When Vera Sinclair’s longtime boyfriend dumps her for the heiress she unknowingly replaced, she’s devastated but not broken. For years, she played the role of the perfect girlfriend, filling in the gaps while he pined for another woman. But now? She’s done being second best. Just when she thinks she’s free, a powerful billionaire, Asher Donovan enters the picture with an intriguing proposition. He needs a fiancée to silence his family’s constant matchmaking, and Vera, with her newfound indifference to love, is the perfect candidate. But Asher isn’t just any billionaire, he’s her ex’s former business rival, the one man who can make her ex regret ever letting her go. As Vera steps into the world of high society on her own terms, she realizes that being a “substitute” was never her destiny. She was meant to be someone’s first choice. And this time, love might just come with the sweetest revenge.
View MoreThe moment Vera Sinclair walked into the lavish restaurant, she knew something was off.
The low hum of conversation, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the rich aroma of gourmet dishes did nothing to settle the unease crawling up her spine.
Across the table, her boyfriend of four years, Lucas Whitmore, wore an expression she had never seen before, distant, cold, and unreadable.
She set her purse on the chair beside her and smiled, ignoring the warning bells in her head. "You’re quiet tonight. Long day?"
Lucas exhaled sharply, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit. "Vera, we need to talk."
Her stomach twisted.
No conversation that began with those words ever ended well.
Still, she forced herself to remain calm. "Okay. What’s on your mind?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up his wine glass, swirled the liquid, and watched it as if searching for words in the deep red color.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried a sharp edge. "I think we should break up."
For a moment, Vera thought she misheard him. Her breath hitched, and a slow numbness crept through her veins. "What?"
"It’s over, Vera."
She blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. "Lucas… is this a joke? Because if it is, it's not funny."
He sighed, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. You and I… we were never meant to last."
A painful lump formed in her throat. "Four years, Lucas. We've been together for four years. You don't just wake up one day and decide it’s over. What’s really going on?"
He leaned back, his gaze cool and detached. "I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t know how. The truth is… there’s someone else."
The world around her seemed to slow, the sounds of the restaurant fading into nothing. "Someone else?"
Lucas had the decency to look guilty. "Camilla Alden. We’ve been together for a while now."
Vera’s heart lurched, then plummeted into a freefall.
Camilla Alden.
The name sent a rush of memories through her mind, blonde, elegant, and the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the city. More importantly, the woman Lucas had always described as 'just a friend.'
The realization was a gut punch. "So what was I, then? A placeholder until she wanted you?"
He hesitated, and that pause told her everything she needed to know.
Her breath came out in a shaky exhale, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Oh my God. That’s exactly what I was, wasn’t I? A substitute for Camilla."
"Vera, it’s not like that..."
"Then what is it like?" she snapped, her voice sharp with pain. "Tell me, Lucas. Was I just convenient? Someone to pass the time with until she was ready to take you back?"
Lucas rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. "Look, I didn’t plan for this to happen. But Camilla… she’s the one I’ve always wanted. I thought I could move on, but I couldn’t."
Vera stared at him, the man she had loved, trusted, and built a life around. And in that moment, she realized something.
Lucas had never truly loved her. He had loved the idea of her, the stand in, the reliable one, the woman who was always there when his 'true love' wasn’t.
A dull ache spread through her chest, but she refused to let the tears fall. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and forced a small, bitter smile. "Thank you for finally being honest with me, Lucas. I wish you and Camilla all the happiness you deserve."
He looked momentarily taken aback, as if expecting her to beg or plead. But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
Without another word, she grabbed her purse, stood up, and walked away, leaving Lucas Whitmore and four years of wasted love behind.
The cold night air bit at Vera’s skin, but she barely felt it. Her mind raced, replaying the conversation with Lucas over and over.
The betrayal, the humiliation, the unbearable realization that she had been nothing more than a stand in.
Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked aimlessly through the city streets.
The distant hum of traffic, the neon glow of storefronts, and the occasional laughter of passing strangers all felt like a world apart from her own reality.
She had spent four years loving a man who had only been waiting for someone else.
The weight of it pressed down on her chest, but she refused to let it crush her. No. She had shed enough tears for Lucas Whitmore.
As she turned a corner, the looming silhouette of a bar caught her eye. "Seraph’s Lounge."
The golden letters gleamed under the streetlight, almost inviting her inside.
Vera had never been the type to drink her problems away, but tonight, she wanted an escape.
The warmth of the bar was a stark contrast to the icy night. The rich scent of whiskey and leather filled the air, and a soft jazz melody played in the background.
She slid onto a barstool, signaling the bartender. "Something strong. Surprise me."
The bartender, a woman with sharp eyes and a knowing smirk, nodded.
Within moments, a deep amber liquid filled a crystal glass before Vera. "Rough night?" she asked, wiping the counter.
Vera let out a hollow laugh. "Something like that."
She took a sip, the burn spreading through her, grounding her. It was then that she felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her.
"Drinking alone? That’s a dangerous habit," a deep voice drawled beside her.
Vera turned, her eyes meeting an intense, familiar stare. Asher Donovan.
Tall, dangerously handsome, and one of the most powerful businessmen in the city.
He was the kind of man who made deals over hundred year old scotch and destroyed his enemies with a single calculated move. But what was he doing here?
"Mr. Donovan," she acknowledged, forcing composure into her voice. "Didn’t take you for the type to frequent places like this."
His lips quirked in amusement. "And I didn’t take you for the type to drink alone."
