Chapter 1

Five years engaged, and my fiancé Lucien Blake claimed he had prosopagnosia—face blindness. Said he could never remember what I looked like.

So I could be found in a crowd, I wore red for five years straight. Kept a string of silver bells on my wrist.

Everyone in the Blake family knew: red dress, silver bells—that was Emily Carter, the future wife of the Don.

Yet every time I stood before Lucien, he'd frown and ask, "Who are you?"

Until the day of the warehouse fire. A collapsing shelf shattered my leg, and I crawled toward him drenched in blood.

I cried out to him: "Lucien, it's me—help me…"

But he lifted his foot, crushed the silver bells on my wrist, and charged into the smoke—straight to a woman huddled in the corner.

She hadn't called his name. No red dress. No silver bells. Half her face was blackened with soot.

Yet he knelt before her, eyes red-rimmed, and whispered, "Don't be scared. I'm here."

I lay there in the sea of fire, watching my fiancé shield my foster sister as they walked away step by step.

That was the moment I finally understood.

He wasn't face-blind. He'd simply never considered me someone worth remembering.

Fine, then. I didn't want him either.

…

I woke in a private hospital, my left leg locked in an external fixator.

The doctor leaned over and asked the nurse, "The second surgery needs to happen soon. Has the family signed off?"

The nurse checked the file. Emergency contact: Lucien Blake.

I'd barely closed my eyes when Lucien's voice drifted in from the hallway.

The doctor stepped out. "Are you this patient's family?"

A beat of silence beyond the door.

"No." His voice was certain.

My fingers curled involuntarily, catching the IV needle. I sucked in a breath at the sting.

The doctor frowned. "Her condition is unstable. The leg can't wait—she needs surgery now."

Lucien said, "I don't know her."

Five years engaged, and all I got was I don't know her.

The nurse gripped her phone tighter. "But her file lists you as her fiancé."

Lucien didn't answer. He turned to his lieutenant instead. "Is Sophia awake? Has the therapist arrived? She went through a fire as a child—she can't handle any more triggers."

The doctor couldn't help himself: "And what about this patient? She inhaled heavy smoke and dragged herself a long way on a broken leg."

Lucien lowered his voice. "Move her somewhere farther away. If Sophia wakes up and hears anything about fire or blood, she'll break down."

I smiled bitterly.

So in his mental hierarchy, I would always rank behind Sophia.

The next second, Daniel—that fool who'd been silently watching over me all this time—burst through the door and grabbed my hand.

"Emily, I'll sign. Let me sign."

I opened my mouth to speak, but only air escaped my throat.

From the next room came Sophia's crying.

"Is it because of me that you didn't recognize Emily? Is that why she got hurt and no one helped her? God, I'm the worst."

As the gurney wheeled me past Sophia's room toward surgery, I heard him say to her:

"It's not your fault. Don't think about it."

After surgery, I opened my eyes to a message from Lucien on my phone.

[Sophia had nightmares all night. Don't upset her again. I didn't recognize you this time—sorry.]

Daniel sat at my bedside and handed me a tablet.

"A clip from the warehouse security footage leaked. I wasn't going to show you."

On screen, the shelving collapsed. I lay on the ground, reaching toward Lucien.

He looked down at me. Paused for three seconds. Then lifted his foot and crushed the silver bells on my wrist.

In the corner, Sophia's face was blackened with soot. She hadn't called out. She wore no marker of any kind.

Yet Lucien walked straight to her, knelt, and gathered her into his arms.

Daniel's voice was hoarse, indignant on my behalf. "He recognized her."

I noticed the obsidian clasp on Sophia's wrist, and my fingers went ice-cold.

That was a keepsake from Lucien's mother.

For five years, he'd never let me touch it. Said it was too precious—afraid I'd lose it.

And now Sophia was wearing it.

There had been times before when Lucien mistook family captains for strangers, or called waitresses by my name.

I'd believed him. Even made excuses for him when things didn't add up.

But for five years, whenever he failed to recognize me, his eyes never wavered. Never showed confusion. He simply opened his mouth and asked: "Who are you?"

I finally understood. It wasn't that he'd fooled me once.

I'd been covering for him for five years.