Chapter 1

“Ms. Laurier, this marriage certificate is a fake.”
Penelope Laurier watched as the receptionist slid the document back across the counter. The woman’s tone remained polite, but her expression was unmistakably mocking.
Penelope took it, a humorless smile touching her lips. “Why on earth would I forge a marriage certificate to fool you?”
“Perhaps for our wedding anniversary promotion,” the receptionist said with a slight sneer.
Penelope was speechless. She knew nothing about any promotion; she had chosen this restaurant to celebrate her third anniversary with Zebulon Sullivan simply because she loved their garden terrace.
“You can’t just accuse me of fraud. I could file a complaint,” Penelope said, her voice hardening.
The receptionist just shook her head as if she’d heard the funniest joke in the world.
Her dismissive attitude made Penelope frown. “What makes you so certain?”
The receptionist tapped a few keys on her keyboard and swiveled the monitor toward Penelope. “When I entered your husband’s ID number, his information was already in our system.”
“And?”
“He also booked our anniversary package.”
A flicker of surprised joy lit up Penelope’s face. “He booked it, too?”
The receptionist looked at her like she was an idiot. “Mr. Sullivan did make a reservation, yes. But it has nothing to do with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Mr. Sullivan’s wife is someone else. Not you.” The source of thɪs content is.net
Penelope felt a mix of bewilderment and amusement. She leaned over to check the screen, but then her eyes froze on the name listed under ‘Mrs. Sullivan’: Rebecca Winters.
Her best friend, Rebecca.
How could this be?
“In fact,” the receptionist continued, “Mr. Sullivan and his wife are on the rooftop terrace right now, celebrating their third anniversary
Before the woman could finish, Penelope was already sprinting for the stairs. Her husband and her best friend, celebrating their anniversary together? There had to be a mistake. There had to be.
But when she reached the rooftop and saw the two of them locked in an embrace, she stopped dead in her tracks.
The tall, handsome man was
dressed in a tailored suit and bow
at
tie, the picture of sophisticated
charm. The woman, radiant in a red evening gown, was beautiful and captivating. They were gazing at each other with pure adoration.
Behind them, a large screen flickered to life as music began to play, displaying the words: Chronos Melody.
A slideshow began. The first picture was a candid shot: Rebecca, holding up her phone, smiling shyly as she captured herself in the same frame as a distant Zebulon. Then came a more formal photo of them together, both looking a little stiff the next showed them sharing a happy dinner, followed by a shot of Rebecca in Zebulon’s car-sitting in the passenger seat Penelope had always believed was hers and hers alone.
The images kept coming: the two of them on a business trip, on vacation, even one of them visiting Rebecca’s hometown. And Penelope, Zebulon’s wife and Rebecca’s best friend, had known nothing about any of it.
They kissed under a setting sun. They smiled at each other in bed. There was even an afterglow photo, Rebecca lying tangled in Zebulon’s arms, a dazed look on her face. Neither of them was wearing anything.
The final photo showed Zebulon sliding a diamond ring onto Rebecca’s finger.
As the image faded, the real Zebulon picked up a massive bouquet of roses from
a nearby table and knelt on one knee before Rebecca.
“Mrs. Sullivan,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You look breathtaking tonight.”
Rebecca accepted the roses and, as he stood, threw her arms around his neck, tilting her head back to kiss his chim He stroked her hair gently eyes filled with a love so tender it made Penelope’s stomach churn.
She stared at them, desperately trying to convince herself they were just look- alikes, that this was all some horrible coincidence.
But she wasn’t blind.
The man and woman just a few feet away were Zebulon and Rebecca. One was the husband she adored, the other the friend she trusted with her life.
Forcing herself to stay calm, she stepped into the hallway and made a quick phone call. A few moments later, her phone rang.
“Ms. Laurier, I have the information you requested. Mr. Sullivan was indeed married three years ago, on June sixth.”
June sixth? But she and Zebulon had gotten their marriage license on the sixteenth.
“And the name listed as his spouse?”
“Rebecca Winters.”