At my engagement party, Denver's friends asked him what the most thrilling thing he'd ever done was. Some guessed it was when he proposed to me after arranging ten thousand roses on Mount Everest. Others joked it might’ve been the first night we spent together.

Embarrassed by their teasing and worried Denver might overdo it with the booze, I slipped out to buy some hangover pills for him.

I hadn’t gone far when I heard his voice, slow and deliberate, cutting through the laughter.

“You guys are wrong. It’s none of that. The most thrilling thing I’ve ever done was making Brielle to look just like Sabrina.”

——

The cool night air felt even colder as I turned back for my coat. His words stopped me in my tracks.

The lively chatter from the private lounge instantly fell silent. After what felt like forever, someone finally broke the tension with a nervous laugh. 

“Wow, that’s um…I didn’t see it coming.”

“Man, Denver is still not over Sabrina. She’s been gone for years. Honestly, I can’t even remember what she looked like anymore. But he does. I guess that shows how much he loves her.”

“Speaking of Sabrina, I heard she's flying back from Paris tomorrow. What are you going to tell Brielle? How are you going to explain it to your wife?”

Denver didn’t answer, his voice slurred, “She is not my wife.”

Those five words shattered every last bit of hope I had. Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill. Panicking, I bolted down the hallway to the restroom, desperate not to let anyone see me break. As I stumbled, memories from the past six years played on a cruel loop in my mind.

Denver and I had met through a mutual friend, who set us up on a blind date. He was a famous cosmetic surgeon, well-known across the country. From the moment we met, his eyes never left me. They were lit up like firecrackers, fixed on mine like I was the only person in the room.

After that, he pursued me relentlessly—bouquets of flowers, designer gifts, everything I could ever want. Even the stars didn’t seem out of reach when he promised them to me.

My friends and coworkers were envious, saying I’d found a one-in-a-million man.

And me? I fell for him, hard.

The moment I knew I had fell completely was after a near-death experience.

We were walking through the city, hand in hand, when suddenly a car lost control and sped toward us. Without hesitation, Denver threw himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. He ended up with three broken ribs, while I walked away with just a few scratches on my face.

He was wracked with guilt for weeks, constantly blaming himself. Then, he offered to fix the scars on my face, using the opportunity to confess his love.

“I’m so sorry, Brielle. I couldn’t protect you the way I should’ve. Let me make it right. I’ll give you an even more beautiful face and an even better life. Will you be with me and let me make up for my mistakes?”

Back then, lost in the illusion of love, I was deeply moved.

Never did it occur to me that he was using that moment to mold me into the image of his first love. Now, staring at the face in the mirror, tears blurred my vision.

No wonder he always held my face so tenderly during our intimate moments. I’d thought it was love—deep, passionate love. But I was wrong. It wasn’t me he cradle in affection. It was his first love—Sabrina Dyer

Thank God I’d refused the bone-sculpting surgery because of my fear of pain and only agreed to minor adjustments. And thank God I’d only accepted Denver’s proposal and hadn’t yet married him. It wasn’t too late. Wiping my tears away, I pulled out my phone and made a call.

“Chief, I’d like to apply for the frontline journalist position in South Africa.”

“That’s fantastic! A stint like that would do wonders for your career. But you’d have to sign a confidentiality agreement and sever all contact with the outside world. You’re about to get married—will your fiancé agree to this?”

Just as I was about to respond, my phone pinged with a new message.

The sender's profile picture was eerily similar to Denver’s—almost like a matching set for couples.

“I heard Denver found himself a knockoff version of me. That must be you, right? I can’t wait to see your expression tomorrow when you finally meet me,” read the malicious message, each word sinking into my chest like nails.

I didn’t reply.

Instead, I turned to my supervisor with unwavering determination. “I’m calling off the wedding. My career comes first. He’s not worth sacrificing everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

My supervisor nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “That’s the Foley I know. You were never the type to revolve your life around a man. I’ll send you the contract tomorrow—be ready to leave in five days!”

Her words brought a mix of emotions swirling inside me.

There was a time when I was willing to stay put, to build a life around Denver. But now, he had trampled on my love, my heart. If that’s how it was, I wouldn’t look back either.

When I returned to the private room, Denver had sobered up a bit and everyone else was preparing to head home.

Denver instinctively reached for my hand, but as his fingers touched my cold skin, he frowned. Without a word, he poured me a cup of warm water.

“Your hands are freezing. Why didn’t you wear something warmer? You’re old enough to take better care of yourself.”

“I forgot. I was going to get you some hangover medicine, but none of the stores nearby were open.”

As usual, the people around us joked about how close Denver and I were. But this time, their laughter was tinged with mockery. On the way home, silence hung between Denver and me.

