Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English | NEW
Synopsis
PROLOGUE
After Julian broke his promise for the hundred and thirty-eighth time, I heard him tell his friends the cold, ugly truth.
I was just a stand-in. A pathetic stray who looked like Camilla, someone who couldn't survive without the Sterling family.
That was the moment I realized he had never loved me.
He had dedicated an entire wall to photos of Camilla. He had spent 4.37 million dollars buying her designer bags and high jewelry. Yet he had left me waiting, over and over, for promises he never intended to keep.
I was done waiting.
I agreed to the arranged marriage my family set up for me in New York. I decided to leave San Francisco behind and erase myself from his world for good.
When I packed my bags to leave, Julian didn't even try to stop me.
He was too busy doting on Camilla, who had just returned from abroad.
It didn't matter anymore.
Julian, this time, I won't be waiting for you.
Stella’s POV
I kept a record of the hundred and thirty-eight times Julian broke his word.
I foolishly believed we would get married someday. I thought he would finally give our relationship a real, public name.
Until that night, when I carried a cup of hot tea toward his study and caught the conversation drifting through the cracked door.
The door wasn't shut tight. Julian's voice slipped through the narrow gap, laced with effortless amusement.
"Tell her the truth? What's the rush?" he said. "Let her cry it out first. She lives under the Sterling roof. Without me, she has nothing."
His friend chuckled. "You're that sure she won't walk out?"
"Where could she possibly go? That arranged match in New York is just family gossip. She won't take it seriously."
His friend asked, "Just how much does she look like Camilla, anyway?"
Julian let out a faint laugh. "Her eyes and profile are almost identical. But their personalities couldn't be more different. Camilla would never bottle everything up like a doormat the way Stella does."
I stood outside in the hallway. The porcelain cup in my hands turned ice cold.
The sharp edge of the saucer dug into my palms. I looked down and realized my fingers were trembling uncontrollably.
A drop of tea spilled over, splashing onto the back of my hand. It felt freezing.
I didn't push the door open. I didn't turn around and run, either. I just stood there beside the crack in the door, listening to the rest.
I couldn't register whatever his friend said next.
A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.
All I could hear was that final phrase echoing in my head: Let her cry it out first.
He had known all along.
He knew I was hurting. He knew I had spent all these years waiting for a commitment.
He just wasn't in any hurry.
He had never been in a rush. I was the only one desperate for an answer.
"Stella Ward, you really are pathetic," I whispered to myself in the silence of my mind. "He treats you like a running joke, and you're still standing here waiting."
I set the cold cup of tea on the console table and turned toward the storage room across the hall.
Julian had never allowed me inside that room. Whenever I asked about it, he told me it was full of old junk. And I had believed him.
The door had a standard pin tumbler lock. I grabbed a screwdriver from a drawer in the kitchen and spent three minutes jimmying it until the latch popped open.
The moment the door swung inward, the scent of dry paper and wooden frames hit my nose.
Then I saw the wall.
The entire wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, was covered in photographs of Camilla Frost. Camilla in her high school uniform, smiling by the running track. Camilla at her college graduation, tossing her cap into the air. Camilla at the airport recently, wheeling a suitcase and looking back over her shoulder as the wind caught her hair. Every single photo was meticulously framed and arranged, like a personal shrine built for one person.
I stood before the wall, studying each picture one by one.
Her sweet sixteen birthday. The day she boarded a flight abroad. Postcards she sent every Christmas, scanned, printed, and pinned neatly to the board.
All these years, Julian claimed he was helping handle the Frost family's affairs. He claimed he was tied up with foundation business.
In reality, he had been curating this temple.
My gaze dropped to the dresser against the wall. The top drawer wasn't fully closed, revealing the edge of a white document. I pulled the drawer open to find a thick stack of bank statements, every single one tied to the same supplementary black card.
I picked up the top statement and scanned the charges.
