Chapter 1

Twenty-three years ago, a nurse on the maternity ward switched the wristbands on two newborn babies. Two families. Two scrambled lives.

Two years ago, the truth caught up with mine.

My fiancé's little sister? She's actually my little sister. Same blood. Same parents. The hospital ran the DNA three times to be sure.

I thought it was a gift. Now we're really family. Now nothing can come between us.

Then, the night before our wedding, Sean sits me down at my kitchen table and asks — calm as anything — if he can marry her instead.

"She's been miserable since she got sent back to your parents," he says, like it's a business proposal. "She was raised soft. She can't take it over there."

"Let me marry her first. On paper. Take care of her under my name. That way Chloe — the real Sutton daughter — won't feel threatened."

I freeze by the counter. My hand drifts to my stomach without me noticing.

He keeps going.

"You're different, Ally. You're tough. You're smart. You can take it. You always do."

"Give it two years. Once she's settled, we'll have our wedding. The real one."

He thinks I'll scream. He thinks I'll cry, throw the ring, slam a door — and then cave. Because that's what I always do. Bend. Fold. Swallow it.

I look him dead in the eye and smile.

"Sure thing, Sean."

He blinks.

The whole speech he had ready — be reasonable, baby, think of the big picture — dies in his throat.

"Wait. You mean it? Because if you don't, just say so. This calm thing? Honestly, it's freaking me out."

Freaking him out. That's rich.

What's he so worried about? When have I ever actually fought him? Every single time, he steps forward and I step back. Back, and back, and back, until there's a wall behind me and I nod and say fine.

I slide my hand off my stomach. Quietly. Like a thief.

"I mean it. Promise."

"Wedding goes ahead tomorrow. Just swap the bride. Don't change anything else."

He looks confused, but he doesn't push. He doesn't want me to take it back. He reaches out and ruffles my hair like I'm a golden retriever who finally learned to sit.

"Knew you'd get it. You always do."

"Willa used to be my sister. Now she's yours. Same family, right?"

"That brat Chloe's been making her life hell — screaming that Willa stole twenty-three years of her life, demanding she get out of the Sutton house." He sighs, the picture of a long-suffering man. "Day after tomorrow, courthouse. Just you and me. Quietly. Like we planned."

"And the wedding — once Willa's settled, I'll throw you the biggest one this city's ever seen. I promise."

"Got it." I cut him off. "Go home. You're the groom tomorrow. Get some sleep."

I turn my back on him. Pick up the crumpled invitation off the counter — Sean Sutton & Allison Carter, gold lettering — and drop it in the trash.

He stares at me. Two long seconds.

Whatever he's looking for — tears, rage, a flicker of please don't — he doesn't find it. So he leaves. Relieved. Like a man who got away with something.

The door clicks shut.

I pull out my phone.

Confirmation: Your courthouse appointment #4471-A has been cancelled.

Then I open my email. The offer from across the Atlantic. I've been staring at it for three weeks.

I read it one more time.

I type two words back.

I accept.