renovated, Vero'd asked out of curiosity who it was meant for. He'd stared off into the distance, his eyes hollow, and replied, "A friend."
Now she understood. Tamara wasn't just a friend. She was the true lady of this home, always meant to return.
And herself? She was just a guest, never meant to stay.
"Alright," Vero replied, keeping her voice calm. "Is there anything I should get ready for her? What kind of bedding does she prefer? And what about her tableware?"
Andrew finally turned around, towering over her from the stairs. The crystal chandelier threw soft light across his face, outlining those deep, handsome features like something out of a painting. But his eyes were always cold, like a mountain of snow that never melts.
For a moment, that icy mountain seemed to crack, showing a mess of emotions underneath. They were surprise, curiosity, and a hint of something Vero really didn't want to name... pity?
"You don't need to worry about any of that," he said. "The servant will handle it. Just... don't disturb her."
Don't disturb her?
With that single sentence, he drew a line between them, and locked in Vero's place in this house.
Vero nodded. "Got it."
Andrew looked at her for a few seconds as if he had something on his mind, but in the end, he just turned away. "Get some sleep."
He went to his study. In three years of marriage, he rarely spent the night in their bedroom, except when he had to fulfill his marital obligations. Vero used to think it was just work keeping him away, but now she understood the master bedroom still carried someone else's shadow, and he didn't want to set foot in it.
Vero went back to the bedroom, took a shower, and lay down on the cold bed. The burn on the back of her hand still ached. She found some ointment and slowly applied it, the minty scent icy, so cold it pierced right to the bone.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a voice call from her best friend, Riley Bar.
"Vero! Did you see? Tamara's back! Holy shit, that bastard Andrew actually went to pick her up! The internet's going crazy. Everyone's saying they were hugging at the airport, like old flames rekindled! Are you okay?"
Riley sounded frantic, and the background was noisy. She was probably at some bar.
"I'm fine," Vero said, even managing a smile. "Honestly, I saw this coming, didn't I?"
Back when she married Andrew, the whole city knew she was just the backup option. Tamara went abroad chasing her dream of becoming a dancer, and Andrew waited for her, but she never came back. His family pressured him into an arranged marriage, and he ended up picking Vero, just because she looked a little like Tamara.