Chapter 1The Billionaires Dead Fiancée Is Back

The moment I bought Blair Sutton at that exclusive private charity auction, with a bid that made the entire room go silent, she laid down three non-negotiable rules.

First, I had to give her an unlimited-use platinum Amex.

Second, I was to cover the fallout and legal costs for any behavior she chose to engage in.

And finally, I was absolutely forbidden from asking about her private life.

Only if I agreed to all three would she consent to leave with me.

Everyone in my circle thought she was delusional, an amateur playing a high-stakes game. They were convinced I’d never agree to such brazen conditions.

I simply nodded.

“Just promise me you’ll take care of your face.”

For the next three years, I poured well over a hundred million dollars into her life—an exorbitant price to pay for a ghost.

My associates often laughed, whispering that I had lost my mind to a fleeting obsession. But I ignored them. I always got what I wanted, no matter the cost.

The day my father died—the day my world was already cracking—she totaled one of my cars in a reckless street race.

I shoved my grief down and rushed to the emergency room to handle the mess.

But before I could step inside, I heard Blair talking to her friends.

“Blair, he’s wrapped around your finger, like a house pet,” one giggled. “You’ll be set for life when you marry him.”

“Seriously. Once the old man is gone, the Harrington fortune is all yours, right?” another chimed in.

A chorus of easy laughter followed.

Then came Blair’s voice, sharp and cold, cutting through the noise. It was the voice of a queen delivering a sentence.

“Marry him? Please. He’s a walking ATM who got lucky. He doesn’t have the spine.”

The door swung inward.

In the stunned silence of her friends, I walked calmly toward Blair. I ignored the faint look of alarm that flickered across her features.

I gently, meticulously brushed a speck of dirt from her forehead, letting out a small sigh of relief.

“Good. Your face is fine.”

* * *

Blair jerked her head away, impatience radiating off her.

“It was barely a scratch, Lachlan. God, are you always going to be this dramatic?”

The sudden tension was thick enough to choke on. Her friends rushed to smooth things over, making clumsy small talk, covertly trying to figure out if I’d heard the contempt in their earlier conversation. Blair shot me a slightly anxious glance, too.

Looking at that face—a mirror image of the woman I truly loved—I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I shook my head slowly.

“I only just arrived.”

She exhaled, relief softening her expression. But that moment was immediately broken by a flurry of activity at the entrance.

Finn Delaney. Her childhood friend.

Blair’s entire demeanor changed. She rose quickly, her voice taking on a delicate, soothing quality I had never once heard directed at me.

“Finn, why did you come? I told you I was fine. You shouldn’t have run out in this downpour.”

Finn clutched an umbrella, his eyes welling up with tears the moment he saw her scraped elbow.

“I was so worried. When I saw the news alert, I just… panicked.”

Blair gently wiped a tear from his cheek.

“It’s late. I’ll drive you home.”

With that, the two of them gathered their things and left.

I stood there, silently watching, while the others shifted uncomfortably.

This was the arrangement, after all. The first rule she set the day I bought her: I don’t ask about her private life. I don’t ask about Finn.

Before she reached the exit, Blair threw a casual line over her shoulder.

“My car is wrecked. Take mine. You figure out your own way home.”

Then, she carefully draped her cashmere coat over Finn’s shoulders and walked out, her arm linked with his. She didn’t spare a single thought for how I would get home on a stormy night, dealing with the shock of my father’s death.

“Lachlan, Blair she…” one of the friends stammered.

“Save it,” I interrupted.

I knew the calculus. In Blair’s mind, I would always be secondary to Finn. The few scraps of patience and genuine warmth she possessed were entirely devoted to him. I had long since accepted the truth: no matter how perfectly that face resembled the one I yearned for, she was never going to be her.

But just to look at the contours of that face—the face I saw in my dreams—I was willing to pay any price, endure any humiliation.

I called my driver, then left to begin making arrangements for my father’s funeral.

It was well past midnight when I finally returned home.

The lights were on in the living room, which surprised me. Usually, she was asleep by now.

Seeing the exhaustion etched on my face, Blair frowned.

“Why are you home so late?”

“Business,” I replied curtly.

She scoffed, disbelieving. “Honestly, what are you trying to prove?”

“I only went to comfort Finn. He’s sensitive—a little boy, really. He panicked and ran out in the rain to see me. Sending him home was the least I could do.”

There was zero consideration for the fact that I had dropped everything and rushed to her side in the middle of the night, consumed by my own sorrow.

I massaged my head, too tired to argue.

Seeing my weary state, Blair walked up to me and grabbed my chin. A gesture of forced affection, she leaned in for a kiss, an attempt at a generous truce.

I turned my head, avoiding her lips.

Her face darkened immediately. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lachlan. What’s with the drama?”

“My father died. I’m not in the mood.”

Blair froze.

I didn’t wait for a reply. I just turned and walked into the master bedroom.

A while later, Blair slipped into bed beside me, smelling faintly of the expensive, shared shower gel.

She took my hand gently.

“I didn’t know,” she murmured.

I said nothing.

She continued, talking mostly to herself. “Finn’s birthday is coming up. I saw an old Patek Philippe in a magazine, a limited-edition one. It was beautiful.”

“I tried to find it, but it’s considered an antique—unavailable. Then I remembered you have one just like it in your safety deposit box. You never wear it. Why don’t you just give it to Finn? He’d love it.”

My headache worsened, and my voice was dangerously quiet.

“That was my mother’s watch. I will not give it away.”

The hand that held mine went rigid.

It was the first time I had ever refused her.

She bit her lip, snatched her hand away, and got out of bed, pulling on her clothes.

When she left, the door slammed shut with a violence that rattled the floorboards.

I simply turned over and fell into a heavy, restless sleep.