Blurb：
I was born with face blindness, unable to recognize anyone except by their clothes. My fiancé Vincent Lancaster swore it didn’t matter – until our wedding day. When his childhood friend Grace Langley called in labor, he abandoned me at the altar. He discarded the black suit I sewed for him and wore white because Grace loved it. A year later, Vincent returns to find me pregnant and married to another man wearing that same black suit. Now he’s screaming that he’s my husband, but nobody believes the man who chose Grace Langley over his bride. This is the story of Fiona Ashford’s transformation from the rejected woman to a mother protected by a new love, while Vincent Lancaster learns that some choices can’t be undone. If you love emotional romance novels about second chances, betrayed heroines, and redemption arcs, this story of wedding day betrayal and unexpected pregnancy will keep you turning pages.
Content：
I was born with a strange condition. I couldn’t recognize faces and could only identify people by their clothes.
Vincent Lancaster, my boyfriend, never minded. He said it didn’t change the way he loved me.
That was, until our wedding day.
He answered a phone call. His childhood friend, Grace Langley, was in labor, life hanging by a thread, and she demanded he come immediately.
My voice shook with despair. “Vincent! If you drive away now, we’ll never be husband and wife!”
But he left anyway, not looking back.
Grace had always loved seeing him in white, so he threw aside the black suit I had sewn for him with my own hands and changed into white.
A year later, Vincent returned. By then, my belly was swollen with life, and I was holding onto another man while hosting a baby shower. And the man wore the black suit Vincent had thrown away.
Vincent went mad, claiming he was my husband, but no one believed him.
Chapter 1 The Bride Left Behind
“Babe, Grace is in labor. It’s serious. I have to go. Please, just listen.” Vincent slipped his phone into his pocket and turned away without hesitation.
I grabbed his arm, my voice trembling. “But this is our wedding. Everyone’s watching.”
His brows drew together, his face full of disappointment. One by one, he pried my fingers off his sleeve. “Fiona, do you have no empathy at all? Grace needs me right now. We’ll cancel the wedding. I’ll make it up to you another day.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, smudging the makeup I had spent five hours perfecting that morning. But I still couldn’t let go.
The guests sat in stunned silence below the stage. Just a few minutes ago, Vincent had kissed me in front of them all.
Then Grace called, and it was as if he became someone else. He had to leave.
It had always been Grace. For years, her name had been like a needle wedged between us, impossible to pull out.
I had swallowed my resentment over and over again, but today was my wedding day.
“Vincent,” I whispered, forcing my shaking voice to steady, “every other time, I stayed quiet when you chose her. But today happens once in a lifetime. Back in college, when you confessed to me, you said you’d treat me well forever. Just for today, please stay. Will you?”
He hesitated, his tone softening a little. “Babe, I’ll never forget what the Ashford family did for me all these years, or the vows I made to you. But Grace and I grew up together. She’s done so much for me. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. She’s in danger. I can’t just ignore that.”
My stomach twisted in knots.
Grace and Vincent had clawed their way out of a poor countryside town together to study in the city.
I knew she held a special place in his heart, but she was married now, and I was his bride.
A sharp ache spread through my chest as I choked out the words, “She has a husband, Vincent. The best doctors, the best care. She doesn’t need you, but I do.”
He looked at me once, his eyes cold and resolute. Then, he turned, opened the car door, and got in. The roar of the engine tore through me like a blade.
I stumbled outside, shouting at the car as it backed out of the parking space. “Vincent! If you drive away now, we’ll never be husband and wife!”
The headlights flared once, but he never looked back.
The cold wind whipped my veil and lifted the edge of my gown, carrying away the last trace of hope.
He was gone. Just like all the times before, whenever Grace needed him, he always left me behind.
I remembered the time he nearly died protecting her during a robbery. After Grace’s husband took her home, she never came to see him again.
I gave up a promotion to stay by his side in the hospital. I made him soup, changed his bandages, and checked his temperature through sleepless nights. The burn marks from those days still scarred my hands.
When he finally woke, he pulled me close and cried. He said his life belonged to me now, that he could disappoint anyone but never me. And yet, because of one phone call from Grace, he left me behind on our wedding day.
Chapter 2 The Wedding That Never Happened
In the end, the wedding never took place. I forced a smile, apologized to every guest, and returned all the gifts one by one.
Not long after, I fell gravely ill. When I finally woke, two days had passed.
By the time I was discharged, the city was abuzz with the year’s most anticipated fashion show, and my collection was set to close the event.
The exhibition hall, set inside the Art Center, glittered beneath cascading crystal chandeliers.
The moment I stepped in, I could feel eyes turning toward me.
One of my competitors arched an eyebrow. “Well, Fiona, didn’t you bring your husband today? I remember you saying you wanted to share every success with him.”
I mumbled something about him meeting up with friends, hoping the lie sounded casual, but unease always betrayed me. Soon, the whispers began.
“I heard her groom walked out on their wedding day.”
“Yeah, can you imagine? And she still dares to show up here.”
“She’s too ambitious. Finished an entire collection in three days, made everyone else look bad. No wonder no man can stand her.”
I held a glass of champagne, lips curved in polite composure, while my trembling fingers exposed what I really felt.
I wanted to defend myself, to shout back, but I couldn’t even tell who was talking.
I was born with a rare condition. No matter how long I’d known someone, their face remained unfamiliar.
Before, Vincent would always stand beside me. He’d whisper, “That’s Mrs. Parker, and that’s the representative from Versenne.”
With him around, I could face anyone with ease. Now, he was gone. I couldn’t tell who mocked me and who pitied me.
Murmuring an excuse, I slipped backstage into an empty lounge. Yet even there, the voices seeped through the walls.
