Chapter 1

Ethan Thorne spent over a million dollars customizing a vintage wedding dress for me from Paris, saying I’d wear it on our wedding day.

He called it a once-in-a-lifetime romantic gesture, promising me the perfect dream.

But when I tried it on, I couldn’t even zip it up.

The waist was a size too big, yet the bust felt suffocatingly tight.

I thought the designer had mixed up the measurements and flipped up the skirt to find the tag.

That’s when I noticed a few words embroidered in silver thread on the delicate tulle closest to the heart.

[Sera, forever.]

I thought it was a romantic blessing from the French designer.

Until I scrolled past a ballerina on Instagram.

She was wearing the prototype of this very wedding dress, with a caption that read:

[Thank you. Even if I’m not the bride, you hid my name in the place closest to your heart.]

And her ID was “Sera.”

I calmly took off the million-dollar wedding dress.

I'm not getting married.

The custom haute couture wedding dress, air-freighted from Paris, hung in the most prominent spot in the VIP fitting room.

Layers upon layers of silk chiffon, embedded with thousands of hand-sewn Swarovski crystals.

Under the lights, it shimmered and sparkled, like an ethereal dream.

The store manager, along with three assistants, carefully helped me put it on.

“Miss Hayes, Mr. Thorne really outdid himself for you. He oversaw everything from design to final fitting, even personally selecting the lace pattern.”

The manager sighed with envy as she adjusted my skirt.

I looked at myself in the mirror, but a frown creased my brow.

“The zipper won't go up.”

An assistant struggled for a long time behind me, sweat beading on her forehead.

“Miss Hayes, have you gained a little weight recently? The waist is quite loose, but the bust and back are really too tight.”

I didn't say anything.

My weight hadn't changed much in years. I’d had a physical last week, and it was exactly the same.

My figure had always been standard, but the cut of this dress was clearly for an extremely slender, almost flat-chested girl.

“Maybe I haven’t rested well these past few days; I feel a little swollen,” I offered a casual excuse.

“In that case, please take it off, and we’ll have the tailor add a bit of allowance.”

The assistants helped me out of the dress.

The heavy skirt piled onto the carpet.

As I bent to lift the hem, my fingers inadvertently brushed against the sheer fabric on the inside of the bodice.

There was a slight protrusion.

I thought it was a loose thread, but when I flipped it over, I froze.

In the spot closest to the heart, a line of words was intricately embroidered with incredibly subtle silver thread.

[Sera, forever.]

The silver thread gleamed with a cold, piercing light under the cool white lamps.

“Miss Hayes, what’s wrong?” The manager noticed my changed expression and leaned in to look. “Oh, was this something Mr. Thorne specifically requested? Young couples these days love this kind of exclusive romance, embroidering each other’s names or vows into the wedding dress.”

The manager smiled, a hint of suggestive amusement in her eyes.

I didn’t smile.

My name is Aurora Hayes.

Ethan usually called me Rory, or my full name.

Who was Sera?

I clutched the tulle, my fingertips turning white.

“I’m not trying it on anymore.”

I let go, allowing the million-dollar wedding dress to fall to the floor.

“Miss Hayes? We haven’t even altered the size yet…”

“No need to.”

I changed back into my regular clothes, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the bridal shop without looking back.

Sitting in my car, I didn’t start the engine right away.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and typed “Sera” into Instagram’s search bar.

In the age of big data, no secret can stay hidden.

Especially not when Ethan Thorne’s social circle was so small.

After just a few pages, an account verified as a “Young Ballerina” popped up.

The profile picture was the back of a woman in a white swan ballet tutu.

Account ID: Sera.

I clicked on her profile.

The top pinned video was posted a week ago.

In the video, she was dancing gracefully in a rehearsal room, wearing an initial prototype almost identical to the haute couture wedding dress I had just tried on.

Because it was a sample, it wasn’t encrusted with crystals, but the cut, style, and even the direction of the lace were exactly the same.

She was incredibly slender, with a flat chest and a delicate waist.

The dress fit her perfectly, seamlessly, as if it were a second skin.

The video’s caption read:

[He said he would make my dream a reality. Thank you. Even if I’m not the bride, you hid my name in the place closest to your heart.]

A comment below asked: [Wow! Such a beautiful wedding dress! Are you getting married?]

Sera replied: [No, it’s a gift from a very important person. Unfortunately, I can’t wear it to walk towards him.]

I stared at the screen, a sudden wave of nausea washing over me.

Three years.

I’d been with Ethan Thorne for three years.

I thought I was his carefully chosen fiancée.

It turned out I was just a stand-in, forced to wear someone else’s hand-me-down wedding dress.

A stand-in who didn't even fit the dimensions.