Chapter 1
On our wedding day, Jonathan Reed ripped the veil from my head in front of every guest and placed it on his secretary.
"Emily's pregnant. She needs my name first. Once the baby's a month old, I'll divorce her and marry you."
The guests traded whispers, convinced that I, the lovesick fool who'd chased him for a year, would swallow my pride and take it.
But that very night, I accepted the arranged marriage my family had been pushing and vanished from Jonathan's world without a trace.
A year later, I was on my way to a charity gala with my husband. He got pulled into a last-minute meeting and sent someone from the local office to pick me up.
The last person I expected to see was Jonathan, standing right there after a full year apart.
"Perfect timing. Emily's maternity leave is almost up. You're on baby duty from here on out."
*****
The city skyline sharpened through the airplane window. Brighton City. The place where I'd spent a year drowning in hopeless love, only to be humiliated in front of everyone. Now it stretched out below me again.
My fingers drifted to the understated but priceless wedding ring on my left hand. The cool metal settled my restless thoughts.
Alexander Grant, my husband now, was powerful, steady, and the kind of man who treated me like the most precious thing in his world.
A cross-border video conference had him tied up, so he'd arranged for someone at the Brighton City branch to meet me at the airport and escort me to the gala.
"Ma'am, we'll be landing shortly. Please fasten your seatbelt," the flight attendant said with a gentle smile.
I nodded and drew a deep breath. Wheeling my carry-on through the VIP corridor, I scanned the crowd for a sign with my name on it—Seraphina.
Alexander knew I hated a fuss. He'd specifically asked them to keep things low-key.
My gaze swept the arrivals hall and locked onto one spot. A cluster of well-dressed men and women stood together, radiating the kind of arrogance that money couldn't quite justify.
One of them held a sign, and the name on it jolted through me—Seraphina. But the moment I recognized the face behind the sign, my feet stopped dead. The blood drained from my veins.
It was Jonathan.
He wore a tailored designer suit, every hair slicked into place, looking a few shades more ruthless than I remembered.
Clinging to his arm like a living accessory was Emily Lane. She had on a loose-fitting dress that couldn't quite hide how well she'd bounced back after the baby, and smugness radiated off her like perfume.
A few familiar faces flanked them, led by Ryan Osborn, the ringleader of Jonathan's entourage.
They craned their necks toward the exit, eyes bright with anticipation, clearly on the lookout for the mysterious Seraphina, wife of Grant Group's CEO.
I swallowed the storm rising in my chest, straightened my spine, and wheeled my luggage straight toward them. My heels clicked sharply against the floor, drawing their attention.
"Whoa, Jonathan, look! Isn't that your ex-fiancée, Seraphina?" Ryan spotted me first, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry, dripping with amusement and mock surprise.
Every pair of eyes snapped to me. Jonathan's face went blank for a split second before his brow furrowed. Something complicated flickered behind his eyes, then vanished under his usual mask of cold indifference.
His gaze traveled over me with a trace of something that might have been disappointment.
The cashmere sweater and wide-leg trousers I wore were miles from the dolled-up version of me he remembered, the girl who used to dress to the nines just to see him.
He let out a quiet scoff, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk that reeked of condescension. "Knew it. Knew you'd come crawling back eventually. Couldn't cut it out there on your own, huh?"