Chapter 1

The plane ride felt endless, but the moment I stepped out of the airport and into the familiar city air, a rush of excitement washed over me.

Three years at art school had felt like an eternity, and all I could think about was seeing my uncle Julian.

The taxi ride to his sprawling home, the place where he had raised me since my parents died, was filled with memories.

I pictured his welcoming smile, the scent of turpentine and old oil paint in his studio, the way he would ruffle my hair and call me his "little artist."

I paid the driver and practically ran to the front door, using the key he' d given me years ago.

"Julian, I'm home!" I called out, my voice echoing in the grand foyer.

Silence.

That was the first thing that felt wrong.

The house was always filled with the sound of classical music or Julian working in his studio.

I walked further in, toward the main living area that overlooked the garden.

And then I saw them.

Julian was standing by the large glass doors, his back to me.

In front of him was a woman I didn't recognize.

She was beautiful, with long blonde hair, and she was wearing one of Julian' s expensive silk robes.

Her hands were on her stomach, a stomach that was unmistakably round with pregnancy.

Julian' s hands were covering hers, his head bent down as if he were whispering to the child inside.

He looked up and kissed her, a slow, tender kiss that I had only ever dreamed of receiving myself.

The world stopped.

The air left my lungs.

My suitcase, filled with paintings I had made for him, slipped from my grasp and hit the marble floor with a loud thud.

They both turned, startled.

Julian's eyes widened when he saw me.

"Amelia," he said, his voice a mix of shock and something else I couldn't place.

Guilt.

The woman, Clara, smiled sweetly, a victor' s smile.

"You must be Amelia. Julian has told me so much about you."

I expected to shatter.

I expected to scream, to cry, to demand an explanation for this betrayal.

But I didn't.

Instead, a strange, chilling calm settled over me.

I simply nodded.

"It's nice to meet you, Clara," I said, my voice even.

"And congratulations to you both."

Julian stared at me, his brow furrowed in confusion.

He expected tears.

He expected a scene.

I knew he did, because in another life, that' s exactly what I had given him.

A memory, sharp and brutal, flashed through my mind.

It felt more real than a dream.

In it, I had seen this same scene and I had fallen apart.

I had screamed at Clara, accused Julian of abandoning me, and declared my love for him in a desperate, pathetic plea.

The fight that followed was ugly.

It was the beginning of a war I had waged, a war to win him back.

I had played every card, used every trick, and lost everything.

I remembered the final, horrible scene of that other life: me, broken and alone, watching from a distance as Julian, Clara, and their perfect child built a life on the ruins of my own.

I had lost not just him, but my art, my self-respect, and finally, my will to live.

That memory was a ghost, a warning.

It had cost me everything to learn that lesson.

This time, I would not make the same mistake.

This time, I would let go.

"Amelia, I was going to tell you," Julian started, taking a step toward me, his hands outstretched.

I took a step back, a small, simple movement that stopped him cold.

I looked at him, truly looked at him.

He was still the most handsome man I had ever seen, his dark hair streaked with a bit of silver, his artist's hands strong and capable.

But the adoration I once felt was gone, replaced by a cold, hard clarity.

"There's nothing to tell," I said, forcing a small, polite smile.

"You're engaged, and you're going to be a father. I'm happy for you, Uncle."

The word "Uncle" felt deliberate, a line drawn in the sand.

I watched his gaze flicker toward Clara, who was now clinging to his arm, her expression one of pure devotion.

He gently squeezed her hand, his focus entirely on her, on her comfort, on their future.

In that moment, I was just a spectator, an outsider in the house I once called home.

I remembered all his promises, whispered to a lonely, orphaned girl.

"You're the only one who matters, Amelia."

"I'll never leave you."

He had built a world for me, a safe haven where I was the center.

Now I saw that world for what it was: a beautiful, gilded cage.

And he had just handed the key to someone else.

"Clara will be living here now, of course," Julian said, his voice a little strained.

"And the baby... well, you'll be like a big sister. A built-in aunt."

A built-in aunt.

The role was a demotion, a painful slap in the face.

But I just nodded again, my calm exterior a perfect mask for the storm inside.

"That sounds lovely," I said.

"I'm sure we'll all be very happy together."