Designer handbags, fine jewelry, luxury spas, first-class flights. Line after line, stretching all the way back to the year I first moved into the Sterling estate.
I flipped to the summary on the final page.
Total accumulated spending: $4,370,000.
Holding that piece of paper, I stood frozen in front of the wall of photos for a very long time.
I finally understood what I had been to Julian all these years.
A compliant pet living in his house. A cheap placeholder who looked like Camilla. Someone readily available whenever he wanted company.
He didn't need to give me a title. He didn't need to take any responsibility. Because he thought I had nowhere else to run.
I put the statement back into the drawer, aligning it exactly as I had found it. Then I pulled out my phone and opened the note titled Broken Promises.
I had started keeping track the year I moved in. Every single time he flaked on me, I logged an entry.
I scrolled to the very bottom and checked the total count.
One hundred and thirty-eight.
The first entry was Christmas Eve years ago. He promised to come home for dinner, but ended up driving Camilla's parents to a hot spring resort. The last entry was just last week. He promised to take me to the dentist, but Camilla called him once, and he left without a second thought.
Staring at that number, a bitter laugh slipped past my lips.
My phone vibrated. It was Aunt Clara calling.
"Stella, honey," Clara's voice came through, gentle and cautious. "About the match in New York... the family is still waiting for your answer. If you don't want this, I'll tell them to drop it. Don't feel pressured."
I looked at the wall in front of me, at Camilla smiling down from every single frame.
"I accept," I said.
Silence fell over the other end of the line.
"What did you say?"
"I said yes," I replied, my voice completely flat. "I'll do the arranged marriage. And I'm never coming back to San Francisco."
Clara choked up on the other end, stammering with relief before whispering through tears that she would handle everything.
After hanging up, I meticulously wiped away every trace of my presence. I pushed the drawer shut, set the papers straight, wiped down the doorknob, and used the sole of my shoe to buff out the scratch marks left by the screwdriver. I cleaned it with surgical care, making sure the room looked as untouched as ever.
Then I walked back to my bedroom, sat on the edge of the mattress, and waited for Julian to return.
He came home after eleven that night, carrying the chill of the outside air and the faint scent of whiskey. He stepped into the room, walked over, and draped an arm around my shoulders, just like he always did.
"Still awake?" he murmured with practiced tenderness. "Don't take that New York gossip to heart. The elders are just playing games."
I looked at him. His face was the same handsome face I had looked at for years, but now, he seemed like a total stranger.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I won't take it to heart."
Julian smiled, affectionately ruffling my hair. "That's my girl. Get some sleep. I'll have breakfast with you tomorrow."
He stood up and walked into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed listening to the rush of running water, completely expressionless.
I didn't confront him. I didn't demand answers.Stella’s POV
Julian climbed into bed later that night, sliding behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist.
I shifted away slightly. "I'm not feeling well tonight."
His hand hovered in midair for a beat before drawing back. He didn't force it. He simply gathered me into his arms from behind, resting his chin against my collarbone. Soon, his breathing steadied into deep sleep.
I didn't close my eyes all night.
Listening to his steady breathing, I reviewed everything I needed to do the next day. My essentials were already packed. My documents were hidden at the back of the drawer. The balance in my personal checking account was enough to keep me afloat in New York for several months. I walked through every step in my head like rehearsing a play where no mistakes were allowed.
A few times in his sleep, Julian tightened his grip, pulling me closer against his chest. I didn't resist. I let him hold me, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my spine—calm and untouched, as if nothing had changed.
Only when dawn broke did I manage to drift into a shallow, fitful sleep.
Early the next morning, Julian left for the corporate office. I walked downstairs to find Jenkins, the butler.
He was currently briefing the kitchen staff on breakfast preparations. When he saw me approach, he gave a polite nod.
"Jenkins," I said calmly. "I'm moving out. I'm heading back to New York."
Jenkins froze, the leather-bound menu in his hands tightening. "Miss Ward... a matter like this... I need to confirm with Mr. Sterling first."
