Chapter 2

This was my seventh year with Marco.

Seven years.

I'd gone from a nobody to the only planner the New York families would trust with their weddings.

But with Marco, I was still stuck in the same place.

We could spend every night tangled in the sheets, kissing like the world was ending.

But when the sun came up, I was still his dirty little secret.

Late that night, I got back to our penthouse in Manhattan.

I had just laid down when my mother called.

"Christmas is coming up. Is Marco coming to Seattle this year?"

"Sophia, my girl, it's been seven years. Hasn't he proposed yet? Tell me the truth, is something wrong between you two?"

The same questions. Again.

I'd told my parents about him years ago.

But he had never once taken me to meet his family.

I closed my eyes, my voice hoarse. "Mom, we're fine. I'll let you know when there's news."

It's not like I hadn't asked Marco.

But I always got the same lines.

"You're overthinking it."

"This is a critical time for us, for the business. Just wait a little longer."

"Marriage is a matter of timing. When my position is secure, the world will know you're mine. I gave you my word, didn't I? Don't you trust me?"

If I pushed any harder, he'd just go quiet and cold.

And so, it dragged on for seven years.

The suffocating feeling from the afternoon came rushing back.

My mother was still talking on the other end. "You've been with him so long, of course your father and I are worried. We just want you to be happy..."

That's when I finally broke.

"And what good would rushing me do? If you want to know when he's going to propose, why don't you ask him yourself? I'm tired enough dealing with clients all day, can't you just give me some space!"

As soon as I said it, my eyes filled with tears.

The other end of the line went quiet. I finally gave in.

“Mom, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have talked to you that way… I’m just… I’m so tired, I didn’t mean to. I’ll bring you that cheesecake from your favorite shop next time I’m home, okay? Please forgive me.”

There was a sigh on the line.

“Oh, Sophia,” she said, her voice tired. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m just worried. You need to look after your health.”

I was panting by the time I finished.

After hanging up, I fumbled in a drawer, poured a handful of pills into my palm, and swallowed them dry.

Don't get emotional.

The doctor had warned me. Stress would make it worse.

I had just finished washing up when I heard the front door open.

Marco walked in, holding the Armani suit jacket from the afternoon.

"Why are you still up? I told you, end of the year is busy with family stuff. Don't wait up for me."

He leaned in to kiss me, his breath thick with the smell of whiskey.

But as he got closer, I caught a faint scent underneath it.

Isabella's custom-blended perfume. One of a kind.

I turned my head away.

I flinched away from his kiss—the first time ever.

He thought I was being playful and let out a low chuckle.

His hand went to my chest, familiar and forceful.

The pressure of his fingertips ignited a burst of sharp pain.

I choked back a sound.

He paused, looking down at his own hand, confused.

"What's this?" he murmured, his fingers probing again. "It's hard... Why?"

I pushed his probing hand away, a cold sweat breaking out on my back.

"Don't… I don't feel well today."

Marco stopped, an annoyed look on his face.

He turned and walked into the bathroom.

I picked up the shirt he'd tossed aside.

The scent clinging to the collar was the same one from his suit jacket that afternoon.

Isabella's.

I swallowed the words I had planned to say to him tonight.

All the words I’d practiced in the mirror—about the hospital’s report, the biopsy, the terror that had stolen my sleep for six nights—stuck in my throat.

What was the meaning?

I folded his shirt, laying it on the dresser.

I didn’t say a word.

Chapter 3

Today was my follow-up appointment with the doctor.

The minute I got to the hospital, I spotted a familiar figure standing by the curb.

Isabella looked a little surprised to see me, too.

She smiled and said hello.

Before she could say much else, a man came up behind her, carrying luxury shopping bags.

Of course. It was Marco.

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice even.

"Fancy seeing you here. Again."

“Look, the dinner tonight is a big deal for her, and she needs to look sharp. She’s fresh off the boat from Italy, doesn’t know the city. I was making sure no lowlifes gave her trouble. It was a simple favor, nothing more.”

I almost had to laugh at the excuse he came up with.

"This is the kind of 'family gathering' where you have to personally take her shopping?"

"She has a big dinner tonight, she wants to look her best. She just got back from Italy, she doesn't know New York. I was just making sure no one bothered her. Just helping out, that's all!"

His voice turned cold.

"Are we at the point where you question me every time I'm seen with another woman? I thought you were better than that, Sophia. You know the rules."

Rules.

There was that word again.

For his rules, I had given up my design career in Seattle.

For his rules, I had been erased from every one of his family photos for seven years.

A sharp pang lanced through my chest again.

The air was thick with tension. Then Isabella jumped in again.

"I'm sorry, Miss Sophia, it was my idea to come. Marco was just… he's just a kind man, he was worried I couldn't handle things on my own. I promise, I won't bother him again."

Marco…

The way she said his name—so familiar, so easy, so intimite.

It felt like she was the one who had been with Marco for seven years, not me.

She turned to me, breaking the silence. "This might be rude to ask, but Miss Sophia, what brings you to the hospital?"

She was trying to change the subject.

It worked. Marco looked at me, a hint of scrutiny in his eyes.

"What's wrong? You're not feeling well?"

