Chapter 1

My weekend at my parents' house in Westchester was supposed to be relaxing.

But a call from a number I didn' t recognize on a Saturday afternoon changed that.

"Is this Gabrielle Fuller?" a man' s voice asked, sounding tired and annoyed.

"Yes, this is she. Who' s calling?"

"This is Mark from the HOA at your Brooklyn property. Ms. Fuller, we' ve received multiple complaints. Your wedding party has been going on for two straight nights. The music, the noise… it' s a serious disturbance."

I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips. Wedding party?

"I' m sorry, I think you have the wrong person," I said, completely confused. "I' m not married. I' m not even in Brooklyn right now."

Mark sighed heavily into the phone. "Ms. Fuller, please don' t play games. We have you on camera. The hallway is decorated. There are dozens of guests. Your neighbors are threatening to file a formal complaint with the city."

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of his words. It was impossible. I hadn' t been to my apartment in almost a year. It was my quiet escape, my first real asset, the one I' d bought with a down payment from my parents and a student loan I was still paying off.

"There must be a mistake," I insisted. "I' m single. I broke off my engagement two years ago. Can you describe what you' re seeing?"

"I can do better," Mark said, his voice tight with frustration. "I' m emailing you the security footage from the hallway camera right now. Check your inbox."

I hung up, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. My laptop was on the coffee table. I flipped it open, my hands shaking slightly as I logged into my email. An email from the HOA was waiting. Subject: Urgent - Noise Complaint & Unsanctioned Event.

I clicked the video link.

The screen loaded, and my blood ran cold. It was the hallway of my floor, but it was almost unrecognizable. White ribbons and cheap-looking flowers were taped to the walls. A tacky "Just Married" banner hung crookedly over my apartment door. People I' d never seen before were milling around, laughing loudly, holding plastic cups of champagne.

Then, the camera panned, and I saw him.

Ethan.

My ex-fiancé, Ethan Lester. He was standing right in front of my door, wearing a rented tuxedo that was a size too big. He had his arm around a woman in a white dress, and he was smiling, a wide, triumphant smile that I knew all too well.

He was the groom. He was getting married in my apartment.