Chapter 1

On Christmas Eve, I drove six hours through sleet to surprise my fiancé.

By the time I reached Logan Pierce's penthouse, my hands were raw from carrying grocery bags, my boots were wet, and the city below his windows was glowing with Christmas lights.

His doorman knew me.

His spare key still worked.

That was how stupid I was.

I let myself in, took off my coat, and spent three hours cooking the Christmas dinner I had imagined us eating together before we called our families on video and told them we were finally ready to announce the engagement date.

Roast chicken with rosemary butter.

Garlic mashed potatoes.

Cranberry sauce from scratch.

A chocolate cake cooling by the sink.

I even wrapped his gift and placed it under the tree: a vintage watch strap he had once mentioned for half a second and forgotten.

I remembered everything Logan forgot.

While the gravy simmered, I checked my phone.

A post had gone viral on Threads.

How do you know a man is obsessed with you?

The top answer was from a girl with a soft-focus profile picture and a Christmas tree emoji in her bio.

He told his family he had an emergency board call tonight because I couldn't stand spending Christmas Eve alone.

My fingers stopped moving.

She continued.

He was supposed to get engaged to his girlfriend this holiday, but I said I wasn't ready to watch him choose her, so he postponed it. He remembers my coffee order, my birthday, my favorite Christmas song. He even made the passenger seat of his car mine.

The kitchen went quiet except for the low hiss of the stove.

Logan had told me he couldn't come home for Christmas because of an emergency board call.

Logan had postponed our engagement announcement two weeks ago.

Someone replied:

Girl, that sounds like being the other woman.

The girl answered with a laughing emoji.

The woman he doesn't love is the other woman. He told me his fiancée is only a responsibility. I get the man. She gets the title.

Then another line appeared.

We're going to look at Christmas lights now.

The attached photo showed half of a man's face under gold string lights.

Sharp jaw.

Straight nose.

Black wool coat.

A hand resting on the steering wheel.

On his ring finger was the platinum band I had given Logan on our third anniversary.

The same ring he said made him feel "already married."

I enlarged the picture until the pixels broke apart.

Then I shrank it.

Then enlarged it again.

I tried to believe another man in this city had Logan's jaw, Logan's coat, Logan's ring, and Logan's habit of resting his thumb on the wheel like he owned the road.

Then the girl posted a second photo.

Two hands intertwined over a cashmere blanket.

His watch was visible.

So was the bracelet I had bought him last Christmas.

My stomach dropped.

I called Logan.

The phone rang for almost a full minute before he answered.

In the background, Christmas music played.

A woman's laugh slipped through before he moved away from it.

"Ava?" Logan's voice was warm. Too warm. "What's wrong?"

I looked at the dinner I had made.

"Where are you?"

"At the office," he said smoothly. "I told you. Board call."

If I hadn't seen the post, I would have believed him.

That was the worst part.

"I’m at your place," I said.

The silence on his end lasted long enough to kill five years.

Then he said, "Stay there. I'm coming."

He came back thirty-two minutes later.

He did not come alone.

The woman beside him had glossy lips, soft brown hair, and a cream coat that looked expensive but useless against the cold. Her cheeks were pink, her earrings were tiny gold stars, and his scarf was wrapped around her throat.

I knew her.

Sienna Cole.

Logan's assistant.

She had drifted through enough of our video calls to become familiar. Always in the background. Always carrying coffee. Always smiling at him like she had a secret key to a room I didn't know existed.

When Logan saw me standing beside the dining table, the first thing that crossed his face was not guilt.

It was annoyance.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

My gaze dropped to his clothes.

The black wool coat.

The ring.

The scarf missing from his neck and wrapped around hers.

I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

"I wanted to surprise you," I said.

My voice sounded strange.

Flat.

Like it belonged to a woman watching this from far away.

Turns out he had prepared a better surprise first.

I looked at Sienna.

"Do you and your assistant usually spend Christmas Eve board calls together?"

Logan's jaw tightened.

"You should have told me earlier. I would've picked you up."

I almost laughed.

I had driven six hours in sleet to reach him, and he had not asked whether I was tired, hungry, or safe.

Sienna smiled at me.

"I didn't expect you to remember me, Miss Carter. Mr. Pierce and I really were working. When he got your call, he rushed home right away."

Home.

She said it like she lived there.

Like I was the woman who had arrived without permission.

Logan looked at her, and the corner of his mouth softened.

It was quick.

Private.

A smile he had not given me in months.

Then he turned to me.

"Ubers are impossible tonight. I couldn't leave her standing outside in this weather. I'll take her home later."

Sienna blinked at me.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Before I could answer, Logan said, almost amused, "Ava isn't as dramatic as you."

Sienna pouted.

"I am not dramatic."

They laughed.

Just a little.

Enough.

They sounded less like CEO and assistant and more like two people who had spent too many nights making each other comfortable.

My burned finger pulsed from where hot butter had splashed earlier.

Sienna's eyes moved over the table.

"Oh my God. You cooked all this?" She tilted her head. "That's sweet. I'm awful in the kitchen. Logan doesn't even let me hold a knife. He says my job is to sit there and look pretty while he cooks."

Logan looked away.

But not fast enough.

I turned to him.

"I don't like her."

Sienna's smile froze.

"Logan," I said, each word clean and sharp. "Fire her."