Chapter 2: The Betrayal.

Hilary Windsor

My heart pounded as I stared at the laptop screen, my hands trembling as I refreshed the page, hoping and praying I was wrong.

It was an online store, selling my work.

My sketches, my designs. The same pieces I had just watched parade down the runway under Emily’s name.

But this time, they had price tags attached.

My fingers trembled as I clicked through the listings. Each design was marked “Exclusive Windsor Couture Collection.” My collection. And they were selling, orders pouring in, the numbers rising with each passing second.

A sharp, burning sensation settled in my chest. I felt sick.

Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and dialed my mother.

She answered on the second ring. “Hilary, darling, it’s late. What is it?” Her voice was smooth and unbothered.

“My designs. They’re being sold online. Under Windsor Couture.” I whispered, barely getting the words out.

A beat of silence. Then a soft, amused chuckle. She's laughing?

“Oh, sweetheart. Is that what this is about?”

My grip on the phone tightened. “Mother… you knew. You let them steal my work, sell it, and didn’t even bother to tell me?”

She sighed. “Hilary, don’t be so dramatic. You’ve always been so talented, but business is business. Your designs are doing wonderfully, and isn’t that what truly matters? Besides, Emily is the face of Windsor Couture. It only makes sense for her to present them.”

“Mother, why are you doing this to me?” my voice cracked, a mixture of anger and hurt.

Vivian sighed again, this time with irritation. “I won’t entertain this tantrum, Hilary. We are family. You should be grateful your designs are receiving recognition at all. Now, get some rest.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone in my hand, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

Grateful?

Ever since my father died, I have endured everything. My entire life, I had been the overlooked one, the disposable one. The daughter who was good enough to design but never to be seen. Never to be acknowledged.

I couldn’t stay here. I needed to go home.

The drive back felt longer than usual, the weight in my chest growing heavier with every mile. By the time I reached the house, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I just needed sleep. A moment to breathe.

I pushed open the front door, kicking off my heels as I stepped inside. The house was quiet, the faint glow of the bedroom light spilling into the hallway. Liam was home.

Relief washed over me. I needed to talk to him. To tell him everything.

I stepped toward the bedroom, my hand on the doorframe. Then I froze.

My head was spinning.

Emily.

Liam.

In our bed.

The sheets tangled around them, her bare back pressed against his chest, his arm draped over her possessively.

For a moment, my body refused to move. My brain refused to understand.

Then the sound of Liam shifting made me return to reality.

A strangled gasp escaped my lips.

His eyes blinked open groggily before widening in alarm. “Hilary-”

“Tell me this is not true,” I whispered, my voice trembling with pain.

Emily stirred beside him, her lashes fluttering before she sat up, her face shifting from sleepiness to something eerily like amusement. No trace of guilt.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” she murmured, stretching like a cat.

Liam swung his legs over the bed, reaching for me. “Hilary, I can explain-”

I flinched away, my stomach twisting violently. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Liam, why did you marry me if you were going to do this to me?” My voice cracked as I asked softly.

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

Rage flooded through my veins, but the pain was stronger. Years flashed before my eyes. Those late nights waiting for him, believing his excuses.

I had always had my suspicions about him and Emily, but he always dismissed them.

It was always her.

Raw pain ripped from my throat as I pounded his chest with my fists, each blow barely moving him. “Why Liam? Why?” I screamed at him.

But my strength faded. I collapsed to the floor, broken.

They stood above me watching.

Emily let out a soft laugh. “Oh, come on, Hilary. Don’t act so surprised.”

I snapped my gaze to her, something inside me snapping violently.

I had always let them walk over me. Always swallowed my words, always played the quiet, good girl.

Not anymore.

I stood slowly, straightening my shoulders. The tears still burned, but i forced them back. I dusted myself off, lifting my chin.

“You can have him, Emily.” My hands clenched into fists. “I hope you enjoy my leftovers as much as you enjoyed stealing my life.”

Then I turned and walked out.

I didn’t hear Liam call after me. I didn’t wait to see Emily’s smug reaction.

I just walked.

Out of the house. Out of the life I had let them chain me to for years.

I didn’t remember driving. I didn’t remember pulling up to the dimly lit bar on the outskirts of town.

All I knew was that I needed to disappear.

The music was low, the scent of whiskey and smoke clinging to the air. I slid onto a stool at the bar, signaling the bartender.

“Something strong,” I murmured.

I barely registered the glass placed in front of me before downing it in one go; the drink burned.

“Rough night, huh?” came a deep, smooth voice from beside me.

I turned and met piercing dark blue eyes.

The man beside me was effortlessly striking. Dark hair, a sharp jaw, and a shirt that fit him too well. He exuded confidence. It was who he was.

Something about him tugged my memory, but I couldn't just place it.

Maybe it's the alcohol.

His gaze met mine, intense and unreadable. A slow smirk played on his enchanting lips.

And suddenly, I had this reckless urge to kiss him.

I let out a breath, turning toward him fully. “You could say that.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I murmured. I just wanted to forget.