Chapter 1

On our sixth anniversary, I put on my sexy lingerie, prepared seven whole boxes of condoms, and planned to give Marcus a surprise.

But even by dawn, he never came home.

Until someone anonymously sent me a photo and a text message.

In the photo, Marcus had his arms around a disheveled woman.

He was cupping her face, kissing her passionately.

The text had only one line: "His first love is back. Time for you, the substitute, to fuck off."

Six years. A whole six years.

I thought he'd settled down for me, but in the end, I was just a similar face, a counterfeit he could summon at will.

I didn't cry or make a scene.

I took off that ridiculous lingerie and dialed my family's number.

"I agree to the arranged marriage."

Gianna POV

I sat in the reserved French restaurant, watching the ice cream cake on the table gradually melt. The clock on the wall had already pointed to eleven at night.

Today was the sixth anniversary of Marcus and me being together.

For today, I'd reserved his favorite restaurant half a month in advance, and even prepared a men's engagement ring in my purse.

I wanted to propose to him.

But Marcus stood me up.

His phone was unreachable, messages went unanswered.

It wasn't until my best friend sent me a screenshot from social media that my heart completely sank to the bottom.

In the photo, at New York's largest private club in a VIP room, Marcus sat on a sofa with a red-eyed, pitiful-looking woman leaning against him.

Marcus's head was lowered, his usually rebellious features now filled with tenderness as he carefully wiped her tears with a tissue.

The caption read: "After all this time, Mr. Barrett's dream girl has finally returned from abroad."

Dream girl.

I stared at those words, feeling cold all over.

I'd known Marcus for six years. Everyone said this good girl had tamed Marcus's wild heart, and I'd believed it myself.

Until I saw that woman's face in the photo, and suddenly understood.

That woman had a beauty mark at the corner of her eye, and when she smiled, her features were seventy percent similar to mine.

So I was never anyone special, just a substitute for consolation.

I don't know how I walked out of the restaurant. When I came to my senses, I was already standing outside the club's private room door.

The door wasn't fully closed, and jeering voices drifted out from inside.

"Mr. Barrett, now that Clara's back, what are you planning to do with that substitute at home?"

"What else? Give her some money and send her packing. If she didn't look like Clara, would Mr. Barrett have kept her around for six years?"

"True. A fake is still a fake. Now that the real deal's back, she naturally has to make room."

I froze in place, the blood in my body seeming to flow backward in that moment.

I pushed open the door.

The laughter in the room came to an abrupt halt.

Everyone's eyes fell on me, filled with undisguised mockery and contemptuous amusement.

Marcus looked up. The moment he saw me, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

He didn't let go of the arm around Clara Hayes, only speaking in a cold tone: "Why are you here?"

No explanation, no guilt, just displeasure at being interrupted.

I looked at him, my voice hoarse: "Today is our sixth anniversary."

Marcus seemed to remember only then, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes:

"I had something come up today. We'll make up the anniversary tomorrow."

"What could be more important than our anniversary?" I stared hard at the woman in his arms.

Clara seemed startled and shrank further into Marcus's embrace, her voice delicate: "Marcus, this must be Miss Hayes, right? I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I just came back and was feeling down, so I asked you to keep me company. You should go back with her. Don't fight because of me."

This retreat-as-advance tactic instantly ignited Marcus's protective instincts.

His face turned cold as he shielded Clara behind him, looking at me like I was an unreasonable stranger.

"Gianna, Clara just returned and her emotions are unstable. Don't make a scene here. We'll talk about whatever it is when we get home."

Making a scene.

Six years of our relationship couldn't compare to a single tear from Clara Hayes.

I looked at this man I'd loved for six years and suddenly felt he was completely unfamiliar.

I didn't become hysterical, didn't cry. I simply calmly took out the engagement ring I'd prepared from my purse and, in front of everyone, threw it into the nearby trash can.

"No need to make it up."

With that, I turned and walked out into the pouring rain.