Lilly Herring
After a devastating breakup, I left to study abroad without telling a soul, my heart completely shattered.
Over the next five years, I changed my name and number, completely cutting ties with everyone back home.
Everyone thought I was dead.
That I'd died the day my boyfriend married my stepsister behind my back.
For five whole years, a fresh bouquet of red roses appeared at my grave every single day.
Five years later, I returned to move my mother's grave. And there he was: my ex, George Knight, holding red roses, there to mourn me again.
After a moment of stunned, awkward silence, I managed to say something.
"Long time no see."
His lips twitched into a forced smile as he hid the roses behind his back.
"Long time no see," he said. "I thought... you were dead."
I just smiled, pretending not to notice his bloodshot eyes.
He wasn't wrong, though.
Autumn Moore really was dead.
She died five years ago, on the day he married my father's illegitimate daughter behind my back.
...
When I came back to relocate my mother's grave, I found another one right beside it—mine.
The headstone read, "Beloved Wife, Autumn Moore."
In front of it lay a bouquet of roses, a lucky charm, and my old favorite—chocolate cake.
The cemetery groundskeeper followed my gaze, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Ms. Holland, look at the picture on that headstone. Doesn't she look just like you?"
"If I didn't know you just flew in from out of the country, I'd swear I was seeing a ghost!"
I managed a smile.
"She does, but that's not me."
My name is Charlotte Holland. I'm a top writer for Gaulia's *MT* magazine and the sole heiress to the Holland Corporation.
I just celebrated my third wedding anniversary with my husband, and our child is two.
You could say I have it all.
But the person on that headstone was Autumn Moore.
Five years ago, after the illegitimate daughter her father brought home was diagnosed with depression, her own father and brother went behind her back to arrange a wedding for the girl.
And the groom was none other than her boyfriend of eight years, her childhood sweetheart.
She was a complete and utter failure.
She and I were no longer the same person.
Tearing my eyes away, I turned back to the groundskeeper to discuss the grave relocation.
But then, a familiar voice called out from behind me.
"Rainy!"
I ignored it and kept talking to the groundskeeper.
Suddenly, a hand gripped my arm.
I stumbled, spinning around under the groundskeeper's shocked gaze to find myself face-to-face with George Knight.
"Rainy, you... you're not dead?"
A cold smile played on my lips, but my gaze dropped to the red roses in his hand.
I hadn't seen him in five years.
Why were George Knight's eyes now as red as the roses he was holding?