I forced a smile. Seeing a flicker of concern on his face, I decided to tell him the truth.

"The doctor found some lumps. He just wants me to get regular check-ups."

Isabella nodded. "Oh, that's common. So many women get benign ones."

Hearing that, Marco relaxed too, glancing at the stack of reports in my hand.

“Right,” he said, waving it off. “You’re overthinking it. A little sickness is no big deal.”

I opened my mouth to explain more—about the further tests the doctor had recommended—

But Isabella suddenly looped her arm through Marco’s, her voice a spoiled purr. “Marco, hurry up. If we don’t get to Cartier now, we’ll be late for the dinner.”

"Right, well, you get that checked out. I have to run."

As he turned to go, I clutched the report in my hand, holding on to one last sliver of hope, and asked tentatively.

"Since you're already here, won't you wait with me?"

He glanced at his watch, his tone impatient.

"Sophia, you should have told me ahead of time. I've got a family meeting I can't miss."

"Be good. I'll bring you back your favorite Bordeaux tonight."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I didn't try to stop him again.

That night, when he wasn't looking, I poured the entire bottle of wine he brought back down the toilet.

The doctor's words echoed in my head: for me, alcohol was a death sentence.

If my condition got any worse, I probably wouldn't make it to spring.

That night, I sat alone on the balcony, tears blurring the city lights into a watery haze.

I had made my decision.

I decided to take my doctor's advice and requested a long leave of absence from my studio.

But the next day, Marco found out somehow.

He dropped everything he was doing with the family, sped back to the apartment, and confronted me.

"You're taking time off? Then who the hell is going to handle Isabella's wedding?"

Chapter 4

That's when I learned that Isabella had rejected all ten revised plans.

I was exhausted, physically and mentally.

All I could do was tell him what the doctor said.

"I went to the hospital yesterday. The doctor told me I need to rest."

His tone softened. He walked over and pulled me into his arms.

As if he’d finally remembered that I was the one who was supposed to be his fiancée.

"It's all my fault. I've been so busy lately, I haven't been taking care of you."

"Baby, for me, just help me this one last time, okay? After this wedding is over, I'll take you to Sicily for a vacation."

Tears pricked my eyes.

How many times had I begged him to take me away, only to be shut down by that same excuse? "Family business."

The dull ache in my chest started again.

He noticed, and gently laid me down on the bed.

He placed a warm compress on my chest and started to massage it gently, his face full of concern.

It's easy to give in when you feel weak.

I remembered how it was when he was courting me.

He would kneel on one knee under a sky full of fireworks, offering me 999 roses, and swear he would only ever marry me.

A man who had never set foot in a kitchen would prepare elaborate dinners for me in our apartment.

A warmth spread from my chest. I sighed and agreed.

A smile broke across his face—the first genuine one I'd seen in a long time.

For the next three days, he barely left my side.

It was like we were back in the beginning.

But Isabella showed no interest in any of the new plans I sent her.

A week later, she contacted me and said she'd finally found what she wanted.

She sent me a series of pictures.

The more I looked, the more familiar they seemed.

This was the wedding I had designed for myself.

The plan I had saved secretly in a private folder. The plan Marco had never even bothered to look at.

The dress, the venue, the European style of the church…

Worried about a leak, I rushed to the studio.

When I got to the door, I saw Marco was there, too.

He saw me and told me excitedly that they had finally settled on a plan.

I couldn't smile.

My face was blank as I asked him where he got the pictures.

“You left your laptop open last night when you were in the shower. I saw it. It’s an exceptional plan, so I sent it to Isabella right away. Turns out she loves it—it’s the only one she wants. Why were you hiding something this good?”

I bit down on my lip, hard, fighting the urge to scream.

Those designs… they were the most romantic dream I had spent a decade crafting for myself. And he, just because he thought it was “nice,” had forwarded it to another woman.

I had to explain to my team that this was my personal plan, not for sale.

My colleagues were all praising the design, but Isabella just looked heartbroken.

Her eyes were red as she forced a smile. "Oh, I see… Well, I wouldn't want to take something so personal. I'll be sure to come to your wedding to congratulate you. After all, this plan is just so perfect!"

The envy and regret in her voice were impossible to miss.

Marco, who had been silent the whole time, stared at me after she said that.

He didn't hesitate, his voice laced with that familiar, casual entitlement.

"Sophia... just give her this one."

He saw the shock on my face and frowned slightly.

"Our wedding can wait. Once I get my family affairs in order, I promise I'll give you something even bigger. It's just a plan, Sophia. It's what you do. Giving it to a client should be easy, right?"

The room fell silent.

My colleagues' eyes darted between Marco and me, their faces a mixture of shock and pity.

The truth was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

In his heart, I had become the second choice, someone who had to step aside for another.

I turned my head away, blinking back tears.

Then I looked at the man who once swore he'd always put me first.

And I smiled.

"Okay."

Fighting to hold back a sob, I stumbled towards an empty corner of the room.

The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free, and a searing pain ripped through my chest.

I sent a text to my boss, saying I had an emergency and had to leave.

Back in my car, I remembered the doctor's orders, patting my chest and whispering to myself.