She Wore My Gown to My Party; Now I Wear a New Name

PROLOGUE

The first year I was married to Sebastian, a singer showed up at my birthday gala wearing a gown identical to mine.

Sebastian s face became a mask of ice.

A vein pulsed at his temple.

Someone get that dress off her, he ordered, his voice lethally quiet. Rip it off.

He was protecting me, yet I felt no warmth.

Only a spreading chill.

Because I knew.

The man who had once thrown a fortune away for this singer, who had promised to run away with her that man was also him.

01

June fifteenth was my birthday.

Sebastian had arranged for a gala at the Lowell estate, booking a renowned jazz quartet from Boston's own Berklee College of Music to play through the evening.

For this day, I had commissioned a one-of-a-kind couture gown from a fiercely talented, rising star designer from Savannah College of Art and Design. It was a water-red silk, the hem embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like layered waves in the moonlight.

When Sebastian saw me, his eyes lit up.

I smiled, twirling for him. "Well?"

"Like a goddess descended," he breathed, his smile genuine. "Tonight, every man in Boston will envy me for having such a brilliant and beautiful wife."

He wasn't wrong.

When we appeared at the gala together, my gown drew a chorus of admiration from the other wives.

"Isadora, that gown is simply divine. I must know your designer."

"Darling, you can't be serious. One doesn't wear the same gown as the guest of honor."

"True. And besides, only Isadora could carry it with such grace."

The women laughed and chattered, and I glanced across the room.

From the men's circle, Sebastian caught my eye and sent me a warm, private smile.

But in the next instant, his expression shattered.

He was staring at something behind me, his dark eyes swirling with a storm of disbelief and fury.

02

I turned.

And my breath caught in my throat.

The jazz quartet began a new song as a singer, Zara Navarro, stepped onto the small stage.

Her hair was raven-black, her skin like snow.

And the gown she wore...

It was identical to mine.

A hush fell over the entire ballroom.

Every eye bounced between me and the singer, a silent, electric tennis match of scandal.

Finally, Sebastian surged to his feet, slamming his crystal glass down on a nearby table. "Absurd!"

The music screeched to a halt.

Zara stood frozen on the stage, a picture of wide-eyed innocence.

"Someone get that dress off her. Now."

The estate security moved instantly.

The water-red silk crumpled to the floor, leaving her in a simple white slip.

She sank to her knees, her silhouette achingly pathetic in the cool night air filtering through the open terrace doors.

"I... I bought this gown at a boutique," she stammered, her voice trembling. "I swear, I had no idea it would offend Mrs. Lowell..."

She knelt there, her thin shoulders shaking, clearly terrified and on the verge of tears.

Sebastian's face was carved from stone. "Out."

03

Zara scrambled to her feet.

Her gaze lingered on Sebastian's face, a desperate, hungry look.

But it lasted only a moment before she lowered her eyes and fled.

Sebastian came to my side, his hand finding mine. It was cold. "Isadora," he murmured, his voice low and for my ears only. "That was just... an unfortunate interruption. Let's continue the party, shall we?"

I didn't answer.

After a long moment, I turned my head, meeting his stormy eyes.

My own voice was a whisper.

"Sebastian, the list of performers you approved... she wasn't on it."

"Tell me," I said, the chill in my heart spreading through my veins. "Who let her in?"

The gala ended with me feigning a sudden illness and retreating to my chambers. Later that night, my closest friend, Eleanor, found me in the gardens. She hesitated, then told me something I'd never known.

Sebastian and Zara, she said, had once been involved in a scandalous, all-consuming affair. He, the heir to a Boston Brahmin dynasty; she, a muse for hire from a gilded cage. He d been on the verge of running away with her when his mother s intervention and subsequent illness forced him to promise to end it and make a proper marriage.

"He genuinely loves you now, Isadora," Eleanor insisted. "That business with Zara was over. Why dredge up old pain?"