“Who’s she fooling? Fiona bragged about that wedding dress she hand-sewed with three thousand pearls, and now it’s just trash.”
“Who knows where Vincent went? Probably found someone new already.”
I forced myself to focus on the fabric and designs spread before me, but my vision kept blurring. I wanted to believe Vincent hadn’t abandoned me, that he truly was just out with friends. But what if he never came back?
The door suddenly creaked open. A tall man stood there, his black suit gleaming under the light.
I recognized it instantly. It was the one I’d designed for Vincent myself, a one-of-a-kind piece. It looked plain on the outside, but Id poured my heart into every stitch and detail.
My heart tightened. I barely managed to whisper, “Vincent.”
He seemed to pause when he heard that, but he didn’t answer.
I dropped the fabric and stumbled toward him, throwing my arms around his chest. “You’re finally back.”
For a moment, his body tensed, but when he looked down at my tear-streaked face, his voice softened. “Yeah.”
Chapter 3 The Man Who Came Home
When I brought the man in the black suit back to my front door, he hesitated for a few seconds. He didn’t step inside right away.
I turned to look at him. Since we were already here, what was the point of bringing up the past again? So, I reached out and pulled him in. “Are you hungry? I can fix you something to eat.”
I walked into the kitchen to get started, but when I turned around, I saw him tying on an apron and rinsing vegetables at the sink.
For a moment, I froze. Vincent had always been an executive, far too busy to lift a finger around the house. He rarely stayed home. He would eat, then rush off again, always saying he had clients to meet. Yet every time he came back, he smelled of the same expensive perfume.
Now, he was quietly slicing vegetables, handing the chopped pieces to me with such gentle care that I could hardly believe it was him.
“You don’t have to help,” I said softly. “I’m used to cooking on my own.”
He glanced at the cutting board. “Do you like spicy food that much?”
I followed his gaze to the pile of red chili peppers. Remembering how Vincent always preferred mild dishes, I explained, “I’m going to make some stir-fried greens for you. These are for me.”
Even though he had come back, I still couldn’t let go of the anger from the day he abandoned me at our wedding. My tone came out colder than I intended.
To my surprise, he only smiled. “If you like spicy food, I can learn to eat it too. You don’t have to make something separate for me.”
The warmth in his voice startled me. My hand slipped, and the knife nicked my fingertip. Blood welled up instantly, stinging deep.
“Don’t move,” he said sharply, his voice tense and urgent in a way I didn’t recognize. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”
I pointed it out, and he hurried to get it, tending to the cut with careful hands. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, pulling me back to another time.
Once, when I had burned myself, I’d gone to Vincent for comfort. He’d frowned, called me dramatic, and told me to buy ointment myself. I still remembered how he’d turned back to polishing the limited-edition mug Grace had given him.
After that, I learned to handle pain on my own.
Now, his fingers brushed my skin, and he gently blew on the wound to ease the sting. His breath was warm against my hand, and my heart gave a sudden, startled thump.
Vincent had never been this tender before. Was this really him?
That night, after dinner, I made up a bed for him in the guest room and went to mine.
We had been together for three years, yet Vincent always insisted he was an old-fashioned man.
Nothing could happen between us before marriage, so we slept in separate rooms.
I was about to turn in when I remembered the custom gown due tomorrow. I’d have to work late to finish it. Moving quietly, I tiptoed into the living room.
The sewing kit was in a drawer. As I passed the guest room, I couldn’t resist glancing inside. The door was slightly open. He was awake, and his eyes met mine.
Silently, he scooted over, making room for me beside him.
Understanding what his gesture meant, my cheeks flushed. I whispered, trying to explain, “I have a job to finish tomorrow. I’ll just grab what I need and go.”
He noticed the needle in my hand, stood, and pulled a pair of gloves from his suit pocket.
“I saw the pinpricks on your fingers earlier,” he said. “You must’ve been hurt a lot. These gloves are custom-made. They won’t dull your touch, and the needles won’t pierce through.”
He slipped them onto my hands himself. They fit perfectly.
He smiled again, a gentle, genuine smile that softened his entire face. “I bought them especially for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
My body stiffened, a swirl of warmth, confusion, and bittersweet longing coursing through me.
“Mind? I could never be happier,” I murmured.
Maybe heaven was finally showing me mercy. Maybe Vincent had really come back to love me.
A year passed in the blink of an eye.
In that year, he treated me so well that sometimes I almost believed the storm named Grace had never existed.
Thanks to everything we’d worked through together, I was expecting a baby. The heart he once shattered had slowly been pieced back together by his gentle hands.
To make up for the wedding that never was, we decided to host a baby shower at the manor. He agreed without hesitation.
On the day of the party, I wore a custom-made maternity gown, silk and lace draping softly over my six-month belly.
I didn’t want to just stand around, so I helped register the guests.
My husband mingled effortlessly, laughing and chatting, yet his gaze, soft and affectionate, kept drifting back to me.
The air was thick with the scent of flowers and cake. Everything was perfect, until a man and woman appeared at the gate.
The man, dressed in a white trench coat, looked at me first in surprise, then in confusion.
He walked straight up, his voice oddly familiar. “Fiona? What’s going on here? Why are there so many people at our house?”
I frowned, searching my memory, but I couldn’t place his face. “Excuse me, do I know you?”
I tried to sound polite, one hand instinctively moving to shield my belly.
His eyes followed the gesture, widening when he saw my rounded belly. Then, out of nowhere, he reached toward me, his hand trembling. “Is that my child?”
The words weren’t loud, but they hit me like a bolt of lightning.
“That’s nonsense!” I snapped, stepping back. I turned and called out, voice rising in panic, “Darling! Come quick! This man’s trying to harass me!”
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