Chapter 1

For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend.

Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me.

"Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?"

Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes.

The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh.

"You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..."

"Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!"

......

The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection.

But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out.

I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still burning.

With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits.

There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures.

My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland.

"William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it."

"Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all."

A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh.

"Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?"

"Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly."

William's relief was audible through the phone.

"I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?"

"No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now."

"Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness."

So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us.

I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over.

"Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close."

Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call.

I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips.

"Not close to whom?"

"You."

My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms.

"Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?"

His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter.

As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn.

The movement aggravated my burns, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?"

My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red burns on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern.

"God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were burned?"

He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party.

I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion.

"Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that."

He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked.

"You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?"

I stared numbly at the burns on my wrist.

Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"?

But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore!

Chapter 2

I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets.

At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me.

For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck.

"Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased.

I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?"

His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital."

Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed.

In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle.

Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands.

"What happened to you?"

Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here."

Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look.

"Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever."

I was long used to this charade.

From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after.

Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us.

"You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way."

She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall.

When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style.

"Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?"

Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy.

I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him.

Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck.

How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide.

Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency.

I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment.

My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated burns, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics.

My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they?

With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room.

After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk.

However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call.

Reluctantly, I called him.

"You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..."

But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!"

Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word.

"It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him.

Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later."

What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection.

I ended the call and ordered an Uber home.

Castro didn't return that night.

Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad.

Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned:

"After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting."

I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad.

I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest.

Chapter 3

The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time.

Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage.

"First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you."

Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years.

News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner.

I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional.

During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity.

"What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then."

I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us.

But Oriana wasn't finished.

She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?"

That single word - "too" - made me freeze.

The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike.

I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit.

It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice.

Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity.

"You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?"

I'd never felt more humiliated.

Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement.

Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state.

Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open.

Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus.

In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why.

"Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?"

Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls.

In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me.

"How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?"

My cheek burned where he'd struck me.

Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water.

Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms.

"Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone.

Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her."

"If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly.

At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened.

"William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility."

I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're condemning and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?"

Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me.

"You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there."

The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?"

"Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception."

I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?"