Four Years and a West Village Watch

I'd poured millions into Sophia Evans, transforming a waitress into a chic SoHo gallery owner.

For four years, I funded her life, her mother's life-saving medical treatments, her brother's MIT education.

All because she was the spitting image of Ava, my beloved fiancée, who died seven years ago in a sailing accident I still blame myself for.

Our wedding, a high-society spectacle, was set for the next day.

Then, I overheard the devastating truth: her childhood sweetheart, Jake, had threatened to jump from her gallery balcony if she married me.