Chapter 1
Standing before the mirror, Stephanie Giovanni smiled softly at her reflection. “Stunning,” she murmured, her voice a whisper. The gown clung to her slender waist, its skirt a fairytale vision. Her makeup-free face, bathed in natural light, appeared delicate and enchanting.
The shop manager adjusted the gown's pleats. “Why isn’t Mr. Ashford here with you? Men and women have different tastes, you know,” she commented.
A faint smile touched Stephanie's lips. She shrugged. “Men. Busy with work. Can't get away.”
Her phone vibrated. Seeing Ella Turner's name, she answered. Ella's voice, breathless, cut through. “Stefi, I saw Olivia and Chris…”
Stephanie's fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles white. The smile vanished, replaced by a chilling stillness in her eyes. Chris Ashford, her fiancé, was marrying her in a week. The mere mention of Olivia Hart filled her with disgust.
Stephanie glanced at the manager, who discreetly ushered the staff from the room. Alone, Stephanie gazed at her perfectly manicured nails. “Where did you see them?” she asked calmly.
Ella's voice was urgent. “At the hospital. In obstetrics and gynecology…”
Stephanie raised an eyebrow, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “Quite a special place,” she murmured sarcastically. The implication was clear.
Ella, still flustered, continued. “That Olivia is a calculating bitch, and Chris is an idiot. You shouldn’t marry him!”
While Ella seethed, Stephanie remained composed, sipping water. “Every time she calculates, I'm the one in trouble. Why are you so worked up?” Olivia had begged for forgiveness two years ago, yet here she was, again, entangled with Chris. Am I a pushover? Or just too kind? Stephanie wondered.
Ella pressed on. “She’s picking the perfect time—just before your wedding. She’s clearly up to something.”
Stephanie's eyes sharpened, her grip tightening. “I’m hanging up now,” she said flatly.
Ella's voice was frantic. “What are you going to do?”
Stephanie's lips curled into a thin smile. “Someone’s made a bad calculation. I’m going to teach her how to do the math.” She ended the call, the silence heavy.
Staring at her reflection, Stephanie touched the bodice of the dress. With a sharp rip, she tore the gown in half, throwing the pieces to the floor. The sound echoed through the silent room. The saleswomen gasped, but Stephanie's cold fury silenced them.
After changing, her phone vibrated again—Chris. She answered. His voice, firm and clipped, commanded, “Once you’re done with the fitting, come to the office.”
His usual gentleness was gone, replaced by a chilling coldness that intensified the already frigid atmosphere. A flicker of sarcasm crossed Stephanie's eyes. She hung up.
Half an hour later, Stephanie entered Chris's office. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, on the phone. Bathed in sunlight, he projected an image of refinement and gentleness. His flawless profile was arresting.
Noticing her, he muttered into the phone, ending the call. He moved to a leather couch, settling with a soft creak. The warmth of the call vanished, replaced by an icy coldness. His eyes locked onto Stephanie. “Come here,” he ordered.
Stephanie met his gaze, unmoving. The tension was palpable. She sat opposite him, maintaining a distance that mirrored the chill between them. Chris's eyes narrowed.
A lighter clicked. The scent of gasoline filled the air. Stephanie waved it away, wrinkling her nose. Chris took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Olivia’s back,” he said reluctantly, guilt fleeting across his eyes. Then came the words that froze her: “Our wedding… it has to be postponed.”
Stephanie's voice was cold. “What do you mean?”
Chris exhaled smoke. “She’s sick. It’s terrible.” He handed her a file. “The admission letter from the University of Saint Peter. You should go study there.” His tone was condescending.
Stephanie didn't reach for the file. A playful smile touched her lips. “Sending me abroad? Getting me out of your way?” she asked sarcastically.
Chris's face darkened. “Isn’t this the school you’ve always wanted to go to? Now you’ve got the chance…”
“Chris Ashford!” she interrupted sharply. Before he could finish, she snatched the envelope, tore it apart, and flung the pieces at his face.
His warmth vanished. Stephanie didn't glance back. “Postpone the wedding? Don’t bother. It’s canceled.” Postponing was unthinkable. Canceling was easier.