Chapter 1

On our fifth anniversary, my fiancé, Don Adrian Moretti, handed me his phone and said, "Buy whatever catches your eye today. It's on me."

I pulled up a coat I'd been eyeing for a while and tapped into the virtual try-on page, ready to enter my measurements. But the screen loaded a model profile that had already been saved.

Five foot seven. A hundred and five pounds. Narrow waist, long legs.

Not me. Not five foot four, a hundred and eighty pounds, plus-size me.

I opened the try-on history.

Floral sundresses for summer. Cashmere coats for winter. Every outfit styled down to the last detail. Bright and playful, elegant vintage, black-tie evening. Each one tagged with a different label.

Just half an hour ago, Adrian had used this same model to try on an expensive red gown.

The shipping address was Lily Hart's apartment in Northbridge. His most trusted deputy.

I suddenly remembered asking him a few days earlier, "What size should I get in that coat?"

He hadn't even looked up. "Go a size up. Looser is more comfortable. Hides things better, too."

At the time, I thought he was being considerate.

It turned out he wasn't too lazy to bother with shopping.

He just couldn't be bothered to spend the effort on me.

Adrian came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm water, stood behind me, and kneaded the tension from my neck and shoulders.

"Find something you like?"

I pressed the screen dark and handed the phone back.

"All done."

Adrian took it without so much as glancing at what I'd ordered, then left for the Moretti family office.

The next day, the suitcase arrived.

A black hard-shell case stood in the entryway, nearly as high as my waist. I dragged it into the master bedroom and opened the closet.

Adrian's bespoke suit hung dead center.

Next to it was a beige fitted trench coat, narrow through the shoulders, cinched clean at the waist. Obviously not my size.

Inside the collar, a line of hand-stitched monogram: L.H.

Lily Hart.

My clothes had been shoved to the very back. A few blouses and skirts I wore regularly were creased from being crushed together. The oversized jackets I'd bought to cover my midsection sat crumpled in the corner.

But that trench coat hung flush against Adrian's suit, its hem falling in a smooth, perfect line.

It looked more like the lady of the house's wardrobe than mine ever did.

Clipped to the bottom of the hanger was a dry-cleaning receipt. Adrian's name was listed as the client. The note read: Delicate fabric, gentle hand wash only.

As for my coats, all he'd ever said was, "Just throw it in the machine. You dress casual anyway."

The phone screen lit up with a video call.

Adrian sat in his office, tie loosened.

"Why aren't you wearing your glasses? Another headache?"

His expression was concerned, his tone practiced.

"The pills are in the second drawer of the nightstand. Take them and get some sleep. I'll come pick you up tonight."

Before his last word faded, a transfer notification for fifty thousand popped up at the top of the screen.

"Moretti Group has a celebration dinner tonight. Pick out some nice jewelry. Something classy, something that does your fiancé proud."

He said it gently, then added what sounded like an afterthought: "But don't go too flashy with the outfit. Keep it simple."

I stood there holding that dry-cleaning receipt. I didn't answer.

Adrian smiled.

"Tonight there'll be some new faces from other families, and Lily's going to be nervous."

"You just standing there, the presence you carry is already a lot. If you dress too formal on top of that, she won't dare open her mouth."

"Be good. Give her a little room to shine."

From off-camera came Lily's soft voice.

"Boss, the gown arrived, but the waist is a little big."

Adrian turned his head, patient.

"Don't take the tags off yet. I'm having the brand send over the next size down. Try them both."

Then he turned back to me.

"Be good. I'll pick you up tonight."

I didn't feel like talking. I just nodded.

Adrian's expression relaxed.

"That's what I love about you. You're sensible. You never put me in a difficult position."

After the call ended, I sent the fifty thousand back.

In my inbox, the transfer letter from South Coast Headquarters still sat at the top.

Two years ago, they'd first extended the invitation. Adrian told me he'd just gotten a stable grip on the Moretti family's affairs, and the legitimate side of the business couldn't function without me handling it.

Last year, when they reached out a second time, he held me and promised, "After the wedding, I'll transfer there with you."

This time, I clicked "Accept" without a moment's hesitation.

The reply came quickly:

"Claire, welcome to South Coast Headquarters. Please report in five days."

Five days from now would be the day of my engagement party with Don Adrian Moretti.

I turned off the screen, reached into the closet, and took down my wrinkled plus-size clothes one by one, packing them into the suitcase.