Chapter 1: The Mirror and the Masquerade

I am Mariah Jennings.

Sometimes, standing in front of my IKEA vanity in my sunlit suburban bedroom—hair mussed from sleep, Target pajamas wrinkled—I have to remind myself who I am in this story. I’m not the main character. I’m not the heroine. I’m just Mariah—always a little off-center, always a step behind the spotlight, my reflection staring back with a look that asks, “Are you really going to try again today?”

It hit me young, like a splash of cold water: I was never the star of this show. If life was a movie, I was the best friend who gets left out of the montage, the extra at her own party. Sometimes I felt like a background character in my own home.

It’s strange how two girls can grow up in identical, cavernous houses on the same leafy cul-de-sac, both with parents who treat affection like a rumor, and still turn out nothing alike. Our footsteps echoed on marble floors, but Savannah Lee—next door’s golden girl—was all soft-spoken grace and effortless charm. Me? I’d skip breakfast, barely brush my hair, and plot ways to outshine her before the school bus even arrived. Each morning, I woke up with one mission: How can I finally win?

Even with the same cold, distant parents and the same sprawling, echoing mansion as Savannah Lee, she somehow turned out refined and gentle. Meanwhile, I was a bundle of nerves, always plotting—never quite measuring up. Every morning, I’d stare at my ceiling and wonder what it would take to finally steal Savannah’s thunder.

That night was my chance—a glittering charity gala and jewelry auction at the city’s fanciest hotel. The perfect opportunity to step into the limelight and make everyone forget about Savannah Lee, if only for one evening.

The gala was a blur of designer gowns, the clink of crystal, and the scent of Chanel No. 5. The marble floor echoed with the sound of heels and whispered gossip. I’d picked my dress weeks ahead—a midnight blue stunner, sure to turn heads. This was supposed to be my night.

But then, fate played its cruelest trick: Savannah and I showed up in identical dresses.

My heart plummeted as I spotted her across the room, the two of us side by side—mirror images in matching gowns. It felt like the universe itself was mocking me. But if Savannah thought I’d back down, she was wrong. Not tonight.

With a trembling hand and a heart pounding in my chest, I "accidentally" spilled a generous splash of Cabernet Sauvignon all over Savannah’s dress. I gasped, covering my mouth with my freshly painted crimson nails, feigning horror—when inside, I was fighting back a wicked grin.

A hush fell over the ballroom. Someone let out a sharp gasp. I stammered out apologies, eyes wide and teary, but inside, I was practically giddy. The wine blossomed across her dress like a victory flag. I almost wanted to raise my glass to myself.

Savannah looked utterly helpless, her composure slipping as she hurried from the room. And right outside, she collided with Julian Carter—my Julian.

I watched every flicker of emotion on Julian’s face in that split second—the way his eyes darted from Savannah’s ruined dress to my apologetic act, the subtle tightening of his jaw, the barely-there clench of his fist. Even the faint trace of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive—reached me as he passed.

In that moment, I saw it: the instant spark between them. My stomach twisted. Was this what love at first sight looked like? The kind that makes you feel invisible, even when you’re standing right there?

Julian wasn’t cold or indifferent—he just never looked at me the way he looked at her. I was always the sidekick, never the star.

Still, I couldn’t help it—I wanted Julian Carter to love me. Desperately.

Someone like Julian—handsome, powerful, the kind of guy who made people whisper when he entered a room—was supposed to be with me. If I had him, I could finally bask in the envy I’d chased my whole life.

But why did girls like Savannah—so fake, so flawless—get all the love? Why not me?

Julian always treated me like a little sister. He’d ruffle my hair, call me kid, and act like we shared a secret. I told myself it meant we were close, that he’d always be gentle with me.

Savannah was just a phase, I tried to convince myself. Maybe she was a novelty for Julian, but surely it wouldn’t last. Not when he had history with me.

But then I got the report from the private investigator I’d hired—yes, I went there. Savannah always seemed to run into Julian, no matter where he was. Coincidence? I didn’t think so. It meant Julian cared.

The anxiety chewed at me, making my stomach churn and my hands shake. I lost sleep, skipped meals, replayed every encounter in my head until I felt sick.

