Chapter 1
Five years after the divorce, Willow Hayes saw Julian Thorne again. It was at the annual Faculty Appreciation Gala for St. Augustine's Academy, the most exclusive private school in New York.
He was, as always, devastatingly handsome and exuded an aura of cool aristocracy. He hadn't changed at all.
She, on the other hand, was nearly spherical.
Led by the school's headmaster, Julian's entourage swept past her. He didn't even glance her way. He didn't recognize her. Of course, he didn't.
The shock of the reunion rooted Willow to the spot. The wine glass in her hand slipped, shattering against the polished marble floor. The crash echoed unnaturally in the suddenly silent ballroom. Every head turned.
Including his.
Julian Thorne's gaze swept across the room, and for a terrifying second, it landed on her. The blood drained from Willow's face. She wanted to bolt, to disappear, but her body was frozen solid, trapped in the beam of his attention.
His eyes, however, showed no spark of recognition. They passed over her as if she were part of the furniture before moving on.
A bitter smile touched Willow's lips. Of course. He was Julian Thorne now, patriarch of one of the city's most formidable financial dynasties. He was untouchable. Legions of heiresses and socialites vied for a moment of his time, and none succeeded. What chance did she have? At five-foot-six and two hundred twenty pounds, she was a ghost of her former self. Sometimes, she barely recognized the woman in the mirror. It would be a miracle if he did.
Ms. Davies, a fellow teacher, saw her staring and yanked her aside, her voice dripping with disdain. "What is wrong with you, drooling like a star-struck teenager? Take a look at yourself. For someone like you, even looking at him is a form of blasphemy."
Julian Thorne. The man whose wake was followed by a line of the city's most beautiful women. Who among them knew that before the Thorne family claimed him, he was just a brooding, intense boy from a forgotten fishing village?
Feeling slowly returned to Willow's numb limbs, a tingling sensation that pricked at her hands and feet. She wrenched her arm free from Ms. Davies' grip. "What I look like is my business. I happen to like myself just fine. And if you think my looking at him is blasphemy, I think he's not even worth a second glance from me."
"Oh, keep pretending," Ms. Davies sneered. "If I hadn't pulled you away, your eyes would have been glued to him all night." She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper meant to sound like friendly advice. "Be realistic, Willow. Men like Julian Thorne are gods on a different celestial plane. People like us... we don't even exist to them."
"I just... wasn't expecting it," Willow murmured, her defiance deflating.
Five years. She never imagined they would meet again like this.
Her gaze drifted back to him, a man who seemed to be the gravitational center of the entire room. The light from the chandeliers appeared to converge on him alone, catching the subtle weave of his bespoke black suit. A platinum cufflink gleamed at his wrist, cold and sharp as a razor's edge. Broad-shouldered and lean-waisted, he stood with the unyielding posture of a proud pine. His face was a masterpiece of sharp angles and stark beauty—a high brow, a nose like a mountain peak, and eyes so deep they could swallow a soul.
A knot of complicated emotions tightened in Willow's chest. Julian was a man who held onto grudges with the tenacity of a predator. Their divorce had been ugly, a brutal, one-sided affair where she had been the one to walk away.
She could still see him, being forced into the Thorne family car. His eyes were bloodshot, but there were no tears. He had stared at her, a look so sharp it felt like it could strip the flesh from her bones. "A clean break, is that it? Minnie, I swear to God, I never want to see your face again as long as I live!"
His words still rang in her ears.
The evening was officially ruined. Willow turned to make a quiet exit, only to be stopped by a firm hand on her arm. Her blood ran cold. He recognized me. She spun around and came face-to-face with the shiny, bald head of Principal Evans.
"Ms. Hayes! Perfect. Come with me, you need to toast Mr. Thorne."
Willow's heart, which had just settled back into her chest, leaped into her throat. "Principal Evans, I'm allergic to alcohol. You should ask another teacher." If he didn't recognize her, it was a blessing. If he did, she couldn't even imagine the scathing remarks he'd make about her transformation. The leap from who she was to who she is now was a chasm too wide for most to cross.
The principal's bony fingers tightened on her fleshy wrist. "Nonsense. Wasn't that your glass of red wine that just made a scene?"
Willow was speechless.
"You know the roof on the student dorms is leaking, don't you?" he hissed, leaning closer. "Whether we get a new building or just a bucket depends on how happy we can make Mr. Thorne tonight."
"And you think my face is going to make him happy?" Willow retorted, not out of self-pity but pure pragmatism. "My foundation budget has tripled. Are you sure he won't throw up looking at me?"
Principal Evans squinted. "You've put on a few pounds, yes, but that makes you a safe bet. You won't be getting any inappropriate ideas about him."
"And what if he gets inappropriate ideas about me?"
"I doubt he's gone blind."
"Okay, fine! Insult me, why don't you, Evans!" Willow snapped. "You know what? I'm out."
But the principal, desperate to keep his golden goose in the room, played his final card. "You need money, don't you? Mr. Thorne's nephew is prepping for his SATs next year. He's asked me to find a private tutor. The pay is five hundred dollars an hour. Are you in or out?"
Willow froze.
It wasn't that she lacked a spine. It was just that they were offering an obscene amount of money. Besides, fleecing her billionaire ex-husband felt less like a job and more like cosmic justice. He could spare a few million, couldn't he?
The next thing she knew, she was standing directly in front of Julian Thorne. Her commitment to making money was practically a sacred vow, but standing under his direct gaze, her courage evaporated. Don't recognize me, don't recognize me, don't recognize me...
Out of the corner of her eye, she could feel him assessing her. His gaze was devoid of warmth, like a merchant inspecting goods. Five years had honed his presence into something intensely intimidating.
"Mr. Thorne," Principal Evans said with a sickeningly cheerful voice, "this is the Ms. Hayes I was telling you about. Don't let her youth fool you; she has a remarkable talent for handling rebellious students. She fits your requirements perfectly."
Julian's eyes swept over her. The first, most obvious impression was her size. Her arms were soft and round, her full chest straining the fabric of her black shirtdress, and a double chin trembled slightly when she moved.
But her skin was pale, like the milk he remembered drinking as a child. And as she drew closer, he caught the faint, clean scent of soap.
It was a nice smell.
Forcing a smile, Willow held up her glass. "Mr. Thorne. A pleasure. I'm Willow Hayes."
Though she was heavy, her facial features were delicate. When she smiled, a dimple appeared, and the curve of her eyes was... cute.
Julian watched her, a strange, unsettling flicker of familiarity stirring in the back of his mind.
"Ms. Hayes," he said, his voice a low baritone that sent a shiver down her spine. "You look... remarkably like someone I used to know."
Willow's hand trembled, sloshing wine over the rim of the glass. Game over. Was he really going to recognize her just like that?
