Chapter 1

The day Christian told me to give my wedding dress to Bianca, I was in the middle of the final fitting for the waistline.

He stood behind the three-way mirror, his tone as casual as if he were discussing something trivial.

"Bee's shooting a magazine cover next month. She said she really likes your dress."

I froze.

I had spent three months altering that dress by hand.

Our wedding had been rushed. We signed the papers at City Hall, not even a proper ceremony.

He had promised me, clearly, that we would have a real wedding this fall, at the Hamptons estate.

And now, he wanted to give my wedding dress to another woman.

"What am I supposed to wear?" I asked him.

Christian frowned.

"You're already married. Don't fight her on these superficial things."

In the mirror, the dress was a blinding white. The waistline fit perfectly, the skirt pooling on the floor like a cloud, like a dream I had been dreaming for three years.

And with one sentence, Christian crushed it under his heel.

The stylist beside me didn't dare move, still holding a pin.

I looked at Christian in the mirror. He wore a dark gray bespoke suit, his features carrying that Ivy League arrogance. He looked like he had no idea he had just said something utterly outrageous.

Slowly, I took off the veil and handed it to the stylist.

"Take it off."

The stylist hesitated. "Mrs. Van Ness, I haven't finished checking the back details yet."

"Don't bother."

I looked at Christian. "This dress. If she wants to wear it, fine."

Christian's expression relaxed slightly.

Then, I added, "Have her sign a loan agreement. The original designer is me. Usage is limited to the magazine studio shoot only. Not a single stitch is to be altered. Insurance coverage: one million dollars. Compensation for any damage based on the assessed value."

……

The relief on Christian's face vanished instantly.

"Claire, do you have to make things this ugly?"

I let out a short laugh.

"It's my property. Following standard procedure. Does that look ugly to you?"

Before he could answer, a soft voice drifted from the fitting room entrance.

"Chris, just drop it."

Bianca stood there.

She wore a light pink cashmere knit dress, her blonde hair loose, her eyes slightly red-rimmed.

Like she was the one who had been wronged.

"If Claire doesn't want to, it's fine. I just thought the dress was beautiful. I didn't expect it to cause a fight between you two."

Her mouth said to drop it, but her eyes were glued to the dress on my body.

Christian walked over to her immediately.

"It's not about you."

He looked back at me, his tone colder than before.

"Bee just moved back to New York. Her studio needs this cover urgently. Don't make her out to be complicated."

I watched them through the mirror.

One protecting her so naturally, the other playing the victim so expertly.

Suddenly, it all seemed ridiculous.

Three years ago, when Christian and I signed our marriage license at the Manhattan City Clerk's Office, he said the company had just closed its Series B funding and the wedding had to be low-key.

I wore a three-hundred-dollar white dress from Reformation. I didn't even have a proper bouquet.

He held my hand and said, "Claire, once I get through this busy period, I'll throw you the best wedding, I promise. At the Hamptons estate."

That wait lasted three years.

I waited for his tech company to stabilize. I waited for his mother to stop calling me "that girl from the Midwest" at charity galas. I waited until I had ground myself down from a nameless seamstress into Claire Van Ness, a woman capable of running her own atelier.

And finally, I waited for this one sentence.

"You're already married. Don't fight her on these superficial things."