On Savannah’s birthday, I knew Julian would show up with a gift—he always did. I watched from my bedroom window as his car pulled up, my heart pounding as I raced downstairs.

I made my entrance dramatic: tripping on the last step and landing right at Julian’s feet, twisting my ankle for good measure.

“Julian, it hurts,” I whimpered, looking up at him with watery eyes, my voice trembling just enough to sound fragile.

Julian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So careless, Mariah.”

“I can’t get up,” I said softly, twisting my body like a helpless damsel.

He crouched down and let me climb onto his back, his hands steady and warm. For a second, I let myself believe this was real, that we were close as ever.

I pressed my cheek against his shoulder, inhaling the sharp cedar of his cologne—luxurious and comforting. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to freeze time.

“What are you holding so tightly? Why won’t you let go?” I asked, though I already knew the answer, my voice teasing as I clung to him.

“Just something small, for someone,” Julian replied, trying to sound offhand but failing to hide the tension in his voice.

“For Savannah?” I asked, pretending not to care, though my heart thudded in my chest.

Julian paused, then answered quietly, “Yes.”

“I really envy her,” I murmured, letting the words hang in the air like perfume.

Julian didn’t respond. He just carried me to my door, silent but gentle.

As he set me down, I caught the flash of Savannah’s window closing from the corner of my eye. A tiny, wicked thrill ran through me.

Good, she saw us. Let her stew in it.

Of course Julian should be the gentlest with me. We’d known each other forever. I clung to that bond, even as it slipped through my fingers.

“Goodbye, Julian. Wish Savannah a happy birthday for me,” I said with my brightest, most dazzling smile.

Julian seemed distracted, barely nodding as he left with the gift still clutched in his hand.

In my mind, I ticked off the next step: Savannah might not even accept the gift. After what she saw, maybe she’d finally back off. Maybe my scene with Julian had popped all her pink, romantic bubbles.

But as I watched from my window, I saw Savannah open the door and invite Julian inside, her smile warm and welcoming.

It shouldn’t have been like this. Wasn’t Savannah supposed to be above all this? Aloof, untouchable? How could she let any flaw mar her perfect love story?

I thought I was the only one who could endure this kind of pain—always losing, always watching from the sidelines.

But there was nothing I could do. I could only wait, quietly, for their big announcement. The news that would make everything official.

It’s fine, I told myself. This was just them making things public. Savannah was still a long way from becoming Mrs. Carter.

But in the days that followed, there was no word about Julian winning Savannah’s heart. Instead, I heard rumors that he’d bought two new companies.

Julian’s assistant let slip that he was in a foul mood, drinking alone every night. That was news I liked. I treated myself to an extra-large caramel macchiato and a slice of cheesecake, savoring my small victory.

My plan was simple: be the comforting friend by Julian’s side while he drowned his sorrows. Surely, that would be my chance to win him over.

But as I let the excitement fade, a nagging doubt crept in. Something didn’t add up. Julian wasn’t the type to spiral. If he was drinking like this, Savannah must have turned him down flat. But how could she do that so easily?

I reassured myself—I still had plenty of moves left to play. No way was this game over.

Julian had everything going for him. How could Savannah possibly not want him? I started to wonder if I’d misjudged everything. Maybe Julian wasn’t as perfect as I’d believed.

But everyone—from my friends to the women at my mom’s book club—swore Julian was the catch of the century. So it had to be Savannah’s bad taste, not mine.

My relationship with Savannah had always been tense, thanks to my constant little provocations. But I never expected what happened next.

She—Savannah Lee herself—showed up at my door with a thermos of homemade chicken noodle soup for my sprained ankle. The scent of simmered broth and vegetables filled the foyer, so homey it almost made me forget to slam the door in her face.

Even if she brought a truckload of soup, I wasn’t about to play nice. I kept my expression frosty, but Savannah just smiled, her concern unwavering.

After I finished the soup—head bowed, spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl—I caught a fleeting look of disgust in Savannah’s eyes. It was gone in an instant, but it left me cold.

