Chapter 1

After eight years of dating, I finally met my boyfriend’s childhood best friend.

The moment he saw me, he blurted out, "Holy shit, the resemblance is uncanny."

Then, realizing his mistake, he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth and shot a panicked look at my boyfriend.

My boyfriend squeezed my hand, leaning in to whisper, "Don't mind him. He’s always been an idiot."

Leaning against his shoulder, I asked with a smile, "Resemblance to what?"

The friend glanced at us, his tone casually reckless. "To his ex-girlfriend."

I laughed it off, thinking it was just a bad joke.

Julian and I had been together for eight years. We were each other’s first loves. There was no ex-girlfriend.

But that night, Julian’s phone lit up on the coffee table.

A notification from his best friend popped up on Snapchat:

"So she really is the replica? You weren't kidding, she looks exactly like Sophia."

Staring at the screen, my hand shook so badly I almost dropped my glass.

The ice-cold water spilled over my fingers, the chill seeping straight through my skin and into my chest.

The screen dimmed, then flashed again.

It wasn't a hallucination.

My throat tightened as if someone were squeezing it.

Eight years.

More than two thousand days and nights.

I had been by his side since I was eighteen. From college campus to the corporate world, from naive teenagers to working professionals.

I thought we were each other's forever.

But in the end, I was just a placeholder?

The phone vibrated again.

Another message popped up next to his friend’s avatar:

"Julian, are you serious? You're actually going to marry her?"

"What about Sophia? I thought she was the one that got away, your ultimate obsession."

Sophia.

Who the hell was Sophia?

With freezing fingers, I entered his passcode and opened the chat.

I scrolled up.

"Julian, I saw Sophia a few days ago. She asked about you."

"Did you know she’s back in the country? She’s right here in the city."

"Why did you guys even break up back then? I honestly thought you two would get married."

"Your little girlfriend looks so much like her. You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Every single text felt like a physical blow.

Stabbing my eyes. Ripping my heart open.

I tapped on his friend Carter’s profile and went to his Instagram.

Three days ago, there was a group photo.

The caption read: "Welcome home, Sophia!"

Right in the center of the photo, a woman was surrounded by a crowd.

She wore a camel trench coat, her smile gentle, her features elegant and refined.

She did look like me. Fifty, maybe sixty percent.

Especially her eyes—almond-shaped, curving upward when she laughed. It was like looking at a mirror image of my own eyes.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection for a long time.

The face staring back at me felt foreign.

It felt like this face didn't even belong to me.

The bathroom door pushed open.

Julian walked in. Seeing me dazed in front of the mirror, he asked casually, "What's wrong?"

I turned around, holding up his phone.

The screen was still bright.

The Snapchat thread was wide open.

"Explain this."

Julian’s eyes fell on the screen. His expression didn't change at all.

He didn't even look guilty.

He just glanced at it, reached out to take the phone, locked it, and slid it into his pocket.

"Carter was drunk. He’s talking nonsense."

"Nonsense?" My voice trembled. "He’s brought her up multiple times, Julian. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

He sighed, his tone patronizing, as if he were soothing a throwing-a-tantrum child. "Chloe, we’ve been together for eight years. You know what kind of man I am."

"Clearly, I don't." I stared into his eyes. "Who is she? Who is Sophia?"

Julian looked away, avoiding my gaze.

"Just an old friend."

"An old friend?" I let out a dry laugh. "Your best friend calls her the one that got away. He says I'm her substitute. Is that just an old friend to you?"

He went silent.

Silence was a confession.

The last shred of hope in my heart was crushed to pieces.

"Julian, look at me."

I reached out, grabbing his chin to force him to meet my eyes.

"Tell me. When you first pursued me, was it because I looked like her?"

"No," he answered instantly.

Too fast to be the truth.

I had known him for eight years. When he lied, he always answered instantly, without a second of hesitation.

"Then why have you never posted me on social media?"

This question had been buried in my heart for years.

In our eight years together, he had never posted a single picture of me on Instagram.

He never brought me up to his colleagues.

I had met his friends only a handful of times. Today was the very first time I had met his childhood best friend.

Every time I asked why, he would say, "Our relationship is between us. We don't need to perform for the world."

And I had believed him.

I thought he was just private, mature, and reserved.

Now I realized it wasn't reservation.

It was because I was an embarrassment he wanted to keep hidden.

"Chloe, stop being dramatic," Julian frowned.

*Dramatic.*

That was his favorite word.

When I was sad, I was overreacting. When I was angry, I was being dramatic. When I cried, I was emotionally unstable.

In his eyes, every emotion I had was a mistake.

"I want to meet her," I said.