Chapter 5 - He Chose Me, Didn't He?

Vienna’s POV

"Oh? Warren never told you about his ex?" Desiree asked, her tone cruelly casual. "Figures..." 

I said nothing, but my spine stiffened. She pulled out her phone, tapped her screen a few times, then turned it toward me with a smug smile.

"Here, have a look."

Reluctantly, I stepped closer and glanced at the photo.

Warren stood in front of a gleaming white yacht, smiling down at the girl in his arms. For a split-second, I thought it was me.

She had long, dark brown hair like mine, eyes the same shade of blue, even the same heart-shaped face.

But her body—tall, willowy, like a runway model—was nothing like mine. I was shorter, softer. Curvier.

I blinked, stunned. "She… looks like me."

Desiree raised an eyebrow. "She does, doesn’t she?" She gave me a slow, mocking once-over. "Well, minus the height. And the legs. And, you know... the figure."

My jaw tightened.

Desiree took her phone back. "Oh, they were perfect for each other," she sighed dramatically. 

"She came from a rich family—like ours. Same circles, same schools, same expectations. Everyone thought they’d get married. But she got some big opportunity abroad and left him behind. Broke the poor guy’s heart."

She paused, then leaned in just slightly. "I don’t think he ever really got over her."

I didn’t answer. My throat was suddenly dry.

She studied me with that same faux sympathy she always used when she was about to twist the knife. "You know he only married you because you look like her, right? Why else would he be interested in someone like you?"

My stomach dropped, but I forced myself to keep my composure.

"You’re just a stand-in," she continued, her voice low and taunting. "A disposable replacement. He needed something… familiar, to ease the pain."

I drew in a slow breath. "I may not come from money. I may not be six feet tall or walk like I’m on a runway. But Warren chose me."

I lifted my chin. "Whatever his past was, we love each other now. That’s enough for me."

Desiree scoffed, rolling her eyes. "If you say so."

Then she turned on her heel and walked out, her voice trailing behind like her perfume. "But don’t forget—I’m his only sister. That bond? You’ll never compete with it."

Although I’d stood my ground with Desiree, I wasn’t as tough as I’d pretended to be.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the strength drained from my body. I sank onto the edge of the bed, Warren’s shirts still half-folded beside me.

There was no way Warren was still caught up on an ex… right? We had a whirlwind romance, sure. But it was passionate and real... right?

We’d only been dating for a few months when he proposed. Everyone said it was fast. But I didn’t care. He’d told me he just couldn’t wait to start a life together.

But now… now I wasn’t so sure.

Warren was devastatingly handsome. He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone born into wealth. He managed his father’s Luxe hotel chain. The man had it all.

There were plenty of women more beautiful than me. More polished. More sophisticated. And he could have anyone.

So why me?

My throat tightened as I picked up my phone. I needed answers—something concrete. I pulled up Warren’s social media and started scrolling.

Photo after photo of charity galas, hotel openings, company trips to Italy and Dubai. Pictures with board members, cocktails in hand, that ever-charming smile.

There were some old shots of him with a college ex. A beach photo with a girl in a bikini hanging on his arm. A prom picture from high school. Harmless stuff.

But no trace of the girl from the yacht.

No tags. No mentions. Nothing.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding. There were only two reasons to erase someone so thoroughly.

One: he was over her, so over her that he’d deleted everything and moved on completely.

Or two: he couldn’t bear to see her face… because he still loved her. Because looking at her was like pressing on a bruise that hadn’t healed.

I set the phone down with trembling fingers. Damn it, Desiree. Did she have to ruin everything?

That night, I stepped out of the bathroom, my hair wrapped in a towel. The bedroom lights were on, casting a soft glow over the floor, but Warren wasn’t inside.

I spotted him through the sliding doors, out on the balcony. He was crouched down, adjusting something by the railing. Curious, I walked over.

There, beneath the moonlight, stood a freshly built fence. Inside was a brand new, miniature log cabin—cat-sized—with a little bed, scratching post, and even a toy mouse hanging from the roof.

I blinked, surprised. "You built all this? For Milo?"

Warren looked up and smiled sheepishly, brushing sawdust off his sweatpants. "Yeah. Figured your furball deserved some personal space. Especially with Desiree being… well, Desiree."

I laughed softly, touched despite myself. "You did this tonight?"

He nodded. "Needed something to keep my hands busy."

"Hey," I said, voice gentler now as I stepped closer. "I, uh—I didn’t know. About your heart."

He froze, his smile faltering just slightly.

"If I’d known," I continued, "I wouldn’t have… I mean, I would’ve been more careful."

"Don’t worry, V," he said quietly, reaching out and tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear. 

"It wasn’t fair to keep it from you. I just didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want to be treated like something fragile."

I nodded, my throat tight.

He kissed my temple. "I’m gonna jump in the shower, okay?"

"Okay."

I slipped into bed and tried to read, but the words swam before my eyes. My mind just couldn’t shake the picture of my lookalike in Warren’s arms.

But I wasn’t brave enough to ask about her. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answer.

The shower shut off. A few minutes later, Warren returned to the bedroom. Damp hair, bare chest, smelling faintly of cedar and soap. He slid beneath the covers and pulled me close.

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "Sleep tight, V."

I closed my eyes and curled into him. I let myself believe, for just a moment, that this warmth meant everything was still okay.

We slid into a peaceful sleep in each other’s arms.

But then, sometime deep in the night, I woke with a jolt.

A strange dream I couldn’t remember had dragged me out of sleep. But it wasn’t just that. I reached across the bed instinctively.

His side was empty.

"Warren?"

Panic gnawed at me. The room was still. The balcony outside was empty, and the house was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. 

What if today had been too much for him? What if that heart—whatever it was—had flared up again?

But then… Why would he leave the room?

If he was in pain, surely he would have stayed with me. Wouldn’t he have wanted me to be there, to help? Unless... he didn’t want me to see. Or… he wasn’t alone.

I paced the living room, my bare feet cold against the floor.

A sudden noise broke my thoughts—faint, yet distinct. It was coming from the direction of the hallway, near the shared bathroom. 

The sound… Was it a groan? No, more like muffled voices, too soft to distinguish. A breath. A whisper? The bathroom light was on, but the door was shut. 

I moved quickly, my breath quickening as I reached for the doorknob. My fingers trembled slightly as I twisted it.