Vera smirked, tilting her glass. "Then I guess we’re both full of surprises."
He studied her for a moment, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "You don’t deserve to look this down, Vera."
Her breath caught. He said her name like it meant something, like he saw right through the mask she was struggling to keep on.
"And what do I deserve?" she found herself asking.
Sarah smirked. “I think reminding her of who she used to be will make her question who she wants to become.”That made him pause.He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him had wondered the same thing.Vera had changed.She was sharper now. More guarded. More powerful.The same softness he loved in her now came with barbed edges.Maybe Sarah had a point.Maybe playing protector was no longer enough.“Let’s say I believe you,” he said. “What do you get out of this? Revenge? Closure?”Sarah tilted her head again. “I get Asher back.”Dorian gave a sardonic smile. “You’ll never get him the way you want him.”She shrugged. “Maybe. But if I can’t have him, I’ll still make sure she doesn’t either.”The honesty was jarring.She didn’t flinch. Didn’t lie.He appreciated that more than he wanted to admit.She picked up her coffee again. “So. What’ll it be, Fontaine? We walk away pretending this was just a sad therapy session… or we stop playing polite and actually do something?”He stared at h
SarahShe’d always loved the view from Le Jardin’s private patio, secluded yet central, with white iron wrought furniture and ivy covered trellises that made the place look like a secret garden for billionaires.But today, the view got a little better.Her champagne flute paused midway to her lips the second she saw him.Dorian Fontaine.And God help her, he was finer than the polished magazine covers had ever done justice.The photos always painted him as cold. Controlled. Almost statuesque. But in real life?There was heat.He walked like power was his second skin, crisp navy slacks, charcoal shirt rolled at the forearms, dark sunglasses that cut across his face like sin. His stride was slow, unhurried, every step screaming that he owned the ground beneath him.Sarah’s breath caught before she could stop it.She was ogling.Actually ogling.She quickly adjusted her posture, sipped her champagne with the ease of a woman unbothered, and let her designer sunglasses shield her gaze.But
Dorian Fontaine had always been a patient man.Calculated. Measured.Even when it hurt.Even when the woman he loved walked into another man’s arms with the child he’d helped raise calling that man Daddy.He stared out the thirty eighth floor window of his New York office, the city sprawling out like a challenge. Below, the world moved in unaware loops, stock traders, fashion editors, trust fund kids on overpriced iced lattes.Everyone had a role to play.He used to know his.The protector. The provider. The quiet man with the powerful name and the steady hands.But now?Now he wasn’t sure what role was left.His assistant had briefed him on Vera’s whereabouts: staying in the Donovan penthouse with both Asher and Eira. A family reunion framed in gold and fairy lights.And the photo… God, that photo.It hadn’t just lit up the internet.It had detonated something inside him.He’d tried to push it down. Had even stepped into a meeting to distract himself.But then his phone vibrated agai
The moment the private jet touched down at Teterboro, Dorian Fontaine pulled his sunglasses down and stared out the window, jaw clenched tight.He hadn’t even gotten off the plane before his phone exploded.Missed calls. Voicemails. Texts from business partners. Paparazzi alerts.And one simple message from his assistant that made his vision haze:“You’ve seen the post, right?”What post?His fingers moved on instinct.Instagram.Search: @asherdonovan.And there it was, at the top of the feed, with almost a million likes in less than a day.The photo.That hand.Vera’s hand.A soft golden ring mark still faintly visible from years ago, holding a mug of tea.Little fingers curled under a blanket.Eira.And his hand, too. Asher’s. Resting close. Too close.Caption:Some things are louder than press releases. Dorian’s blood boiled beneath his skin.He read the caption again. And again. Each time, it felt more like a blade, twisting deeper.His driver opened the door of the jet, but Dori
Vera blinked at her, stunned.“Wait... what dress...?”“The pink one with sparkles! I knew it! You’re getting married!”Asher laughed, voice shaking with nerves. “It’s just a start over proposal, sweetheart.”“Start over, marriage, same thing!” Eira bounced on the couch. “We’ll be a real family now, right?”Vera’s hands trembled.Asher looked up at her again. “Vera?”She looked from the ring, to his eyes, to her daughter’s expectant face.The woman inside her wanted to scream yes.But the bruises in her heart whispered caution.She didn’t answer right away.Instead, she reached out, slowly closed the ring box with gentle fingers, and said...“Let’s just… take it one day at a time.”Asher nodded, lips curving into the softest, most genuine smile.“I can live with that,” he whispered.Eira clapped and launched herself into both their arms, and as Vera held them both, something in her chest began to heal.They were far from whole.But maybe...They were beginning again.Eira wriggled out
The sunlight poured in through the tall windows, brushing over Vera’s skin like it had a crush on her.She sat at the edge of the couch, scrolling, biting the inside of her cheek as her brows furrowed at the screen.Eira had curled up on one of the cushions beside her, blanket tucked beneath her chin, her tiny feet peeking out.Vera’s hand absently stroked Eira’s back in calming, endless motions, one of those gestures she did without thinking, like it was instinct carved into her.It was such a simple moment.But to Asher?It was everything.He stood by the kitchen, phone loosely in hand, his heart heavier than he liked to admit. Vera hadn’t spoken in ten whole minutes. Not a word. Just scrolling, heart racing, mind spinning.He couldn’t blame her.The internet had taken their private life and blown it open, one stolen image at a time.Still, watching her sit there, his past, his present, maybe his future, looking like she was on the edge of bolting again, he had to do something.Not
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