Chapter 1

1.

Three days before the wedding, my half-a-million-dollar custom wedding gown was destroyed at the salon in Beverly Hills.

I was standing in front of the triptych mirror, admiring the Vera Wang masterpiece. The lace on the back took three months to craft, every single thread meticulously designed. My dad had waited six months for this dress, commissioning the head designer to create it just for me.

Then I heard a rip behind me.

When I turned, I saw Mia Vance holding a pair of tailor's scissors, a look of theatrical horror on her face. The back of the gown―from shoulder to waist―was sliced clean open.

"Oh my god!" she shrieked, her voice filled with a carefully measured dose of panic. "Clara, I was just trying to snip that loose thread for you, and my hand slipped―I'm so sorry!"

Her performance was terrifyingly perfect. Tears welled up in her eyes but didn't quite fall. That "I'm guilty but also helpless" expression was enough to convince anyone.

My fiancé, Aidan Prescott, showed up right at that moment. He quickly assessed the scene between Mia and me, and then he made his choice.

He took the scissors from Mia's hand, but when he turned to me, his expression had turned cold.

"It was just a loose thread," he said. "The dress is ruined, but it can be fixed. What's important is that Mia was trying to help. She didn't do it on purpose."

I walked past him and into the dressing room to change back into my clothes. I couldn't stand to be there for another second.

…

But just as I was about to leave, I heard Mia start to cry.

"Aidan… she must be furious with me… everything I do is wrong…"

Through the crack in the door, I saw Aidan go to comfort her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He never even looked in my direction.

Only when I walked out did Aidan notice me. He rushed over and grabbed my wrist.

"You can't just leave. Mia feels so guilty about your dress, and you're not even going to say a word?"

I looked at his face. It was a face I had known since childhood, but now it felt as foreign as an actor's mask.

"This wasn't just any dress," I said calmly. "My dad commissioned Vera Wang's head designer six months in advance to custom-make it for me. It was worth half a million dollars. It was one of a kind."

"She cut it open with a pair of scissors and didn't even offer a sincere apology. What do you want me to say? 'It's okay, as long as you're happy'?"