Chapter 1: The Hickey on Her Neck

On our wedding anniversary, my wife walked in with a fresh hickey on her neck.

The mark was fresh—a dark bruise blooming on her pale skin, right above her collarbone where her hair couldn’t cover it up. I stared at it for a second longer than I meant to, then looked away. Jaw clenched. What was I supposed to say? The kitchen clock seemed to tick louder than ever, filling the room with its steady, accusing beat.

I didn’t argue with her all night like I used to. Didn’t even bother asking where the mark came from.

Instead, I scraped the food into the trash, barely making a sound.

The meal was still warm—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, her favorite green bean casserole, and a chocolate cake I’d spent the whole afternoon baking from scratch. I dumped it all, one dish at a time. The sound of food hitting the trash can was sharp in the silence. The kitchen smelled like vanilla and disappointment.

But she just looked at me, annoyed, and said, “Just because I didn’t make it home for dinner on our anniversary, do you have to be like this?”

Her tone was sharp, more irritated than apologetic. For a second, I wondered if she even noticed how my hand tightened around the trash bag. She didn’t even bother taking off her coat before tossing her purse on the counter. That hickey looked even worse under the kitchen lights.

So, she hadn’t forgotten.

Today is our third wedding anniversary.

It’s also the day my assignment ends, and I’m finally ready to go home. My assignment. The reason I’m even here.

Rachel’s in the bathroom, showering.

The running water drowned out everything else. Steam curled under the door. I stood alone in the kitchen, the remains of our anniversary dinner cooling on the counter, the trash can brimming with what was supposed to be a celebration.

Her phone buzzes on the counter. I don’t even have to look.

Someone’s messaging her.

No need to guess—it’s Lucas again.

Sorry, I got sick out of nowhere. Hope it wasn’t too much trouble coming over so late. Think Aaron will be mad?

The text preview lit up her phone, the screen glowing in the dim kitchen. The name, Lucas Grant, was bold at the top. My stomach twisted. I kept my face blank.

I glanced at the message, picked up the coffee pot, and poured myself a mug without so much as a blink.

The coffee was bitter. Burnt, even. I drank it anyway.

Rachel’s always been the one getting taken care of. She almost never looks after anyone else.

Once, when she had a fever, I stayed up all night taking care of her. After she got better, I caught her cold. She just looked at me and said, “Why are you so useless? You can’t even take care of someone without getting sick yourself. You’re always making things harder for me.” That’s what she said.

She’s never cared about me.

But honestly, I can’t blame her.

After all, Lucas is her real prince charming.

As the saying goes, you always want what you can’t have.

She and Lucas grew up together, childhood friends, innocent and close.

Everyone in their small Nebraska town figured they’d wind up together. Summers spent on bikes, scraped knees, secrets whispered under the old oak by the river. The kind of bond you can’t fake, or replace.

Then, something happened.

Lucas’s parents died in a car accident.

After that, Lucas had to move in with his grandma out in rural Nebraska.

Just when things were starting to change between them, they got pulled apart.

Years went by. She didn’t wait for Lucas. Instead, she met me—a stand-in who just happened to look a lot like him.

She treated me as a stand-in and rushed to get married, while I was stuck with an assignment and had no choice but to go after her.