"Go ahead and ask him," I said. "I'll be in my room waiting."
Jenkins watched me walk away. He opened his mouth, but swallowed his words, letting out a quiet sigh before pulling out his phone to text Julian.
I turned to head upstairs, pausing right at the landing.
Down in the foyer, Julian had somehow returned. He was standing right in front of Camilla, holding a beige cashmere coat and gently draping it over her shoulders. Camilla tilted her head up, laughing softly as she said something. Julian smiled warmly, reaching out to straighten her collar.
Then he picked up a cup of hot black tea from the console and handed it to her with an effortless intimacy, as if he had done it thousands of times before.
I stood on the landing, watching them for two silent seconds.
I didn't make a sound. I turned around and walked away.
Back in my room, I sat by the window, staring down at the garden. About ten minutes later, a sharp clatter echoed from downstairs, followed by the sound of porcelain shattering.
Then came Camilla's soft, panicked cry.
I didn't move. I already knew what had happened. Camilla had knocked over her tea and scalded her hand. Julian would be beside himself with worry.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, Jenkins knocked on my door.
"Miss Ward," Jenkins began, his expression uneasy. "Mr. Sterling said... you may do whatever you please."
I looked up. "Did he say those exact words?"
Jenkins gave a stiff nod. "Miss Frost scalded her hand. Mr. Sterling carried her to the private clinic himself. He said it on his way out the door."
A faint smile touched my lips. "Understood."
Jenkins lingered by the doorway, looking like he wanted to offer some comfort, but in the end, he just sighed and walked away.
I started doing a final inventory of my things.
I didn't own much. Everything I truly cared about fit into a single carry-on suitcase. The designer clothes Julian had bought me over the years would stay right where they were; I had no intention of taking any of them. The books I brought from New York numbered only three. I didn't touch the jewelry box.
Once I finished, I walked downstairs.
The foyer was empty now. Stains from the shattered cup lingered on the marble table, and a dark brown puddle of tea soaked into the edge of the rug. The maids were scrubbing it out, and when they saw me coming down, they instantly froze.
I didn't look at them. I kept walking toward the front door.
As I passed the open kitchen, hushed whispers drifted out.
"Mr. Sterling truly dotes on Miss Frost. When he rushed her to the clinic just now, one of his shoes came right off."
"Ever since Miss Frost came back, he's like a completely different person. He never treated Miss Ward with that kind of urgency."
"Miss Ward is out of the picture now, isn't she? I heard she told Jenkins this morning that she's moving out, and Mr. Sterling didn't even care."
"Poor thing. She lived here all these years, and when she leaves, nobody even bothers to ask her to stay."
"Shh! Keep it down!"
Standing outside the kitchen, I listened to their pity and smiled faintly.
I didn't bother to correct them, nor did I stop walking.
I pushed open the heavy front doors. The morning sunlight was a little blinding. I squinted slightly and stepped out into the warmth.
The estate security guard greeted me, asking if I was heading out. I nodded, telling him I had a few errands to run.
My suitcase remained upstairs in my room, and for now, so did I. There were still loose ends in San Francisco that needed tying up before I could leave for good.Stella’s POV
During my lunch break, Clara called again.
"Stella, when can you make it to New York?" Her voice was filled with eager anticipation. "The estate venue and hotel are already locked down. We're just waiting on you to pick the date."
I leaned against the balcony railing, watching the manicured lawn below. "I have a checklist of fifteen things to finish. Once I cross them off, I'm on the next train. It won't take long."
"Good," Clara said warmly. "Everything is ready for you on this end. Take your time, sweetie."
After hanging up, I opened my phone and crossed one item off my digital checklist. Fourteen left.
By afternoon, a few local friends found out I was leaving and insisted on taking me out for a farewell dinner.
About seven or eight people gathered in the private dining room. They were people I had gotten to know during my years in San Francisco. Someone asked if the marriage rumors were true, and I nodded, confirming I was heading to New York to get married.
