Chapter 1. The Last Birthday Gift

That day was supposed to be special for Grace—it was William’s birthday.

She had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner for him. Nothing fancy. Just something simple that meant something. The table was set. Candles were lit. The smell of rosemary from the roast filled the whole house.

But when Grace walked back into the living room, a notification from William’s phone, left on the sofa, caught her attention.

Ding.

A message from a woman.

“I bumped into something while getting the cake... It really hurts.”

There was a photo attached.

Not a face, not even a full-body shot. Just a pair of legs, taken from a low angle. White stockings slightly rolled down, exposing young, smooth skin. Small black round-toed shoes sat neatly on slender feet, and a short skirt was pushed up high enough to reveal soft, tempting thighs.

Her knees looked red, like she had just hit something hard. But what made Grace hold her breath wasn’t the bruise—it was the overall feel of the image. Too suggestive to be an accident.

Young. Clean skin. That innocent look mixed with something flirtatious. The kind of combo that supposedly makes successful men like William lose their minds.

Grace clenched the phone so hard that her knuckles turned white.

Ding.

Another message popped up.

“Mr. Donovan, let’s meet at Hotel Celestine tonight... I wanna celebrate your birthday.”

William’s birthday.

And someone else was planning something for him.

Someone who wasn’t Grace.

Within seconds, Grace grabbed her bag and walked out of the house without even turning off the stove. She didn’t know where she was going—but her feet took her to Hotel Celestine.

She didn’t want to wonder anymore. She needed to see it with her own eyes.

Who was this girl, really?

When she arrived at the hotel entrance, she was about to walk in when something made her freeze. Across the lobby stood two very familiar figures—Patrick and Melanie Whitmore.

Her parents.

Shocked, Grace walked over quickly.

“Dad? Mom? What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice catching.

Patrick and Melanie exchanged glances. There was hesitation in their eyes, and a hint of guilt.

“Grace... your sister’s in San Francisco. She’s staying here,” Patrick replied, his tone too careful.

Her sister? Camila?

A weird feeling crept through Grace’s body. Something didn’t feel right. She turned her head instinctively toward the large hotel window.

And then time just... stopped.

Behind the glass, she saw a girl standing with her back to the window. Long, wavy hair. The same outfit from the photo. White stockings. Black shoes. Skirt pulled high.

Camila.

Grace couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t speak. Her whole body froze.

The girl in the photo was her own sister.

Camila Whitmore.

The most beautiful girl in San Francisco, known as the Rose of San Francisco. At every party, every gala, all eyes were on her. Her long, perfect legs were almost legendary in college and high society circles.

Now, those same legs were being used to seduce someone else’s husband.

Her sister’s husband.

Grace almost laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. The pain was too sharp, too real. She took a deep breath, then turned to Patrick and Melanie and said with a steady voice, “Guess I’m the last one to know.”

Patrick sighed and gave her a weak smile, like someone surrendering to the storm. “Grace… William never loved you,” he said flatly.

Her mother added quickly, voice calm but cold. “Sweetheart… do you even know how many women would kill to be in your position right now? At least if your husband ends up with someone else, better it be your own sister than some random woman.”

Grace’s fists clenched at her sides. “Dad… Mom… I’m your daughter too,” she said softly.

She turned, ready to leave, but Melanie’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Grace, be honest. Has William ever touched you during your marriage?”

Grace froze at the doorway. She stared at the floor, silent.

Patrick followed, his voice low but firm, leaving no room for denial. “Don’t lie to yourself, Grace. William and Camila were meant to be. Everyone knows it. If he hadn’t crashed and ended up in a coma, you never would’ve become his wife. You married him only because Camila disappeared.”

Melanie looked her over from head to toe. Her eyes were cold, judgmental. “Look at yourself. Three years of marriage and you’re just a plain housewife, tagging along behind him like his shadow. Meanwhile, Camila’s a star ballerina, shining on every stage. She’s the swan. You’re just... the ugly duckling. What do you have that can ever compete with her? Grace, you should know your place. Give William back to Camila.”

