PROLOGUE
Dahlia’s POV
The wedding was everything I had ever imagined—grand, elegant, perfect.
The ballroom of the Harrington estate glowed under the soft golden light of the chandeliers, casting a dreamlike haze over the guests who had gathered to witness my union with Theodore. Crystal glasses clinked in celebration, the scent of fresh roses filled the air, and a string quartet played a delicate melody in the background. Everything felt surreal, as if I were living inside a perfectly curated moment—one that I had designed for myself, for my new life.
And yet, beneath the layers of silk and lace, beneath the glittering façade of a woman who had just married one of the most powerful men in New York, my heart felt… quiet.
Not restless. Not uncertain. Just quiet.
I smiled as Theodore slipped his hand into mine, his grip firm, possessive. He had been nothing but the perfect fiancé—charming, thoughtful, generous. Every detail of our wedding had been arranged exactly as I had wanted. The flowers, the venue, the guest list—he had spared no expense. And when he had kissed me at the altar, I had felt a sense of relief.
I had done it.
I had walked away from my past and built a future with a man who could give me everything I deserved.
“You’re staring at me.” Theodore’s voice was low, teasing.
I turned to face him, my lips curving into a soft smile. “Am I not allowed to admire my husband?”
He chuckled, lifting my hand to press a kiss to my fingers. “You can admire me all you want, Mrs. Harrington.”
Mrs. Harrington.
A name I had once carried under very different circumstances.
How come they had the same surname? Just funny.
My stomach twisted for the briefest of moments, but I quickly pushed the thought aside. No one in this room knew. No one would ever know.
This was my fresh start.
“Dance with me,” Theodore said, leading me to the center of the ballroom.
I followed without hesitation, letting him guide me into his arms as the music shifted into a slow waltz. His grip on my waist tightened as we moved, our steps perfectly synchronized. The guests watched with admiration, some whispering, others smiling approvingly.
From the outside looking in, we must have been the picture of a perfect couple.
And yet, as I rested my head against Theodore’s shoulder, my mind drifted—not to the man I had married today, but to the man I had once loved and lost.
Julian.
I had promised myself I would not think of him. Not on this day. Not in this moment.
And yet, his name lingered at the edge of my mind, unwelcome and stubborn.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I had moved on.
I had chosen this life.
So why, deep down, did it feel as though something was still missing?
