Chapter 1

At my engagement party, Alex Pollard's first love, Lacey Lane, crashed in, wearing the wedding dress I designed.

Alex said coolly to me, "Get out yourself, or do you want me to have someone escort you?"

I took off my ring, turned around, and left.

Three months later, outside my studio, he was drenched from the rain all night. "Maeve, I'm sorry."

I held my cup of coffee, not even sparing him a glance.

The man beside me, tying my shoelaces, looked up. "He's blocking the light. Get him out of my sight."

Alex was floored. "Mr. Sinclair?"

Ethan Sinclair ignored him and looked up at me. "Maeve, how about fish and chips for lunch?"

*****

The moment Lacey appeared at the entrance of the hall, the whole place went dead silent.

She was dressed in a white wedding dress, the train trailing behind her, tiny crystals catching the light from the chandeliers.

I knew that dress all too well. I'd spent three months sketching it, revised it seventeen times, and sewn over 3,000 stitches myself.

Lacey walked over in her high heels. Her eyes were red, tears hanging from her lashes. "Alex, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. But when I heard that you were getting engaged, I couldn't stop myself."

Alex's hand froze around his wine glass.

Alex's mother, Myla Pollard, hurried over and whispered to me, "Maeve, why don't you go to the lounge for a bit?"

I didn't move.

There were over two hundred guests, half of them big shots from Kingsford, the other half business partners of the Pollard family.

Every single one of them was staring at me. Some pitied me, some were here for the gossip, but most wanted to see how things would play out.

Alex looked at Lacey, and there was a softness in his eyes I'd never seen before.

For three years, the way he looked at me was always cold and impatient.

I used to think he was a cold person by nature.

But it turned out that was not true.

He reserved all his warmth for another woman.

"Maeve." Alex turned to me, and the softness in his eyes disappeared in a heartbeat, leaving nothing but coldness. "Take off the ring and walk out. Don't make me call security."

He said it softly, like it was some trivial matter.

Everyone sucked in a breath.

Alex's father, Shiloh Pollard, cleared his throat. Myla's face went pale, but nobody spoke up.

Lacey stood nearby, tears still clinging to her cheeks, but there was a hint of smugness in her eyes.

I stared at Alex. I had been with this man for three years.

When he worked late, I'd bring him midnight snacks. When he got tipsy at business dinners, I'd warm milk to help him feel better.

When he was in a bad mood, I'd keep him company till sunrise. Even when he grabbed my hand and called me by another woman's name, I acted like I didn't notice.

I thought if I gave him my heart, he'd give me his back.

But in the end, it was me fooling myself.

I took off the ring and set it down on the champagne tower.

"Let me ask you one last thing," I said. "That night you were drunk and grabbed my hand, you called out 'Lacey.' Was it her you meant?"

Alex froze.

Lacey's expression shifted.

I didn't wait for his answer, but turned and marched out.

As I walked away, I could hear Myla's furious yelling, Shiloh's harsh scolding, and the guests gossiping in hushed voices.

"Who is she? Why did she leave after asking that question?"

"I heard she's a nobody designer, trying to land herself a spot in the Pollard family."

"She was a stand-in. Now that the woman Alex really loves is back, of course, she has to make way."

"God, that's rough."

The door closed behind me, shutting out all the noise.

The hallway stretched on, empty and silent, with only the echo of my heels striking the marble floor, step after step.

It wasn't until I reached the elevator that my tears finally spilled over.

It wasn't because I was heartbroken.

I felt so foolish.

Three years, over a thousand days and nights, and all I got was being someone's stand-in.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside.

I was the only one there. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup was smeared, my eyes were red, and I looked like a mess, almost pathetic.

The elevator started to descend slowly.

When it reached the first floor, the doors slid open.

A man was standing outside.

He was dressed in a sharp suit, his features cold and commanding. He was at least six feet one, and the aura around him was icy. Two assistants stood behind him, each holding a stack of documents.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw me.

I kept my head down and rushed out, hoping no one would catch a glimpse of how pathetic I looked.

"Wait." A hand stopped me.

I looked up.

The man handed me a dark blue handkerchief with water lilies embroidered at the corners. It was handmade, and I recognized the stitch right away. That technique had been lost for ages.

"Here, wipe your face," he said.

I took the handkerchief without thinking, and then stood there, stunned.

He then strode into the elevator, his assistants following behind.

I could faintly hear him say to his assistants, "Look into who she is."