They exchanged stunned glances.
"Out of nowhere?"
"Who's the guy?"
"Wait... what about you and Julian?"
I fielded their questions casually without offering details. Some were genuinely happy for me, saying moving back to New York was great because I'd be closer to family. Others felt it was too sudden, holding their glasses with hesitant expressions. I accepted every toast with a smile, drinking quite a bit while keeping my words to a minimum.
When the dinner wrapped up, I stood by the curb waiting for an Uber.
The evening breeze was brisk. I pulled my coat tightly around myself. My first Uber pulled up, but before the driver could stop, a sleek black sedan abruptly cut across the lane, cutting him off. The driver cursed, swerved around the obstacle, and drove off.
I recognized the sedan immediately.
A second Uber arrived, then a third. Each time, Julian's car swerved to block them, bullying the rideshare drivers until none dared pull over.
With no other choice, I walked over, yanked open the passenger door, and slid inside.
The heat was blasting. Julian's knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his expression dark with annoyance.
"That arranged marriage is a joke," he said sharply. "Stop acting out."
I turned my face toward the window. "What am I doing wrong?"
"You know exactly what I mean." Julian's voice simmered with suppressed anger. "Camilla just got back. There's so much I have to sort out for her. Once this busy patch is over, I'll go public with our relationship. Is waiting a little longer really that hard for you?"
I didn't say a word.
I watched the streetlights blur past in the dark, one by one, like the lonely years I had spent counting down the days.
Assuming my silence was compliance, his tone softened. "Tomorrow, go down to the boutique and help Camilla out. She needs an extra pair of hands while trying on dresses."
I pulled my gaze away from the glass. "Sure."
The following afternoon, I arrived at the high-end boutique.
Camilla was already trying on her first gown. When she saw me walk in, she put on a sickeningly sweet smile.
"Stella, you're finally here! Come give me a hand."
For the first gown, Camilla had me crouch on the floor behind her to fasten dozens of tiny, intricate fabric buttons. The buttons were microscopic and placed awkwardly down the train. I squatted on the hardwood floor, painstakingly sliding each one into its loop until my legs went numb. When I tried to shift my weight to stand up, Camilla spoke from above, "There are three left. Hurry up, would you?"
I had no choice but to stay on my knees.
For the second gown, she sent me running back and forth to the jewelry vault to fetch matching pieces.
"These earrings are all wrong. Bring me the pearl drops."
"The pearls look too plain. Get the diamonds."
"The diamonds are too flashy. Switch back to the pearls."
I ran back and forth between the fitting suite and the vault half a dozen times, only for Camilla to sigh and say, "Never mind. I won't wear any jewelry for now."
For the third gown, Camilla made me hold up a heavy full-length vanity mirror.
The heavy glass strained my muscles. My arms began to shake within minutes. Camilla spun in circles before the glass for ten full minutes before frowning. "The angle is off. Shift it an inch to the left."
I gritted my teeth, forcing the heavy frame an inch to the left.
Julian sat on the plush leather couch nearby the entire time, staring down at his phone, without uttering a single word.
Holding the heavy glass, I caught Camilla's smug reflection in the mirror, then glanced over at the man absorbed in his screen. My arms shook violently.
Yet I refused to let the mirror fall.Stella’s POV
Julian took a call regarding foundation business and stepped out of the boutique.
Only Camilla and I remained in the fitting room.
The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the warm smile vanished from Camilla's face. She looked me up and down with cold disdain, as if inspecting a piece of cheap furniture cluttering her living room.
"You're nothing more than a placeholder," Camilla said coolly. "Stop daydreaming. Julian has only ever loved me. You were just a distraction he kept around to kill time while I was gone."
She took a deliberate step closer, leaning into my ear, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "Do you want to know why he kept you around for so long? Because your eyes look like mine. Your profile looks like mine. Every single time he looked at you, he was thinking of me."
I stayed completely silent.