A shiver ran down my spine. Savannah had never looked at me that way before. Not even when I sabotaged her prom dress or trashed her love letters. Something about her had shifted.

Ever since that birthday, Savannah felt… different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t trust her anymore.

Paranoia crept in: What if the soup was poisoned? What if she wanted to get rid of me for good?

Suddenly, my stomach twisted in pain. I doubled over, clutching my side, panic rising in my throat.

Savannah didn’t even blink. She calmly capped the thermos, dialed 911, and only after making sure everything was handled did she ask, "Do you want to notify a friend? For example, Chris Ramirez?"

Chris Ramirez? The guy who’s confessed to me seven times? No thanks. If anyone should be here, it’s Julian.

"I want Julian Carter," I managed through gritted teeth, trying to sound dignified even as I winced.

Savannah’s face fell, just a little. Was that disappointment?

I didn’t get it. Savannah had supposedly given up on Julian, so why did she care who I called?

Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. The soup was fine—my stomach was just being dramatic. But I’d cried so pitifully on the phone that Julian left his meeting to see me anyway.

When Julian entered my room and saw Savannah sitting by my bed, his steps faltered. He hesitated in the doorway, glancing between us.

"Savannah," Julian said, his voice suddenly softer. "You’re here too."

Savannah nodded, her expression icy. The tension was thick as hospital sanitizer.

I turned on the waterworks, tears streaming down my cheeks. If pity points were a currency, I’d be rich.

Julian looked helpless. He grabbed my chart, flipping through it until his brow finally relaxed. "It’s okay," he said, voice gentle but distracted.

I reached out, pulling him closer, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head against his stomach. "It hurts, Julian. I can’t even walk."

Savannah’s voice cut through the moment: "Yes, she’s quite uncomfortable."

Julian stiffened, muscles tensing beneath my touch. Every time Savannah spoke, he seemed to freeze a little more.

He kept sneaking glances at Savannah, like he couldn’t help himself. But Savannah wouldn’t look at him. She stared at the door, as if waiting for an escape.

I didn’t get it. Why was Julian so distracted? Why did Savannah suddenly seem like she wanted nothing to do with either of us?

Chris’s arrival broke the spell. He burst into the room, breathless, hair mussed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead—so unlike his usual calm self.

Chris was always the picture of composure, except when it came to me. He’d lose his cool, trip over his words, do anything to make me smile. He liked me—everyone knew it.

Back in high school, polished boys like Chris were easy targets. One day, I found him cornered in the cafeteria, and I stepped in—mostly because I was in a foul mood. My parents had praised Savannah’s piano recital over mine, and I’d just seen Julian flirting with some wild girl. Beating up those jerks was cathartic.

Chris had never met anyone like me. From that day on, he was devoted—always hovering, always there. I treated him like a little brother, but he wanted more. Even though he knew I was obsessed with Julian.

So when Chris saw me clinging to Julian in that hospital bed, he just smiled and said, "Mariah, you’re okay. That’s good."

Julian gently disentangled himself from me, turning to Chris. "You take care of her," he said, all business.

Chris’s smile vanished as he looked at Julian. "Of course," he replied coolly.

Savannah piped up, "Let’s take turns looking after Mariah. I’m free these days."

If Savannah was busy with me, she’d have less time for Julian. I almost grinned, but Chris cut in: "No need. If anything comes up, I’ll call the housekeeper."

Savannah’s expression flickered, a crack in her perfect facade.

Julian’s face turned a shade darker. He looked like he wanted to punch something.

I had no idea what drama was brewing, but it was obvious Julian didn’t like Chris brushing Savannah off so lightly.

The Ramirez family business was rumored to be in trouble, but Chris didn’t seem to notice. He just asked if I wanted more soup.

"Yes…" I glanced at Julian, biting back the urge to say, "I want Julian to feed me." I settled for a simple, "Yes, please."

Still, I needed to be more strategic.

When Savannah left, I watched Julian chase after her, but Chris’s grip on my arm kept me rooted in place.

I couldn’t escape. So I took out my frustration on Chris. "Why didn’t you let her stay?"