He seemed in a great mood, constantly checking his phone, his face lighting up with a smile I’d never seen before. I went to bed with a heavy heart, tossing and turning all night. When I finally fell asleep, I was jolted awake at dawn by Denver.

“Get to the market early and buy some fresh groceries. We’ve got important guests coming over today.”

The sudden wake-up call gave me a pounding headache.

Denver didn’t notice my discomfort; he was too busy adjusting his tie in the mirror. Then he left without a second glance, only tossing a parting comment over his shoulder. “Make sure the house is spotless,” he called out as he walked out the door. “Oh and no spicy food.”

Watching his retreating figure, I chuckled bitterly.

For years, Denver would patiently pick out the chili peppers from our meals. To avoid wasting his efforts, I—a Northerner who grew up loving spicy food—forced myself to adapt to his taste. Now, I realized that even this small habit of his stemmed from Sabrina. Rising from the bed, I crossed out the “wedding photoshoot” from our shared calendar and replaced it with a countdown to my departure. Then, I began packing.

Opening the wardrobe, I saw the gifts Denver had showered on me—brand-new Hermès bags, an array of chic pastel dresses and plush toys. The saccharine pinks stood in stark contrast to my usual monochrome aesthetic.

Pausing, I reopened Sabrina’s social media account. Sure enough, every single item Denver had given me matched something she owned.

Scrolling through her posts, Denver’s figure appeared repeatedly—in photos of them strolling under the Eiffel Tower, basking on Maldivian beaches.

My birthday. Our anniversary. Valentine’s Day.

At her slightest beck and call, Denver would hop on a plane, flying across continents to be by her side.

“This is what you called urgent matter at work, huh?” I whispered, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat.

I fought back tears, gathering everything Denver had ever given me—along with the wedding supplies we had just bought—and tossed it all into the trash.

By the time I was done, the sun was high in the sky.

Six years of love seemed to drain away with my tears. On my final trip to take out the trash, I saw Sabrina step out of Denver’s car. She wore a thin pink dress and as soon as she got out, Denver shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

“The wind is strong—don’t catch a cold,” he said gently.

“Well, as long as I have you, I’ll never feel cold, no matter the weather,” Sabrina replied with a laugh, slipping her hands around Denver’s neck.

Instead of being annoyed, he smiled, pulling her closer as if she were his entire world.

I was reminded of the early days of our relationship, when I’d playfully teased Denver like that. Back then, he would shove me away, saying he had a thing about personal space. 

I chalked it up to him being a serious doctor, someone who’d naturally be a bit rigid. Now I knew the truth: I just wasn’t her.

I turned to leave, but Denver called out.

“Brielle, what are you doing? Why are you dressed like that out in this cold?”

I hesitated before turning back, just in time to hear him add, “You think it’s okay greeting our guests looking like that?”

The autumn wind bit through my thin pajamas, but the chill in my heart was worse.

Sabrina sized me up with a smirk.

“So, you’re Denver’s fiancée? My, my, you really do look like me,” she said with feigned innocence.

Denver’s face froze and I assumed it was guilt.

I turned to leave but overheard him murmur to Sabrina, “We’re not officially married yet, so it doesn’t count…”

Right. It doesn’t count. Six years of love. His promises, his proposal. None of it mattered.

I said nothing and went back inside. Denver and Sabrina followed. He bent down to help her with her shoes, but his face darkened when he noticed the messy state of the room.

“Why is the house such a mess? Didn’t I tell you to clean up?”

Denver, who had never lifted a finger at home, suddenly started tidying up—for Sabrina.

He fussed over whether she was comfortable, oblivious to the fact that everything we’d built together was now gone. I ignored them and continued packing.

Denver hesitated, then came over.

“Why isn’t there any food? Brielle, what happened?” He paused, then added, “Are you upset because I brought her over? Don’t worry, she’s just visiting. Sabrina and I are just friends. We’ve been friends since we were kids and she’s always been fragile. It was just a bit of friendly concern.”

Denver, usually so reserved, couldn’t stop talking about Sabrina. His voice softened as he spoke of her. It was as if he had transformed into someone I no longer recognized. I stared at him, my impatience growing.

“So what? Am I supposed to be your maid now?”

It was the first time I’d ever snapped at him and his stunned expression showed he wasn’t used to it. Realizing he’d overstepped, he pulled a necklace from his pocket.

“Of course not. Look, I got you this. I wanted to give it to you today to thank you for doing everything I asked.”

I instantly recognized it as a cheap promotional giveaway from the theme park. I’d begged Denver to go there with me so many times, but he’d always claimed he was too busy. Now, with Sabrina back, he was willing to get up early just to make her happy.

Seeing my silence, Denver assumed I’d forgiven him. He leaned in to place the necklace around my neck.

“I know you’re not the jealous, dramatic type of girlfriend,” he said with a smug smile.

Revulsion coursed through me. I quickly pulled away from his touch.