Chapter 1

I was the original muse who got replaced, cast aside like yesterday’s news.

Five years after leaving the country, I ran straight into Ethan Vance in front of a luxury jewelry counter.

His eyes went wide with pure disbelief. Before I could take a step back, he lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, refusing to let go.

"Claire, you're finally back!"

"You came back for me, didn't you? Fine, I accept. Let’s get back together!"

Get back together?

I stared at him like he had lost his mind, completely dumbfounded by his self-absorbed monologue. Raising my left hand, I flashed the sparkling diamond ring resting on my middle finger.

"Get back together? Are you insane? I'm getting married."

"Want an invite to my wedding?"

Ethan froze, his expression faltering.

Then, his eyes drifted toward the glittering diamond displays lining the glass counter, and a helpless, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I get it. You're still angry with me. But this ring... you just bought it at the counter, didn't you? You don't need to make up cheap lies to trick me, Claire."

"I really, truly regret what I did."

I yanked my hand back once, then twice, but Ethan’s grip remained ironclad.

Letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh, I looked him dead in the eye.

"Mr. Vance, it's late."

"I believe your wife is waiting for you at home."

Right on cue, as if summoned by my words, Ethan's phone vibrated violently against his thigh. The caller ID flashed a name etched deep into my memory: Chloe Stone.

His little copycat. The replacement.

The phone kept buzzing incessantly. I furrowed my brow, glancing down at it.

"It’s awfully loud. Aren't you going to pick up?"

Ethan let out a frustrated breath. Having no choice, he loosened his grip and pulled the phone out, answering with obvious annoyance.

Taking full advantage of that split second, I snatched my wrist back, spun on my heel, and marched straight out the front doors toward my car parked at the curb.

The whole reason I had returned was to prepare for my upcoming wedding with my fiancé. I never imagined that barely six hours after my flight touched down, I’d cross paths with Ethan Vance.

As soon as I slid into the driver's seat, my phone chimed in my pocket.

I answered, and Raymond Fletcher's warm, soothing voice drifted through the speakers.

"How are you settling in? Is the jet lag hitting you hard? I had the design studio set up exactly the way you like it. If anything feels off or if you run into any trouble, just tell me right away."

"My flight lands tomorrow evening. Don't worry about picking me up at the airport; I'll come straight to you the moment I land."

I instinctively glanced up at the rearview mirror. Ethan was still standing frozen on the sidewalk. A short distance away, a familiar, slender silhouette was briskly walking toward him, gesturing frantically as if interrogating him.

None of it had anything to do with me anymore.

Calmly looking away, I stepped on the gas and smiled into the phone.

"Raymond, I'm not a little kid anymore. I can take care of myself."

"Just focus on wrapping up your meetings. Stop worrying about me 24/7."

The next morning, I pushed open the glass double doors of my new waterfront studio. Raymond had outdone himself. Every detail, from the potted greenery to the drafting tables, mirrored my studio in Milan down to the exact placement. I barely needed a transition period before seamlessly slipping into work mode.

I was hunched over my desk organizing design sketches when the intercom buzzed.

My assistant's voice sounded through the speaker, laced with hesitation.

"Ms. Vance—sorry, Ms. Jenkins, there's a Ms. Stone here. She doesn't have an appointment, but she's insisting on seeing you..."

Ms. Stone?

I paused, my pencil hovering over the paper. The number of people I knew with that surname could be counted on one hand.

I just hadn't expected her to track me down this fast.

"Send her in."

The office door swung open.

Framed against the sunlight streaming through the windows, a woman stepped inside. She shared a striking, sixty-to-seventy percent resemblance to my own face. Draped in an impeccably tailored designer trench coat, her makeup immaculate, she carried the unmistakable, practiced air of a high-society wife.

Looking at that face—at once intimately familiar and profoundly alien—my mind suddenly drifted back eight years ago to a scorching summer afternoon.

It had been at an underprivileged rural elementary school, where I was looking for a new student to sponsor.

A young girl wearing a faded, threadbare school uniform, her cheeks flushed red from the harsh mountain sun, had walked toward me against the light just like this. Her wide, clear eyes had been swimming with terror, vulnerability, and desperate hope.

And now, standing inside my high-end studio, Chloe Stone walked toward me with practiced elegance, a deeply loaded smile spreading across her lips.

"Claire. Long time no see."