I didn’t flinch at her words, though her voice quavered just enough to feign courage.
“I’m pregnant with his child.”
Three hundred guests collectively froze. The string quartet stopped mid-note. Cameras clicked, paused, suspended in time.
My fiancé’s face went pale, the tailored tuxedo doing nothing to hide his shock.
And me?
I smiled.
Because I’d been waiting for this moment.
Four years earlier, I met Daniel at a charity gala—a world of masks, both literal and figurative, where everyone pretended to be better than they were.
Today’s cathedral gleamed with white roses, but that gala had been cloaked in black silk and whispered deceptions. He was irresistible, dangerously charming, and that night, his grin dissolved all suspicion… including mine.
He found me leaning against the bar, trying to vanish into the patterned wallpaper.
“You don’t seem like you belong here,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, intoxicating.
I smirked dryly. “And you think you’re any different?”
“I’m not,” he said, winking.
“I’m just better at it. But you—you’re not even pretending. You hate this, don’t you?”
“I despise the fake,” I admitted.
“Then,” he extended his hand, “let’s be authentically fake together.
I’m Daniel.”
I took his hand. That was my first mistake. We talked for hours, ignoring speeches and silent auctions.
He shared ambitions of building an empire; I spoke of books and art. He listened—thoughtfully, or so I believed.
Then came Ava.
Ava didn’t enter—she stormed in. My best friend since college, wild, magnetic, always with a sly, secretive smile.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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