Chapter 1

Prologue:

I spent years by Ethan Vance’s side, only to be rewarded with the news of him marrying his high school sweetheart.

He wanted me to keep staying in our apartment, playing the role of his dirty little secret, and act like complete strangers whenever we crossed paths in public.

I had planned to tell him that I was pregnant.

Instead, a single phone call from Chloe Bailey sent him rushing out the door without a backward glance.

Then came the shove down the stairs, tearing away the life growing inside me forever.

That was the moment I finally broke free. I vanished from his world completely.

Maya's POV

Ethan Vance was getting married. But the bride wasn't me, the woman who had lived with him for years.

I had brought up visiting his family to meet his parents five separate times.

Every single time, he pushed it away: "Just wait a little longer. The timing isn't right."

So I waited. I kept the porch light on for him late into the night and made sure a warm mug of hot cocoa was ready on the counter.

Whenever he drank too much at business dinners, I stayed up by the bed, gently wiping his face with a warm towel over and over again.

The woman he was marrying was Chloe Bailey—the high school sweetheart he had carried a torch for ever since they were teenagers.

It was his mother who personally shared the news with me. She even asked me to help pick out the wedding favors.

I planned to bring one of those gift boxes back to our place and make him look me in the eye to explain it.

I had worked as an investigative journalist at our media outlet for years, chasing down hard-hitting, deeply reported stories.

Off the clock, I was involved with the head of the Vance Corporation, and we had been together for quite some time.

From the very beginning, our relationship had been kept entirely in the dark.

He never once brought me home to his family, and whenever I was around my coworkers, I never uttered a single word about him.

The only connection was Mrs. Vance, an elder I had interviewed when covering the business beat years ago. Somehow, we grew closer over time, and she began inviting me out for coffee on a regular basis.

She would bring me jars of homemade jam from her kitchen. Once, when I pulled an all-nighter covering breaking news, she even dropped off sandwiches for me.

Several times, the truth about Ethan and me sat on the tip of my tongue, but I always swallowed it back down.

I kept telling myself to wait for a better moment. I wanted Ethan to be the one to speak up first so it wouldn't look like I was throwing myself at his family.

That afternoon at the café, Mrs. Vance slid several sample gift boxes across the table, smiling warmly as she asked for my input.

Her fingertip tapped over the boxes one by one. "These are mints, and these are artisanal chocolates. Taste them and tell me which one you like best."

She chuckled softly to herself before continuing. "His father and I tried setting him up with so many girls over the years, but Ethan refused to meet a single one. I honestly thought he planned on staying single forever. But now, he brought someone home all on his own."

"Who is she?" I asked.

"Her name is Chloe Bailey, an old classmate from his high school days. He told us he’s loved her for years."

My hand shook against the porcelain cup. Coffee splashed over the back of my hand.

I didn't even feel the heat.

Mrs. Vance picked out the embossed gift box and pressed it gently into my palm. "These are delicious. Take them home and try them. As soon as we set the date, I'll make sure you're the very first person to get an invitation."

I clutched the box until my knuckles turned stark white, forcing my lips to hold a faint smile.

A sudden wave of panic washed over me, terrified that she might notice how drained the color was from my face.

"Congratulations," I whispered.

Mrs. Vance held my hand and chatted for another half hour, drifting from stories about Ethan's stubborn streak as a little boy to how lovely her future daughter-in-law was. "She has the sweetest smile. Standing next to Ethan, they look like a match made in heaven."

I nodded along with every word.

During those thirty minutes, I hardly dared to open my mouth.

If I spoke, there would suddenly be a third person wedged into their picture-perfect romance—and that woman would be me.

Before we parted ways, Mrs. Vance patted the back of my hand. "Make sure you stop by the house for a visit when you have time."

It wasn't until I stepped out of the café that a sharp, burning sting flared across my skin. The spilled coffee had left a raw, angry red patch.

I returned to our apartment.

More than half of the closet was occupied by his crisp button-downs and tailored suits. My clothes were crammed into the very bottom drawer.

The wedding favor rolled out of my bag, its pale gold foil glinting so brightly it made my eyes ache.

I pulled out my phone, typed "Chloe Bailey" into the search bar, and let my thumb hover over the glass for a long time before tapping down.

Her profile was completely public. Her avatar showed her smiling brightly with crinkling eyes.

I scrolled down post by post, my thumb moving slower and slower.

When I hit a post from last March, my finger froze.

That was the night of my birthday. Ethan had claimed an emergency board meeting had come up and caught a late flight out of town.

I had waited all alone in the apartment until past midnight, rewarded only with a dry text: *Happy birthday. I'll make it up to you later.*

On that exact day, Chloe had shared a photo of a car trunk overflowing with fresh white roses, captioned: *A long-awaited reunion.*

This past May, Ethan claimed he had a week-long business trip out of state while I stayed home hunched over my laptop rushing deadlines. Every night, he would call for barely ten minutes before saying, "Still wrapping things up here, got to go," and hanging up.

During those exact days, Chloe posted twice—once with tickets to a film festival, and once showing a late-night room service breakfast at an upscale coastal resort.

Just last Wednesday, he had told me over the phone, "I'm pulling an all-nighter at the office tonight, don't wait up."

That very afternoon, Chloe had posted a picture holding tickets to a private art gallery exhibition.

I lined up those three dates in my head.

Whenever he claimed he was working late, traveling on business, or stuck in meetings, I had never doubted him once.

For every excuse he gave, I kept the lights on at home and made sure a hot mug was waiting.

It turned out the hot cocoa I prepared was just the time I bought him while he waited for someone else.

The screen dimmed, flashed back on with a notification, and went dark again.

Once, I had half-jokingly asked him, "Does your family look down on me because I'm just a journalist?"

He had ruffled my hair, offering the same tired line: "Just wait a little longer. The timing isn't right."

Back then, I actually believed him. I even worried that he was caught in a difficult spot.

I stared at the gold box on the couch until the room went completely dark and the embossed patterns dissolved into the shadows.

I was done waiting for him to find the right time.

I had kept the lights burning in this place for years. Today, he was going to say it out loud himself.

The lock clicked.

Ethan flipped on the living room light and walked over carrying a bakery bag, setting it down on the table. "I passed by that corner bakery and picked up your favorite cheesecake."

He reached out to brush my cheek, but before his fingers could graze my skin, I turned away and knocked his hand aside.

His hand hung frozen in midair. "What's wrong?"

"Your mother asked me out for coffee today," I said quietly. "She told me you've loved someone since high school. That you've carried a torch for her all these years."

His hand slowly dropped to his side.

I picked up the gold gift box and slid it across the table, stopping right by his fingers.

I lifted my chin and looked straight into his eyes, measuring every single word. "Ethan Vance, is this your wedding favor?"