The Stand-In Game

Andrew looked mildly surprised, lowering his voice as if a gentler tone could smooth things over. "You begged for this marriage shamelessly. You'll never walk away from me, so quit the theatrics."

My gaze flickered, and a bitter smile tugged at my lips.

I had traded my dignity and pride for his last name, and all it bought me was pain. He treated my love as a given, ignoring me whenever it suited him.

Tears stung my eyes, and my voice came out rough. "But I'm not the one you love. So why won't you divorce me?"

Andrew avoided my eyes, said nothing, and then stormed out. He moved so fast that he failed to notice a Suissan pocket watch slip from his jacket.

I picked it up and snapped it open. Inside the lid, tucked into a narrow slot, was a four-inch photo.

The woman in the picture was Ivy, and she wore the same dress I had been putting on every day so Andrew would recognize me. That was the moment it all clicked.

No wonder he insisted I wear that dress, because it was the only way he could tell me apart. He had turned me into a stand-in, so he never saw my real face.

I was nothing more than a fantasy he couldn't let go of.

I let out a hard, humorless laugh and pitched the pocket watch into the pool. A minute later, my screen lit up with a message from Andrew. I opened it.

"You should calm down. I won't agree to a divorce."

I blocked him without a second thought and refused to read anything else from him.

Andrew pulled in a PR team and scrubbed the chatter online. In a fury, he didn't come home for half a month. Since he wouldn't divorce me, I turned everything over to my lawyer.

Back then, I bought nothing but red and styles that copied that one dress just so Andrew would recognize me. Now it all felt like a joke. I didn't even like red. I liked white, pink, and purple.

So I went to the mall and decided to splurge. I held the clothes against me, checking the fit in the mirror when an uninvited figure appeared in the reflection.

Ivy stood behind me, watching with cold disdain. "No matter how you dress up, you'll never be in his heart."

I ignored her and handed my card to the sales associate. "I'll take these."

Ivy snatched the card from my hand, her voice smug. "Don't bother. He won't even glance your way. Didn't you learn that when he left you at the concert?"

I bit my lip. I was about to speak when Andrew walked in. He didn't spare me a glance, and his eyes softened only for Ivy.

"Did you find anything you liked?" he asked.

"I like all of them," she cooed, beaming.

Andrew smiled indulgently and passed a black card to the sales associate. "We'll take everything she picked."

The associate took the card with a bright grin and went to ring it up.

I stood right in front of Andrew, but he still didn't recognize me. His gaze landed on me, distant and cold.

When he spoke, his tone was pure contempt. "Who are you? Stop blocking the mirror. You're in the way. We're trying to check the fit."

I kept quiet.

Andrew lost patience and shooed me with a brisk flick of his hand. "Move! I've booked the store. You don't get to compete with Ivy for any of these clothes."

Then he turned to the associate, who had just finished the sale, and issued another order. "Remember Ms. Miller. From now on, she gets priority whenever she shops here."

The associate nodded quickly.

Ivy thought it was too much and tried to rein him in. "Don't make a fuss over me. You'll offend people."

Andrew brushed it off, his voice cool. "You're mine, so of course you get special treatment. If you want, I'll book the whole mall."

Ivy gave a satisfied smile and threw herself into his arms right before my eyes.