Chapter 1

The drive to Ethan's away game felt electric.

Three years.

Three secret years with Ethan Vance, my younger brother Noah's best friend.

I smiled, gripping the steering wheel of my Audi.

The city lights of New York faded behind me, replaced by the dark stretch of highway.

Beside me on the passenger seat, a small, elegantly wrapped box held a vintage Heuer Autavia, the exact one Ethan had pointed out in a magazine months ago, saying he'd get it one day.

Today was that day. Our anniversary.

I'd booked the presidential suite at the team hotel. Champagne on ice, his favorite steakhouse for dinner after the match. A perfect surprise.

He thought I was tied up with a Hayes Construction project launch. He wouldn't expect me.

My heart beat faster with anticipation.

I imagined his surprise, then that slow, charming smile spreading across his face.

The one that always made my stomach flip.

The hotel finally appeared, a modern glass tower against the night sky.

I pulled into the valet, my excitement bubbling.

I grabbed the gift and my overnight bag, a nervous flutter in my chest.

This was it.

The lobby was bustling with team staff and a few fans.

I spotted the team manager and gave him a polite nod, heading straight for the elevators, key card already in hand from my pre-check-in.

Suite 1502. Top floor.

The elevator doors opened onto a quiet, carpeted hallway.

I walked towards our suite, ready to unlock the door and find him, probably lounging after a team meeting.

Then I saw them.

Down the hall, near a service elevator, stood Ethan.

My Ethan.

But he wasn't alone.

He was carrying a woman.

A disheveled, dark-haired woman, her head lolling against his shoulder. Sophia Dubois. His college ex.

My breath caught.

My brother, Noah, was there too, his face tight with distress. He was trying to block Ethan's path, his voice a low, urgent hiss.

"Ethan, what are you doing? You can't just-"

Ethan brushed past him, his jaw set.

"Sophia was drugged at a party, Noah. This is the only way to help her. I can't just leave her."

He shifted her weight, his movements surprisingly gentle with her.

He fumbled with a key card to a room just a few doors down from the suite I'd booked.

Noah looked frantic.

"And Olivia? What about her?"

My name.

My name on Noah's lips, laced with panic.

Ethan didn't even pause. He didn't look at Noah.

His voice was cold, flat. Utterly devoid of the warmth I knew.

"Olivia?"

He almost scoffed.

"She was just a stand-in. Convenient."

He glanced at Sophia, his expression softening as he looked at her unconscious face.

"She even looks a bit like Sophia."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

Stand-in. Convenient.

My meticulously planned surprise, the vintage watch, the three years of stolen moments, secret smiles, whispered promises – all of it crashed down around me.

I stood frozen, hidden by a recess in the hallway, the gift box slipping from my numb fingers. It hit the carpet with a soft thud.

Noah's voice rose, sharp with disbelief and a desperate attempt to make Ethan see.

"A stand-in? You've been hung up on Sophia since freshman year! Everyone knew it!"

My mind reeled. Freshman year. That was before me. Long before me.

Then Noah, bless his panicked, loyal heart, delivered the final, shattering blow.

He wasn't trying to hurt me more; he was trying to expose Ethan's core lie, the one Ethan had apparently told *him* to justify stringing me along.

"Olivia only gave you the time of day because she thought you were the hero who pulled her from that horrific I-95 pile-up! The one who saved her life!"

My blood ran cold. The car wreck. Years ago. The fire, the twisted metal.

"But that wasn't even you, Ethan!" Noah almost shouted, his voice cracking. "That was Liam Peterson! You were out of state at a tournament that whole week! Liam Peterson saved her!"

Liam Peterson.

Liam. Noah's other friend. The quiet, brilliant one.

The world tilted.

The man I'd pursued, the man I'd built my entire relationship with, believing he was my selfless savior from that fiery car wreck... it wasn't Ethan.

I remembered the chaos of that night.

The smell of smoke and gasoline.

The crushing pain.

Then, a strong hand, a voice cutting through the fog.

I'd only remembered a distinctive university athletics jacket, the dark blue with the crimson trim of their tennis team.

And a loose button, clutched in my hand when I woke up in the hospital. A crimson button with the university crest.

Ethan had that jacket. He wore it often in those early days when I first started noticing him, after Noah introduced us.

He never corrected me. He let me believe. He encouraged it with his silence, with his acceptance of my awed gratitude.

My relationship, my love, was built on a lie.

A lie he actively participated in.

And I was just a substitute for Sophia.

A convenient placeholder who resembled the woman he truly obsessed over.

I remembered his touch, often perfunctory, almost dutiful.

The way his eyes would sometimes glaze over during our most intimate moments.

I'd excused it as stress from his tennis career, his ambition.

Now, I saw it for what it was.

He was thinking of Sophia.

The raw, almost desperate emotion I'd just seen him show her, carrying her so carefully, his face etched with concern – he'd never once looked at me like that.

Never.

The pain was a vise around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.

I turned, stumbling back towards the main elevators, leaving the fallen gift, leaving everything.

The ride down was a blur.

The lobby, once a place of excited anticipation, now felt like a stage for my public humiliation, even though no one knew.

But I knew.

And that was enough.