Iris Kingsley had always believed she would marry her childhood sweetheart, Vincent Whitmore.
That belief shattered the night she saw him outside a bar, getting blind drunk for another woman—sparing nothing, not even his life.
Only then did she finally understand
“It’s not that I wasn’t good enough; I was never the one.”
On her wedding day, Iris stepped out in a snow-white gown, her hand tucked into another man’s arm, her smile light as air.
“Either way, I’m marrying into the Whitmore family—does it matter which brother?”
“From now on, call me sister-in-law.”
Watching her laugh and throw herself into another man’s embrace, eyes sparkling, lips curved in effortless joy, Vincent Whitmore lost his mind.
“Iris Kingsley, have you lost it? How can you marry my brother!”
Iris arched a brow. “Sorry, but I’ve got zero interest in a heart that’s already taken.”
Once, she had been endlessly accommodating, waiting in silence, seeing only him.
Now, her smile was distant, regal, and clear-eyed—and the man at her side was gentle yet unshakable.
Vincent watched her stand next to his older brother and finally felt the sting of regret. “Iris, come back!”
Iris tightened her hold on Warren Whitmore’s arm, her grin saccharine. “Sorry, my husband wore me out last night—what did you just say?”
Iris had married Warren Whitmore with a heart long dead.
Everyone claimed he was aloof, ascetic, allergic to women.
After the wedding she learned it was all lies!
Where was the supposed ice-cold celibate?
Then what were these sore hips, weak legs, and hoarse voice every single night?!
