Four Years and a West Village Watch

I'd poured millions into Sophia Evans, transforming a waitress into a chic SoHo gallery owner.

For four years, I funded her life, her mother's life-saving medical treatments, her brother's MIT education.

All because she was the spitting image of Ava, my beloved fiancée, who died seven years ago in a sailing accident I still blame myself for.

Our wedding, a high-society spectacle, was set for the next day.

Then, I overheard the devastating truth: her childhood sweetheart, Jake, had threatened to jump from her gallery balcony if she married me.

And Sophia? She agreed to publicly humiliate me, leaving me stranded at the altar, just to appease his fragile ego.

My carefully constructed world, built on Ava's ghost, imploded.

Later, at a charity gala, Jake crashed the event, screaming I'd stolen her; when I was knocked down in the chaos, Sophia rushed to his side, not mine.

The betrayal was complete; she'd played me, using my grief and my money.

I was done.

I immediately canceled the wedding, cut off every penny, and even aired her deceit to our stunned guests before escaping to Dublin to start fresh.

But months later, after her mother passed away and I learned Jake was still venomously manipulating her, I did something utterly unexpected, something that even shocked myself.

I offered Sophia a job.

In Dublin.

Working directly for me.

Chapter 1

I dropped four years' worth of cash on Sophia Evans.

She wasn't just a waitress with a photography habit-I made her a SoHo gallery owner. Her mom got life-saving treatments, her brother's at MIT, all thanks to me. Why? She was Ava's ghost, my Ava, dead seven years in a sailing accident I caused.

Then, Jake Miller, her old flame from Queens, barges in, sobbing about how I forced her into this gilded cage, threatening to jump if she marries me. Her mom and bro are practically begging her to ditch me for Jake.

I overheard it, a betrayal so sharp it stole my breath away. She agrees to humiliate me at the altar, all to appease Jake's fragile ego. They played me.

My world, built on a dead woman's memory, shattered. I'm done. I'm canceling the wedding, moving to Dublin, starting over.

But, days later, I see her with Jake, laughing, buying him an expensive watch with my credit card.

The Children's Hope Gala becomes a disaster when Jake crashes it, screaming about how I stole her. In the chaos, I hit my head, and she rushes to him.

That's it. Over.

Now, my mom calls. "End it, Ethan."

So, I tell her the wedding's off.

"Go to him," I said.

I'm shipping her everything to her gallery, tonight. Marc will oversee the moving, and everything is being shut down. No more free ride. What could be worse than that?

Then, I'll go get a drink...

Four years.

Four years I'd poured money into Sophia Evans.

It started when she was a waitress, a photography student at NYU.

Now, her mother, Carol, was alive, thanks to treatments I funded for a rare disease.

Her brother, Leo, was at MIT, studying engineering, on my dime.

Sophia herself? She had a gallery in SoHo. Successful.

All because she looked like Ava.

Ava Monroe, my Ava, dead seven years.

A sailing accident. A storm. I was at the helm.

The guilt never left. Sophia was a balm, a ghost I could almost touch.

The wedding was tomorrow.

A spectacle. High society.

For me, it was about cementing an image.

For Sophia, I suspected it felt like a gilded cage.

I was at her gallery, a sterile white box filled with her stark, beautiful photos.

Waiting to discuss some final detail, some triviality.

Then Jake Miller walked in.

Her childhood boyfriend. Queens. The old neighborhood.

He looked rough, desperate.

Tears streamed down his face.

"Sophia," he choked out, his voice raw. "You can't do this."

He grabbed her arm. "He forced you. I know it. Because of your mom, your brother."

"I couldn't give you what he did," Jake sobbed. "But I love you. I've always loved you."

He gestured wildly towards the gallery's high-floor balcony.

"If you marry him, I'll jump. I swear, I'll jump."

My stomach tightened. This was a performance. A manipulative one.

Carol and Leo were there too, drawn by the commotion.

Carol rushed to Jake. "Jake, dear, calm down."

She turned to Sophia. "Sophia, listen to him. He loves you. He's... suitable."

Leo nodded, looking at Jake with misguided sympathy. "Soph, please."

Sophia looked trapped, her eyes wide with fear for Jake.

"Okay, Jake," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Okay. I won't marry him."

I stood in the shadows of a partitioned office space, unseen. The blood drained from my face.

Jake, emboldened, pressed his advantage.

"That's not enough," he sneered, a flicker of triumph in his wet eyes.

"You have to humiliate him. Leave him at the altar. Publicly. For what he did to us."

Sophia hesitated, her face pale.

Then, a small, reluctant nod. "Alright, Jake."

I had arrived just moments before, intending to finalize seating charts.

Now, I'd witnessed a betrayal more complete than I could have imagined.

The entire exchange, every word, every tear, every threat.

My carefully constructed world, built around a ghost, was crumbling.

I didn't confront them. What was the point?

The image of Sophia's reluctant agreement, Jake's smug face, burned into my mind.

I turned, walked out silently, the gallery's chic emptiness mocking me.

My driver was waiting. I got in, my hands shaking.

"Drive," I said, my voice hoarse. Away from here.

I pulled out my phone, dialed my mother, Eleanor, in Europe.

She answered, her voice calm, sophisticated.

"Ethan? What is it? You sound dreadful."

"It's Sophia," I managed. "She's just... she was always just Ava. A substitute."

"The wedding. It's a mistake. A charade."

A pause on the line. "I know, Ethan," Eleanor said softly. "I've always known."

Her words, usually a source of irritation when she meddled, now felt like a lifeline.

"You need to end it, darling. For your own sake. Move on from Ava. Properly."

She was right. I was chasing a phantom, trying to recreate a past that was gone forever.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow.

I was done.

"I'm canceling the wedding," I told her. "I'm relocating. Dublin. Indefinitely."

AuraTech's European headquarters. A fresh start. Or an escape.

I hung up, the decision made.

When Sophia returned to the penthouse later that evening, I was in the study.

The city lights glittered below, indifferent.

She found me there, nursing a scotch.

"Ethan? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

I looked at her, really looked at her. The resemblance to Ava was still striking.

But it was just a surface. A beautiful, hollow echo.

"The wedding is off," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. Icy. Calm.

She blinked, a flicker of surprise, then annoyance.

"What are you talking about? Are you angry about something?"

She was used to my moods, my brooding silences. This, she thought, was just another one.

"No," I said. "It's just off."

I stood up, walked past her. "I'll be in the guest suite."

I didn't look back.

All intimacy, all communication beyond curt, unavoidable necessities, ceased from that moment.

The gilded cage had sprung open, but not in the way she'd planned.