The elevator doors opened to chaos. Movers were carrying my custom Italian sofa through the penthouse entrance. The one I'd spent three months selecting. The one that perfectly complemented the marble floors I'd chosen tile by tile. "Excuse me." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "What's happening here?" A burly man with a clipboard barely glanced at me. "Moving job for Mr. Frost. You'll need to clear the area, miss." Miss. Not Mrs. Frost-to-be. Not the woman whose architectural firm had designed every inch of this space. Just miss. My phone was already in my hand, Julian's number dialing before I could think. It rang four times. When he finally answered, I heard laughter in the background. Female laughter. "Vivienne, I was going to call you—" "Why are there movers in our penthouse?" I watched them wrap my Baccarat chandelier in brown paper. "Julian, that's our home." The silence stretched too long. "It's complicated," he finally said. "Elise is back." Two words. That's all it took for three years to crumble. Elise Morgan. His first love. The woman who'd left for Paris before I ever met Julian. The ghost I'd competed with every single day of our relationship without even knowing I was in a race. "She needs a place to stay," Julian continued, his voice taking on that defensive edge I'd learned to recognize. "Just temporarily. You understand." I understood perfectly. I understood that the penthouse I'd designed—with the floor-to-ceiling windows facing east because Julian loved morning light, with the chef's kitchen because he claimed he wanted to cook for me, with the master suite that overlooked the city we were supposed to conquer together—was never really mine. It was always meant for her. "Where am I supposed to go?" I asked quietly. "You have your apartment still, don't you? Vivienne, don't make this difficult. Elise has been through so much. Her father's company collapsed. She has nothing." And I had everything, apparently. Except the man I'd planned to marry. "I designed this place for us." My hand pressed against the wall, feeling the texture I'd selected. "Every detail, Julian. Every single choice was for our future." "I know, and it's beautiful. That's exactly why Elise needs it right now. She needs beauty after everything she's lost. You're strong, Viv. You'll be fine." Strong. I'd heard that my whole life. Strong enough to raise myself when my parents died. Strong enough to build my career from nothing. Strong enough to be second choice and smile through it. I was so tired of being strong. "The wedding is in six weeks," I said. "We'll figure it out. I promise. I just need some time to help Elise get back on her feet." A mover bumped into me carrying a box labeled "Master Bedroom—Linens." The Egyptian cotton sheets I'd bought for our wedding night. I'd had them monogrammed with our initials. "How long have you known she was coming back?" The question burned coming out. Julian hesitated. "Two months." Two months. We'd gone cake tasting two months ago. I'd sent the final payment to the venue. I'd had my final dress fitting. He'd known the entire time. "I need to go," I whispered. "Vivienne, wait—" I hung up. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone. A woman appeared in the doorway then. Petite, delicate, with honey-blonde hair and the kind of fragile beauty that made men want to protect her. She wore a simple white dress that probably cost more than my car. Elise Morgan. In the flesh. "Oh!" She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes widening. "You must be Vivienne. Julian's told me so much about you." I doubted that very much. "This place is absolutely stunning," she continued, gliding into the space like she owned it. Because she did now, apparently. "You have such incredible taste. Julian said you designed it?" "For my wedding," I said flatly. Her smile faltered for just a second. Just long enough for me to see the calculation behind those doe eyes. "I'm so grateful," she said softly. "I promise I'll take excellent care of it. Julian said you'd understand. He said you were always so understanding." Understanding. Strong. Fine. I was none of those things. I was a fool. "Enjoy the penthouse," I said, walking toward the elevator. "I hope it brings you everything you're looking for." "Vivienne!" She called after me. "I really do hope we can be friends. Julian speaks so highly of you." The elevator doors closed on her perfect, lying face. I made it to the parking garage before the tears came. Great, gasping sobs that shook my whole body. I sat in my car and cried for the life I'd designed so carefully. The life that was never really mine. My phone buzzed. A text from Julian: "Thank you for being mature about this. I knew I could count on you." I stared at those words until they blurred. Then I opened my contacts and scrolled to a name I'd saved three months ago. Sebastian Hale. We'd met at a charity gala where I'd been introduced as Julian's fiancée and he'd been alone, watching the crowd with dark, assessing eyes. He'd given me his card. "If you ever need an architect for commercial projects," he'd said. But something in his gaze had suggested he meant something else entirely. I'd kept the card. I didn't know why. Now I did. I typed out a message before I could overthink it: "Is your offer still open?" Three dots appeared immediately. Then: "Which offer?" My fingers flew across the screen: "You said if I ever needed anything. I need a husband. Temporarily. Are you interested?" The dots appeared and disappeared three times. Finally: "My office. Tomorrow. 9 AM. We'll discuss terms." I dropped the phone in my lap and laughed. It came out slightly hysterical. Julian wanted me to be understanding? Fine. I'd be understanding enough to marry someone else.