Chris studied me for a long moment. "You want to mess with her, don’t you? Don’t—if you get too angry, you’ll end up in the psych ward."

I changed the subject. "Why did you come, anyway?"

"Savannah called Julian first, then Julian called me."

The realization stung. Julian had come for Savannah, not for me.

The day after I was discharged, Julian called me. His voice was low and rough—drunk, magnetic, and dangerously sweet. It set my nerves on fire.

What really made me happy, though, was that I was the one he called when he was drunk and lonely.

But when I arrived, I saw his phone still lit up—my number on the screen. Turns out, I’d called him a dozen times earlier. He’d just hit redial by accident.

So much for romance. But I pretended not to care.

I sat next to Julian, close enough that our shoulders touched, and snapped a selfie. I sent it to Savannah with a sly message: "Julian is very drunk. Want to come pick him up?"

I stared at my phone, waiting for her reply. When it finally came, it was as cold as ice: "I’m busy."

I stared at the screen, disappointment flooding me. Savannah’s indifference felt like a slap. She’d really given up on Julian—and suddenly, I didn’t feel triumphant at all.

Maybe Julian wasn’t the prize I thought he was. Maybe I’d been wrong all along.

I turned, just as Julian’s scent enveloped me, and found myself face-to-face with him—so close, I could feel his breath. For a moment, I thought we might kiss.

But all I could think was: Wouldn’t it be wild if Savannah walked in right now?

She didn’t. The door stayed closed. My excitement fizzled, and I realized I didn’t really want to kiss Julian after all.

When Julian’s head drooped, he accidentally bumped my forehead. I rubbed the sore spot, scrolling through my phone, when a new message popped up from Savannah—a photo of Chris at a bar, somewhere only I knew about.

How did Savannah find out about my secret spot? The paranoia was back. Did she know everything?

I had a sinking feeling that Savannah would send that photo to Chris, making him finally give up on me. But Chris had been disappointed in me a hundred times before—what was one more?

Still, the thought of Savannah and Chris together gnawed at me. Could it really happen?

I nudged Julian and shared my wild theory.

"How is that possible?" Julian finally muttered after a long silence, his voice colder than usual.

For once, I agreed with him. Chris wasn’t going to end up with Savannah. But he couldn’t be with me, either.

And for a terrifying moment, I wondered if the person I was most obsessed with was Savannah herself.

That night, I had a nightmare—of losing everything, of being invisible forever.

The next morning, Julian’s assistant dropped by with the usual gossip: even after drinking himself stupid, Julian was never late for a meeting. He only lost his cool for one person—Savannah. But that was just office talk. The real reason for the visit was a new gift from Julian.

I dressed up and got into Julian’s car, the leather seats cold against my skin. The air smelled faintly of cedar and mint. Julian slid into the driver’s seat, glancing at me with that unreadable expression.

"You smell good," I teased, grinning.

Julian rolled his eyes. "Can you please not?"

I pouted. "If I hadn’t looked after you last night, who would’ve?"

Julian was quiet for a moment. "I know. But don’t expect me to dump my problems on you again."

I hooked my arm through his, leaning in. "You said I’m your little sister. Isn’t this what sisters do?"

Julian untangled my arm, his tone exasperated. "No one clings to their brother like this. Did anyone else come by last night?"

"Yeah," I said, my tone light but pointed. "I asked Savannah to come. She said she was busy."

Julian’s face froze, then he forced a smile. I could tell it stung—she was drinking with someone else, and he knew it.

"Mariah."

"What?"

"There’s a gift for you on your left."

I glanced over, heart fluttering. "If there’s a gift, I guess I can tolerate a little more small talk."

But Julian was all business. "You live near Savannah. Seen anything strange with her lately?"

"If she’s not into you, she’s probably into someone else."

Julian stared at me, searching for something in my eyes. "Who do you think it is?"

Chris’s face flashed through my mind, and a pang of sadness hit me. But I kept it to myself.

I was annoyed. Why did Julian’s drama with Savannah have to drag Chris into the mess? My patience for Julian was wearing thin.

Just then, Chris texted. I seized the chance to escape, saying goodbye to Julian and heading off to meet Chris.