Was it really over?

The next morning, I woke to the sound of Sebastian shouting in the courtyard. I confronted him, and he finally admitted it.

"I did have a... foolish history with Miss Navarro," he confessed. "But it's in the past. You are my wife."

He pulled me into an embrace. "Isadora, yesterday was an accident. A fluke. I swear to you, I will never let anything like that happen again. Please?"

I wanted to believe him. I truly did.

But just as I was about to relent, a frantic butler rushed into the courtyard.

"Sir! Miss Navarro... she's collapsed at the main gate!"

04

At the grand entrance of the Lowell estate, Zara Navarro lay beside one of the stone lions, dressed in a simple, modest dress.

Her eyes were closed, her face pale and still.

The estate gates opened onto one of Boston's most historic public streets, and a small crowd of onlookers had already gathered, pointing and whispering.

She had been here since dawn, they said, waiting at the gate, insisting she needed to apologize to me in person.

"I told you to send her away!" Sebastian roared at the gatekeeper as he rushed to Zara's side, gathering her into his arms.

The gatekeeper wiped sweat from his brow. "I tried, sir, repeatedly. But she refused to leave..."

"Don't... don't blame him," Zara whispered, her eyes fluttering open in Sebastian's embrace. She weakly clutched his sleeve. "It was my own fault. I had to wait."

Her voice was as thin as a spider's thread. "I needed to apologize to Mrs. Lowell in person. For a wretched, cursed woman like me to have ruined her birthday... the guilt is more than I can bear..."

She managed half the sentence before her eyes rolled back and she went limp in his arms again.

Sebastian scooped her up.

"What are you standing around for? Get the doctor!" he yelled at the stunned staff.

Then, as if he couldn't even see me standing just a few feet behind him, he turned and carried Zara briskly toward the guest wing.

The gossip spread through Boston faster than wildfire. Everyone knew. In broad daylight, Sebastian Lowell had carried the infamous Muse of The Gilded Cage through the front gates of his ancestral home.

At dusk, I went to the guest wing.

05

Zara was awake.

I stood in the doorway, listening to her soft, broken sobs as she pleaded with Sebastian.

"You can forget the promises we made," she wept. "You can move on with your beautiful, perfect wife. But what am I supposed to do?"

"I will provide for you," he said, his voice cold. "The world is a big place."

"You know," she choked out, "that though the world is vast, the only place I have ever wanted to be is by your side."

I couldn't listen anymore. I walked in.

The moment Zara saw me, she scrambled from the bed and fell to her knees. "Mrs. Lowell..."

Sebastian pulled her to her feet, then turned to me. "Isadora. The dress was an unfortunate mistake. She did not do this intentionally."

Just then, a maid brought in a bowl of dark, steaming medicine. I intercepted it before Sebastian could.

"You have business to attend to," I said. "I will take care of Miss Navarro."

He hesitated, then left, instructing that Zara be moved to a private clinic to recover.

The moment he was gone, Zara's entire demeanor changed. The soft, pitiful creature vanished. She looked me up and down, a smug smile playing on her lips.

"That water-red gown," she purred. "Tell me honestly, who do you think wore it better?"

I ignored the childish provocation. "I have no need to compare myself to you, Miss Navarro. I do not trade on my looks."

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she laughed it off. "So noble. But it's a pity, isn't it? That in the end, all men truly want is beauty."

I studied her meticulous performance of the fragile beauty. "You are indeed beautiful," I conceded. "It would be a shame if that beauty were to fade from not taking your medicine properly."

I called for my own assistants, Alice and Rhea. They entered, and without a word, one held her shoulders while the other held her jaw. I poured the bitter tonic into her mouth.

Zara choked and sputtered, dark liquid spilling down the front of her white slip. She glared at me, her eyes burning with pure hatred.

"You just wait, Isadora Beaumont," she hissed.

"The one he holds in his heart... has always been me."

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