The Wife He Forgot Was The One He Loved Most Chapter 02
I stared at that airport shot on my screen for a long time.
Vivienne Ashford. Ethan’s junior in college. The two of them had been the campus’s poster couple, even doing a duet at the graduation gala.
Later, Vivienne went abroad for graduate school, and not long after that, whatever they’d had quietly ended.
After the breakup, her name became a landmine around Ethan. Anyone who mentioned her paid for it.
Back when I dropped my résumé at Sinclair Group, I’d done it with my heart in my throat.
Ordinary degree, nothing to show for myself besides a hobby in photography—and the front desk didn’t need a photographer.
I hadn’t expected HR to call the next day to schedule an interview, let alone offer me the job.
Later, after I married into the Sinclair family, the whispers in that social circle—both open and half-hidden—were all the same. I was Vivienne’s stand-in.
I studied the photo again, carefully.
Vivienne, long waves of hair down her back, a sharp profile, a straight elegant nose.
I glanced up at myself in the mirror—small round face, still a little baby fat.
We didn’t look anything alike.
Something like relief loosened in my chest.
All those years of being called a knockoff—turned out the whole crowd had been imagining things.
Chloe’s message popped up again.
I’m getting married end of the month. You two show up together, be civil about it. Otherwise the gossip mill has a field day.
I wrote back, You literally saved my life.
She sent three kiss emojis.
I got up to pick out something to wear to Chloe’s wedding, and after three or four outfits, none of them zipped.
Turned sideways in front of the mirror—there really was a soft roll of extra flesh around my waist.
My appetite had been terrible all month, and I’d been eating light. It made no sense.
Fine. I’d just go to a boutique on the weekend and pick something in person.
I spotted a champagne-pink slip dress on the first pass and headed into the fitting room with it.
When I stepped out, I nearly walked straight into a tall figure.
Ethan had his back to me, bent slightly at the waist, adjusting the beading on the hem of some woman’s dress.
The woman was wearing champagne pink too.
For an instant, all three of us froze.
Ethan’s gaze traveled from my face down to my waist, and lingered there for two beats.
“That one’s unflattering. Try something else.”
I glanced down at myself. Was it really that obvious?
The woman turned and lifted her chin at me.
“You must be Anna. I’m Vivienne. Here to pick out something for the wedding too? What a coincidence.”
I let the corners of my mouth lift. “Hello.”
Vivienne casually pulled a dark grey column dress off a nearby rack—the color washed-out, no waistline to speak of.
“This cut is very forgiving, and the fabric is soft. You could try it?”
I didn’t like it. I opened my mouth to say no—
Ethan pushed the dress aside first, his face darkening.
“No. The color’s too matronly.”
“She’s going to Chloe’s wedding next week. If she shows up in something like that, I’m the one who looks bad.”
Vivienne’s expression stiffened. Her voice dropped half a note.
“Eth—maybe I just won’t come that day. You and Anna still haven’t finalized things. People might get the wrong idea…”
Ethan went quiet.
Chloe had been my best friend since childhood. But her husband happened to be one of Ethan’s college classmates.
Our names were printed on the same invitation. There was no version of this where we didn’t cross paths.
He thought for a moment, then turned to me.
“Do you have to go? Everyone knows the situation. If people start talking about you at the wedding—”
I saw his hand resting on Vivienne’s wrist, and something in me went hollow.
I pulled at the corner of my mouth.
“I’m going to Chloe’s wedding. Chloe won’t let anyone give me a hard time. Don’t worry about it.”
In my head, Chloe was worth ten thousand of Ethan.
Right after I got married, Sinclair Group threw one of its cocktail evenings, and a whole flock of wives had drifted over with champagne flutes to “congratulate” me. Listen closely and every word was velvet-wrapped acid—a real Cinderella story, punching so far above her weight—each phrase sweeter and sharper than the last.
After that night, it was Chloe who taught me to distinguish wines, coached me on small talk, drilled me on posture. Even the comebacks were fed to me one line at a time.
I paused.
“If Ms. Ashford’s presence would distract you, then neither of you needs to come. I don’t mind.”
Then I turned back into the fitting room.
Ethan didn’t say anything else.