I set the mirror back onto its stand and turned to walk out. Camilla's eyes suddenly landed on the vintage watch resting against my wrist, and her gaze sparked.
"Nice watch," she said, reaching out to grab it. "Let me see."
I pulled my arm back sharply. That watch was the only heirloom my mother had left me. I wouldn't let anyone touch it.
Seeing me dodge, Camilla lunged forward aggressively. During the scramble, the leather strap snapped, and the watch went flying, crashing hard against the marble floor.
The crystal shattered, and the delicate hands stopped dead.
Camilla glanced down at the broken pieces and gave an indifferent shrug. "It's just an old watch. I'll have Julian buy you a brand new Cartier later."
Looking at the shattered glass on the floor, a suffocating pressure crushed my chest.
I raised my arm and slapped Camilla across the face.
The crack echoed sharply in the quiet dressing suite.
Clutching her cheek, Camilla stared at me in pure disbelief. "You hit me?"
I didn't answer. My hands were shaking, but I stood completely straight.
The door swung open, and Julian walked back in.
The red welt on Camilla's cheek caught his eye instantly. His face darkened. He stormed over and shoved me hard.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he barked, his voice laced with fury.
I stumbled backward, catching my heel on the corner of the stone fireplace surround. I tumbled forward, the side of my forehead smashing brutally against the sharp marble edge. A flash of blinding pain tore through my skull, followed by something thick and warm trickling down my cheek.
I looked down. Drops of blood dripped onto the stone floor. One drop, two drops, three.
Julian glanced at the shattered watch on the tiles, then at the blood pooling along my hairline. His brow furrowed in annoyance.
"It's just a damn watch," he snapped, exasperation dripping from his tone. "Did you really have to get physical? Look at Camilla's face—it's completely swollen!"
I pressed a hand to my bleeding forehead. I didn't cry, and I didn't offer a single word of defense.
Blood seeped past my fingers, running down my forearm. I stood frozen in place, watching Julian gently wrap an arm around Camilla's shoulders, murmuring soft comforts and asking if she was in pain. I watched Camilla bury her face in his chest, weeping delicate tears.
A sudden, eerie stillness washed over me.
It felt as though something fragile inside my soul had quietly shattered, so silently that only I could hear the pieces hit the ground.
That watch had belonged to my mother.
She passed away when I was twelve. Right before she died, she took the watch off her wrist and fastened it onto mine, telling me her mother had passed it to her, and now it belonged to me. The casing was worn smooth, and the strap had been replaced twice, but it had never lost a single second.
Once, I had accidentally lost it and cried inconsolably. When Julian found out, he searched every coffee shop and park bench I had visited, staying out in the freezing rain all night. He came back running a fever, clutching the watch with a scratch on the glass.
Back then, I genuinely thought he cared about me.
Now I finally understood: all he ever cared about was the face that resembled Camilla Frost.
The watch was ruined, and he called it "just a damn watch." My head was bleeding, and he accused me of making a scene.
All these years, I wasn't even worth as much as a broken watch to him.
I lowered my hand. The bleeding had slowed, congealing into a dark crimson streak down my face.
I notified the front desk staff and took a cab to the nearest urgent care clinic.
The doctor told me the laceration wasn't too deep—just two stitches, leaving minimal scarring. I lay on the examination table staring blankly at the fluorescent lights above, silent through the entire procedure.
Julian never came home that evening, nor did he call.
As I walked out of the clinic, my phone rang. It was Chloe Sterling.
"Stella, where are you?" Chloe asked frantically. "Julian told me you got into a fight with someone! Are you okay?"
I touched the gauze taped to my temple. "I'm fine."
"Come over to my place. Let me make you dinner," Chloe insisted. "I need to talk to you."
After a moment's thought, I agreed.Stella’s POV
Chloe's downtown apartment was cozy and warm.
By the time I arrived, she had prepared a table full of my favorite dishes. We sat down, and Chloe immediately began piling food onto my plate, her eyes lingering worriedly on my bandaged forehead.
