Ethan Sawyer spent three years playing the penniless artist by my side. When I told him my mother desperately needed life-saving surgery, he doubled down on his act, pretending he’d just been fired and needed me to support him. I couldn't play along anymore. I walked out. I dumped him and married the successful businessman who had been pursuing me. Then, I attended a client’s wedding. The groom was Ethan Sawyer. I heard his groomsmen taunting him: “Remember when Sawyer insisted on playing the ‘pure love’ game? And she still dumped him.” “What a pity. The ‘getting fired’ thing was actually his final test. If she’d just held on for a little longer, today’s bride would be her.” “If that gold-digger knew she tossed the heir to Sawyer Holdings, she’d be kicking herself, huh? Ha ha.” The funny thing is, I knew all of it. 1 My second encounter with Ethan Sawyer was at my client’s wedding. He was the groom. In an expensive custom suit, hair impeccably styled, he looked aristocratic and arrogant—nothing like the down-and-out man I’d shared a tiny apartment with. I had no intention of speaking to him. Our breakup had been anything but civil. I was the one who ended it. He’d knelt on the floor, weeping and begging me to stay, but I hadn’t looked back. His final words were a threat: “Audrey Miller, walk out that door, and don’t you dare regret it. Even if you crawl back to me, I won’t give you the time of day!” I bolted. Three years in that cramped rental was more than enough. I was over it. Reuniting at his wedding felt painfully awkward. I turned to leave, but then I heard the groomsmen circling Ethan, mocking him: “Remember when Sawyer insisted on playing the ‘pure love’ game? And she still dumped him.” “What a pity. The ‘getting fired’ thing was actually his final test. If she’d just held on for a little longer, today’s bride would be her.” “If that gold-digger knew she tossed the heir to Sawyer Holdings, she’d be kicking herself, huh? Ha ha.” Amidst the playful teasing of his friends, Ethan just gave a small, contemptuous smile. “Too late for regret,” he drawled. I knew they were talking about me. The gold-digger. It was clear they truly believed I left him because he was poor. The truth? I already knew. 2 About a year into dating Ethan, I was working a part-time job at a high-end hotel. I saw him sweeping through the lobby in a tailored suit, reviewing the staff. The manager called him “Mr. Sawyer.” That’s how I discovered the hotel was part of his family’s empire—Sawyer Holdings. They were practically East Coast royalty. My perpetually broke, struggling artist of a boyfriend was actually a wealthy golden boy. To me, it felt less like a dramatic movie plot and more like winning the lottery. I wasn’t the type of heroine who’d act high and mighty. Instead, I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. I was certain Ethan genuinely loved me. He was there to cheer me up when I was down and patiently cared for me when I was sick. Rich or poor, he was the best boyfriend. If he enjoyed playing the role of the impoverished romantic, I would continue to play along. But then my mother got sick and needed a huge sum for surgery, and he was still, merrily, testing me with his poverty game. I was done. The charade had lost its charm. I dumped him and married the rich man who pursued me. Ethan and his buddies could be disappointed all they wanted. I had zero regrets. Suddenly, the bride walked over, took my hand, and pulled me towards Ethan. “Ethan, look! This is Ms. Audrey Miller, the owner of The Horizon Gallery that I was telling you about,” she gushed excitedly. “I told you we look alike, but you didn’t believe me.” He lifted his gaze. After a momentary flicker of recognition, his eyes turned cold. “They do look similar,” he conceded, then added dismissively, “But not as pretty or as young as my wife.” 3 The bride, Lila May, was my client. She’d first visited my gallery two weeks prior, looking for pieces for her new marital home. When we truly saw each other, we both gasped. The resemblance was uncanny—at least seventy percent.
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