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After our fiftieth fight, I sold every luxury gift Adrian had ever given me. I thought I was getting rid of old memories. Until the authenticator looked at the boxes and laughed. “Ma’am… this isn’t Balenciaga. It’s Balenciago.” “Versace? No. Versaci.” “Gucci? This one says Guchi.” I froze. Eight years of love, and I had never once checked. The entire collection was fake. Worth less than fifty dollars. I grabbed the cash and went straight to find Adrian. But before I could confront him, I heard his voice from inside the private room. “Romanée-Conti. Seven hundred thousand dollars.” “A little gift for your promotion, Sloane.” His friends laughed. “Adrian, after eight years, aren’t you going to marry Claire?” He smiled. “Marry her?” “A woman who can’t even tell fake gifts from real ones?” “She was never someone I planned to marry.” I stood outside the door, holding the money from those fake gifts. And finally understood. For eight years, I wasn’t the woman he loved. I was just the joke he kept around. After Adrian and I fell into our fiftieth standoff, I was angry enough to list every luxury gift he'd given me over the years on a resale site. The authenticator who came by to inspect them looked everything over for a long moment, then let out a laugh. "Ma'am, this says Balenciago, not Balenciaga. Versaci, not Versace. And this one? Guchi, not Gucci..." I stared at the laughably bad misspellings. For eight years, I'd trusted Adrian so completely that I'd never once bothered to look closely. He gave me a sympathetic look. "These don't even qualify as decent counterfeits. Ten boxes? Fifty bucks, tops." I closed my fist around the crumpled bills and went straight to Adrian. He was in a private dining room, casually opening a bottle of wine. "Romanée-Conti. 700 000. A little something to celebrate your promotion." Sloane Parker laughed softly behind her hand. "Adrian, that's way too much." "You're worth it." One of his friends spotted me and deliberately spoke up. "Seriousl