"I tripped and bumped it," I lied quietly. "It's nothing."
Chloe stared at the gauze, her lips trembling, but she didn't push.
She ladled a bowl of rich tomato beef soup and placed it in front of me. "Have some soup first."
I took a warm sip. It had simmered for hours, rich and comforting.
Halfway through the meal, I set my fork down.
"Chloe," I said evenly. "I'm moving back to New York to get married."
The fork slipped from Chloe's hand, clattering against the plate. She stared at me, wide-eyed, as if she had misheard.
"What did you just say?"
"I said I'm moving back to New York to get married," I repeated, my tone calm and steady. "An arranged match with the Reed family. Set up by our elders."
Chloe froze for several long seconds. Then, out of nowhere, she threw her arms around me and burst into tears.
"You've suffered so much all these years," she sobbed into my shoulder. "My brother... he failed you so badly."
I rubbed her back gently. I didn't shed a single tear.
I had already run out of tears a long time ago.
After dinner, Julian drove over to pick me up.
His sports car was parked at the curb, and he was leaning against the driver's door smoking a cigarette. When he saw me step out of the building, he crushed the cigarette out and pulled open the passenger door.
I slid inside. Up on the balcony, Chloe stood watching us.
After driving for a few blocks, Julian broke the heavy silence.
"What did you tell Chloe?" His voice sounded strained. "She just texted me asking if you're really getting married."
I looked out the window. "I am."
"Stella Ward!" Julian slammed on the brakes, pulling the car abruptly to the shoulder. He turned to glare at me. "What is wrong with you? That arranged match is just family chatter. Why are you treating it like it's real?!"
"Because it is real," I said, turning my eyes to meet his furious gaze. "I'm moving to New York to get married, Julian."
"To whom?!" His voice rose with panic. "That stranger? You've never even laid eyes on the guy!"
"It doesn't matter whether I've met him," I countered softly. "At least he won't make me wait for years in the dark."
Julian stared at me for a long time, then suddenly let out a laugh—a brittle laugh edged with desperation.
"You're just throwing a tantrum," he scoffed. "Once I pamper you for a few days, you'll be fine. You always do this. You make a scene, and then you come right back."
He reached into his designer coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, pushing it toward me.
Inside lay my mother's watch. It had been repaired, the second hand ticking with a faint, rhythmic click.
"Stop joking around," he pleaded, his voice dropping into a gentle cadence. "Look, I had the watch fixed. Put it on."
I stared at the watch, making no move to take it.
My mother's watch... so what if it was fixed? Once something shatters, no amount of glue can ever make it whole again.
Julian's hand remained suspended in the air. After a long silence, he slowly pulled it back.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll give you some space. You'll come to your senses soon enough."
He shifted into drive and didn't utter another word for the rest of the ride.
Back at the estate, I went straight up to my room.
Late that night, I sat on my bed browsing the wedding venues and bridal gown photos Clara had sent me over text. The venue was a private historic estate in upstate New York, boasting sprawling green lawns and a sunlit glass conservatory. The dress Clara picked was a minimalist A-line cut, elegant and unadorned.
I swiped through the pictures carefully, studying every detail.
The bedroom door pushed open, and Julian walked in. The moment he caught sight of the bridal gowns on my screen, his face hardened.
"How long are you going to keep this act up?" He stepped over, reaching down to snatch the phone from my hand. "What's so interesting about these stupid pictures?"
I pulled my phone back smoothly, ignoring his presence as I continued scrolling.
Julian stood by the mattress, chest heaving with silent irritation. In the end, he said nothing and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Once he was gone, I opened my contacts and saved my fiancé's phone number.
I didn't know his name, and I had never met him. In the contact nickname field, I typed a single phrase: Arranged by Family.
After saving it, I set the phone on the nightstand and switched off the lamp.
That night, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapters (5)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Watch & Promotions
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