Chapter 1: Cast Aside for His First Love

For twelve years, I lived in his shadow, bearing him twelve children and carrying the weight of his legacy—never his love.

Everyone in the house whispered that I was his favorite, but I knew better.

My vanity overflowed with rose-scented oils and the finest pearl cream, luxuries that cost a fortune but never masked the ache inside me.

If my eyes so much as lingered on something, the next day, expensive dresses and sparkling jewelry would appear in my room—gifts meant to keep me quiet, never cherished.

Then I turned twenty-six. That’s when his first love—the woman he never stopped longing for—got divorced.

It was also when I found my first white hair and noticed the fine lines webbing my belly, even under layers of rich lotion.

He said:

“It’s time for you to move on, Cassie. You know how it is—nobody stays young forever. I’ve already set you up with someone decent. He wants kids, and you’re good at that. Give him a child, and you’ll be his wife.”

I can still hear how cold his voice was, how he wouldn’t meet my eyes. His words lingered between us, thick as the Savannah humidity before a storm. The taste of metal filled my mouth, and I pressed my lips together to keep from crying. I felt like I was being traded, my life’s worth reduced to nothing but the children I could bear for someone else.

1

My hands shook as I tucked the last hairpin into my bag. Every clink sounded like goodbye. When I left, I wore old hairpins and plain clothes, taking only a keepsake box with me.

Lillian Shaw—the future heir’s wife—sent her personal housekeeper ahead to check the new place. The housekeeper stopped me in the sitting room.

She eyed my box like a TSA agent at Atlanta airport, suspicious of anything that didn’t look ordinary.

"Everything in the heir’s house is accounted for. Miss Lillian’s dowry arrived three days ago. If anything’s missing, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do."

The air in the room was thick with the scent of old wood polish and lemon cleaner. The housekeeper’s voice had that practiced edge, the kind you pick up from years of managing other people’s messes and cutting folks down without ever raising your tone. She looked at me like I was a stray cat tracking mud across her freshly waxed floors.

I said nothing. Last night, Derek made sure I’d remember him one last time, leaving me hoarse and unable to speak.

He was relentless, as if it really were the last time. When I finally passed out and woke again, he was still holding me tight.

His voice was rough:

"Cassie, I’ve given you all I can... You can choose one thing from this room to take with you as your own."

His words echoed in my mind, even as I lay there, numb and aching. I wondered if he ever truly understood what he was asking of me. The world outside seemed so quiet, like it, too, was holding its breath.

So today, I chose. I held the jewelry box he’d made for me himself.

The jewelry box felt heavy in my hands—not just from its carved cherry wood and velvet lining, but from the weight of memory. Late nights in the firelight, laughter echoing in the hallways, the soft hush of secrets that never really belonged to me.

It was obvious Lillian Shaw’s housekeeper was trying to make trouble.

Yet he told me,

"Open it. Let the housekeeper have a look."

The housekeeper added,

"Not just the box, we need to check your person too. Who knows what you might be hiding? Look at that box, it’s so full—it’s suspicious."

Derek looked down at me, maybe remembering something.

His eyes darkened, but he still sided with the housekeeper.

"In that case, Cassie, take off your coat and let her check, so there’s no questions about your reputation."

But for someone like me, what reputation is left?

I stared at the expensive rug beneath my feet, the intricate pattern blurring as my eyes filled with tears. The housekeeper waited with that smug patience, like she was used to seeing women like me put in their place. My heart pounded in my chest, shame prickling up my spine.