Chapter 2

I threw up twice before 8 AM. I fixed my makeup, pinned my hair, and walked into Ashford Luxe like my world hadn't ended. Vivienne Sterling was sitting in my office. In my chair. Wearing my pearls. The pearls Callum gave me on our first anniversary. The ones I'd only ever worn at home, because he said public jewelry "invited questions." "Oh, these?" She touched them and smiled. Blonde. Flawless. Like she'd stepped out of a perfume ad. "Callum said you wouldn't mind. You never wore them anyway." I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth. "Shall we start the fitting, Miss Sterling?" "Actually, I already know what I want." She slid a sketchbook across my desk. My sketchbook. Leather cover. Worn corners. The one I'd kept since I was nineteen. She flipped to a page near the back. A gown with a long lace train and tiny embroidered wrens hidden in the sleeves. My dream wedding dress. The one I'd drawn the night of our courthouse wedding, when I wore a gray work dress and Callum signed the papers without looking at me. "Callum found this in your drawer," Vivienne said. "He said it was perfect for me. Minus the silly little birds, of course." Something inside my chest caved in. He gave her my dream. Not just my husband. Not just my pearls. My dream. "Of course," I heard myself say. "No birds." The fitting took two hours. I measured her waist while she talked about their honeymoon in Santorini. I pinned her hem while she described how Callum "cried" when she came back. Callum never cried for me. Halfway through, the nausea hit. I turned away, pressing a hand to my mouth. Vivienne's eyes narrowed in the mirror. "Are you sick?" "Something I ate." She watched me a second too long. Then the door opened, and Callum walked in. Vivienne's face transformed. Tears welled up instantly. She held out her finger—a single drop of blood. "Baby, she stuck me with a pin. On purpose. She's been cold to me all morning." "That's not true—" Callum grabbed my wrist. Hard. "Apologize." I looked at him. At the man I'd made breakfast for, every morning, for five years. "Callum. You know me." "I know you're jealous." His grip tightened. "Apologize. Now." The whole atelier was watching. My assistants. The seamstresses. Women I trained. "I'm sorry, Miss Sterling," I said quietly. Vivienne smiled into his chest. That night was the Ashford family dinner. I'd attended every one for five years—seated at the end, introduced as "our designer." Tonight, his mother Margaret stood and raised her glass. "To Vivienne. The daughter-in-law I always prayed for." Everyone clapped. Callum kissed Vivienne's hand. I sat beside the family accountant and the chauffeur's wife. Nobody looked at me. Why would they? To them, I was nobody. I slipped out before dessert. In the parking garage, I finally broke. I leaned against a concrete pillar and sobbed until I couldn't breathe. "Here." A white handkerchief appeared in front of my face. I looked up. Dark hair. Sharp suit. Kind eyes that didn't belong in that family's house. Theo Blackwell. CEO of Blackwell House. Callum's biggest rival. "I don't need your pity," I said. "It's not pity. It's a business card." He smiled slightly. "Blackwell House would pay triple for Wren Hale. Whenever you're ready to stop being wasted." "I'm under contract." "Contracts end." He tucked the card into my coat pocket. "So do bad men's luck." He walked away before I could answer. At home, my phone buzzed. Unknown number again. V: Charity gala tomorrow. Callum's driving us both. Wear something forgettable. You're good at that. I put my hand on my stomach. Twenty-nine days, baby. Just twenty-nine more days.