He Gave My Heirloom To His First Love

“Alora, I’m meeting some friends for coffee tomorrow. Be a doll and whip up some pastries, then drop them off by noon, okay?” Isla Lane—Rafael Holmes’s spoiled younger cousin—had always looked down on Alora Moore, and she didn’t bother hiding it.

Rolling her eyes, Isla added, “Oh, and while you’re at it, I need a fabulous new dress for an event next weekend. Victorian-style. And I want it ready in a week.” Every word dripped with arrogance.

Alora had always felt Isla’s disdain. But because she loved Rafael—and he adored Isla, the daughter of his late, beloved aunt—Alora treated her like family anyway. Still, no amount of Alora’s warmth could melt Isla’s ice.

But now that Alora had decided to move on from Rafael, she was done indulging Isla.

“I’m busy. I’m not doing it,” Alora replied, her tone ice-cold.

“What?!” Isla gasped, blinking like she’d misheard. Alora had always bent over backward to please her. How dare she refuse now?

Fuming, Isla’s voice climbed. “Alora, you act like I’m begging you! There’s a whole line of people who’d kill for the chance to make me pastries and dresses!”

“Then find someone else,” Alora said, not an ounce of interest in her voice. She barely glanced at Isla before turning away.

Isla stood frozen, stunned by the bold rejection. Was Alora really turning her down?

Watching Alora walk away without a backward glance, Isla stamped her foot. “Alora, aren’t you afraid I’ll tell my cousin? He thinks the world of me! He’ll be furious when he hears how you treated me!”

The old Alora might have feared Rafael’s anger, might have worried he’d shut her out. But now? Rafael’s feelings didn’t hold the same weight in her life anymore.

Without a second glance, Alora muttered, “Do whatever you want.”

Isla was beside herself with rage.

Alora’s pastries were legendary. At Isla’s last coffee gathering, everyone had raved about how exquisite they tasted, swearing they were better than anything from the top bakeries.

And her custom dresses? The last one had made Isla the belle of the ball, all thanks to the intricate double-sided embroidery—a masterpiece.

Isla had promised her friends amazing treats for tomorrow’s coffee meetup. Without Alora’s pastries, she’d look foolish in front of her friends.

“You’ll regret this, Alora. You’ll be begging me to ask you for pastries and dresses again!” Isla fumed, stomping off to complain to Rafael.

Rafael had been swamped with work all day, so Isla didn’t get a chance to corner him until late afternoon.

She stormed up to him in a huff, her heels clicking hard against the floor. “Rafael! Alora has crossed the line! How hard is it to whip up some pastries and sew a dress? I asked her nicely, and she flat-out refused—then insulted me!”

“You need to stand up for me and put her in her place! Make her do it!”

Rafael paused, surprised. He knew how well Alora treated Isla. Despite Isla’s spoiled nature, Alora had always treated her like a little sister, indulging her every whim. For Alora to refuse now was… unexpected.

Clearly, Alora was still upset—maybe hoping he’d show some understanding. Rafael didn’t like drama, but he remembered how devastated she’d been after losing the Deep Sea Siren role. The memory of her red-rimmed eyes tugged at his heartstrings, making him want to extend an olive branch.

That day, her forehead had still been swollen and bruised, clearly hurting her.

“Call Alora right now and give her a piece of your mind,” Isla insisted.

“Go home,” Rafael said sharply, cutting her off. “Alora isn’t your maid, and she doesn’t owe you pastries or dresses. She’s my girlfriend. You need to respect her—or I’ll cut your allowance.”

The threat stunned Isla into silence.

Her cousin funded her lifestyle with a hefty monthly allowance! Terrified of losing it, she bit her tongue—though her anger toward Alora simmered.

Ignoring her, Rafael contacted his assistant and asked him to bring a balm for Alora’s injuries to the office. He intended to visit her soon.

Isla, always looking for an angle, remembered that Tessa Guzman had been sending her expensive jewelry, hoping to win her over as part of Rafael’s family. Sensing a chance to cause trouble, Isla texted Tessa to warn her that Rafael was planning to see Alora.

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Alora had just enjoyed a delicious meal at a chic bistro before heading back to her hotel. When she stepped out of the elevator, she spotted Tessa Guzman at her door, clutching the wedding dress Alora had painstakingly made.

As Alora approached, Tessa chirped cheerfully, “Alora, thanks for lending me this dress. Rafael was enchanted. He said I was the vision of the perfect bride. Our wedding was flawless because of it. I’m returning it to you, as promised.”

Alora’s gaze dropped to the dress she’d sewn with love, imagining Rafael pledging forever to her in that very gown. But because Tessa had wanted to wear it, Rafael had handed it over without Alora’s say-so.

Alora didn’t touch the dress. “I never agreed to lend it to you,” she said simply. “And now? I don’t want it. A wedding dress worn by someone else, a man who’s been used—they’re both tainted to me.”

Tessa’s expression soured at Alora’s words.

Without sparing her another glance, Alora turned, unlocked her door, and stepped inside.

“Alora!” Tessa called, barging in after her uninvited.

“Get out!” Alora snapped, finding Tessa’s intrusion both rude and intolerable.

Despite all her claims of class and nobility, Tessa didn’t budge. She held her head high and sneered at Alora.

“Alora, I’ve never liked you. While I was abroad, you latched onto Rafael—so shameless. But what’s taken by force never lasts. It always returns to its rightful owner.”

Alora was repulsed by Tessa’s hypocrisy. She’d overheard Tessa tell her mother she couldn’t stand a man with flaws—that’s why she’d gone abroad in the first place. Now, hearing her preach about morals was absurd.

Before Alora could respond, Tessa pulled a pair of scissors from beneath the dress.

With swift, vicious cuts, she shredded the gown. Then she turned the blade on her own hand, carving deep slashes that stained the white fabric a gruesome red.

“Alora…”

Rafael stepped in right at that moment, medicine for Alora in hand.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene: scissors lying on the ruined dress, Tessa’s hand bleeding, Alora watching with cold indifference.