JACE.Every morning for me was a performance — my hair perfectly styled, my suit pressed, my smile practiced until it didn’t ache anymore. I had stopped recognizing myself in the photographs. The tabloids called us the golden couple, the perfect fusion of legacy and beauty, but all I saw was a stranger beside Ava Leclair, both of them glowing under lights that burned too bright. Yet, the engagement felt like a cage.Ava knew how to play her role. Every tilt of her chin, every laugh that wasn’t real, every hand resting delicately on my arm looked rehearsed and perfect. She didn’t falter, not once. Her father stood just behind every camera, arms crossed, voice low as he instructed the PR team like generals before a battle. “Smile wider, Jace. Hold her hand longer. Look at her like she’s your world.”I did. I always did, because to everyone watching, that was who I was — Jace Carrington, the star athlete, future heir and perfect fiancé.Except that I wasn’t, not anymore.Within me, the w
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