He Forgot Me, I Married His Brother

Gretchen pushed open the heavy double doors of The Plaza Hotel ballroom.

Her breath came in short, jagged gasps, betraying the frantic tension that had been building in her chest for three agonizing months.

The moment she stepped inside, a waterfall of blinding camera flashes slammed into her face.

The harsh white light forced her to narrow her eyes.

She immediately straightened her spine, locking her shoulders back into the proud, rigid posture of a prima ballerina.

She forced herself to ignore the probing, pitying stares of the Manhattan elite that burned into her skin.

Her eyes darted frantically through the sea of clinking champagne glasses and designer suits.

She was looking for one specific silhouette.

Then, her gaze locked onto the main stage.

There he was.

Barnett Spencer.

He stood tall and broad-shouldered, the man she had loved for six years, the man who had vanished without a trace ninety days ago.

Gretchen's heart violently contracted against her ribs.

A hot sting of tears flooded her eyes.

She grabbed the heavy silk fabric of her gown and took a desperate step forward.

But her foot froze mid-air.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins.

Tucked tightly into the crook of Barnett's arm was a strange woman.

The woman was wearing a cheap, poorly fitted white dress.

Sensing the heavy stare, the stranger shrank back like a startled deer.

The strange woman pressed her small frame deeper into Barnett's chest, burying her face against his expensive suit lapel as if seeking absolute refuge.

Barnett immediately looked down at her.

His face softened into the exact same tender, protective expression that Gretchen had believed belonged only to her.

He murmured something low to the woman, his hand gently rubbing her arm.

The sight hit Gretchen like a physical blow to the stomach.

The air was violently punched out of her lungs.

Her brain went entirely blank, leaving only a deafening ringing in her ears.

She bit down hard on her back teeth.

She shoved past a waiter who tried to offer her a tray, nearly knocking the crystal glasses to the floor.

She marched straight toward the steps of the main stage.

"Barnett!"

Her voice tore out of her throat, trembling and raw.

The sound sliced through the luxurious ballroom like a shattered glass.

Every single conversation in the room stopped instantly.

The camera lenses of a dozen media outlets swiveled like predators, locking onto the abandoned principal dancer.

Barnett turned his head at the sound of his name.

His forehead creased into a deep frown.

He looked down at Gretchen, and his eyes held nothing but absolute, freezing hostility.

There was no recognition.

"Miss, you have the wrong person."

His deep voice echoed through the microphone, entirely devoid of emotion.

The words felt like a bucket of ice water poured directly over Gretchen's head.

Her entire body began to shake.

She stared at him, her eyes wide with a horrified disbelief.

"I am Gretchen, your fiancée! What are you