Every word her mother spoke was like a slow knife to the heart. Tears filled Grace’s eyes, but she didn’t say a word. She just turned and walked away.

* * *

When she got home, the sky was already dark. San Francisco had turned into a sea of lights. The house was quiet and cold—Sophie, her housekeeper, had the night off.

Grace walked slowly into the dining room and sat down at the beautifully set table. The food she had prepared with so much love had gone cold. The birthday cake stood quietly in the center, with simple decorations and a message she had written in white icing.

“Happy Birthday, my love.”

Now, the words felt bitter.

Ironic. Just like her marriage—sweet on the outside, rotten inside.

William and Camila had always been the golden couple in San Francisco’s elite circles. Camila Whitmore, the “Rose of San Francisco,” adored by everyone—especially William.

Three years ago, a terrible accident had left William in a coma. And Camila had mysteriously vanished.

That’s when the Whitmore family pulled Grace out of her quiet life in the countryside.

They made her marry an unconscious man—just because she was the only one who could ‘replace’ Camila.

But when she realized that man was William—the one she had secretly loved for years—she agreed to the marriage without a second thought.

For three years, she gave everything. She didn’t chase a career, didn’t socialize, didn’t enjoy life. Her world revolved around her husband. She was the one who cared for him, day and night, believing he would wake up someday.

And in the end, he did.

Thanks to her.

Grace blew out the candles on the table one by one.

In the reflection on the glass cabinet, she saw herself. A woman in a plain black-and-white dress, tired and blank, standing stiff like a porcelain doll forgotten in the corner.

She looked dull. Lifeless. Nothing like Camila, who lit up stages as a graceful ballerina. The perfect white swan.

And her? Just a duck that never learned to fly.

Now that William had woken up, he had returned to his white swan. Leaving Grace behind, despite everything she gave.

Three years... wasted.

She lit one candle again and blew it out slowly, tears in her eyes.

Darkness filled the house again.

Suddenly, headlights lit up the driveway. A Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up quietly.

Grace froze. Her lashes trembled. She thought William wouldn’t come back tonight.

But he did.

A few seconds later, the front door opened. Cold night air followed the figure who stepped inside.

William Donovan.

As heir to the Donovan legacy, he had grown up in luxury and power. By sixteen, he had two degrees from Havre University and had already built his own successful company in Redwood City. He was known as smart, sharp, and incredibly charismatic. Now, he was one of the most influential businessmen in San Francisco.

He walked in confidently. His deep voice broke the silence. “Why is the house so dark?”

Without waiting for an answer, he flicked on the lights.

The sudden brightness made Grace squint. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

He was wearing a custom black suit, perfectly tailored to his tall frame. His face was sharp, his gaze calm but cold. A dream for every woman in the elite world.

But for Grace, he was a nightmare.

In a soft, steady voice, Grace said, “Today’s your birthday.”

William barely reacted. He glanced briefly at the table, then said without emotion, “Next time, don’t waste your time. I don’t celebrate stuff like this.”

Grace gave a small smile, like she’d heard that line a thousand times. Her red lips curved gently. “You don’t celebrate birthdays... or you just don’t want to celebrate with me?”

William turned to look at her, just for a moment. But his eyes stayed flat. “Think whatever you want,” he said, then walked up the stairs without looking back.

He was always like that. No matter how hard Grace tried, his heart stayed cold and untouchable.

Grace stood there, watching his back as he walked away. She took a deep breath, then said quietly, “Today’s your birthday. I have a gift.”

William didn’t stop. He just replied without turning around, “I don’t want anything.”

Grace chuckled softly, the sound empty but oddly sweet. She smiled faintly. But behind that smile, a decision had been made. “William,” she said calmly. “Let’s get a divorce.”

William stopped walking. He stood still for a few seconds, then slowly turned around.

His dark eyes locked onto her like a blade.