Chapter 1: Glasses Off, Masks On

When we were close, my boyfriend loved to take off my glasses and tell me how much he adored my slightly squinting, almond-shaped eyes.

He'd gently pinch the tip of my nose, joking, “You look adorable without your glasses. Seriously, keep ‘em off when I’m here, okay?” His breath would tickle my cheek, and for a moment I’d feel like the only girl in the world. Back then, it all seemed so real.

Until the day I overheard him talking about me to someone else.

It was late afternoon. I was coming down the hall at his place, the door cracked open. I heard his voice, cocky and careless: “She can’t see clearly, so when I pull those little stunts, she can’t stop me in time—she just quietly goes along with it.”

My knees almost buckled. I pressed myself against the wall, willing the floor to swallow me. My heart skipped. There was a pause, then another voice—a friend, maybe. "Man, never a dull moment."

Someone laughed and asked him how he managed to win me over.

Luke grinned with that smug, mysterious air.

I peeked through the crack and saw him sprawled on the couch, grinning. "Conservative girls are all the same. They only give themselves to the guy who really seems like he wants to marry them."

He shrugged, like it was common sense. "I bought an old, rundown condo and put only Rachel’s name on the deed."

"She was so touched, thinking I’d staked my whole future on her. How could she possibly say no?"

He spread his hands, explaining like it was poker night. "It’s like dangling a winning lottery ticket—people need to see proof before they believe the jackpot’s real."

He smirked, "A car or a bag isn’t enough. But buying a place outright? That’s the ticket."

After that, Luke seemed impatient and turned to ask his assistant why Miss Simmons hadn’t shown up yet—wasn’t she supposed to meet the wedding planner with him?

I pressed a hand to my chest. Stunned. The client I was supposed to meet today had the last name Simmons.

In a blink, Luke picked up his trench coat and tossed it over his shoulder.

He barked a few orders. "I’m busy, I’m leaving. Tell Emily Simmons to handle it however she wants—just listen to her."

He then told his driver:

He scrolled through his phone. "Head to that bakery on the south side."

His friend teased him,

"No time to help your fiancée plan the wedding, but you’ll detour for cheap cupcakes for Cinderella?"

Luke kicked at him, sneakers squeaking on the marble. "Get lost."

Then, with a trace of regret, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, if she weren’t nearsighted, I wouldn’t mind my son inheriting her genes."

"Even if my parents disagreed, I’d fight for her."

He muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to catch, "What a shame..."