The Pretender Loved Me More

The moment my eyesight returned, the first person I rushed to find was my husband, Preston Maxwell. I needed to share the earth-shattering news. But before I could even open the door to the private lounge, I stopped. I could hear Preston’s voice, loose and self-satisfied, mingling with the easy laughter of his friends. “Preston, the wife has been blind for two years. You had your boy, Grant Miller, pretend to be you so you could be with your ‘soulmate.’ Aren’t you worried one day Miller’s going to stop pretending and make the lie real?” “Worried?” Preston took a slow sip of something expensive, his laugh echoing—a sound so casual it was like a punch to the gut. “Miller’s control is legendary. I’ve seen women practically naked in front of him and he didn’t even blink. He’s not going to touch June.” “Besides, my wife is basically frigid. As long as Grant doesn’t actively pursue her, she’d never even consider anything like that.” A chorus of chuckles and jeers followed. “I don’t know who I feel sorrier for—the wife or Miller. Two gorgeous people sleeping in the same bed and just… talking. What a waste of a perfect setup, ha!” Their callous laughter rippled through the door. I glanced toward the center of the room, though I didn’t need to see to know he was there—Grant Miller, nursing a drink, aloof and distant, the very definition of cool, restrained class. A man that desirable, and I hadn’t once considered him. What a shame.

1 In hindsight, the clues had been everywhere. For the two years I was blind, “Preston” had been noticeably colder, less talkative, and carried an undeniable distance. My own insecurities, coupled with the darkness, had made me self-conscious and afraid to complain. A soft click of the lock snapped my attention back to the present. “June? I’m home.” The voice behind me was Grant Miller’s, deliberately pitched low, mimicking my husband’s tone. Their voices were naturally similar, and with the added effort, it was no wonder I hadn’t been able to tell the difference for two years. I looked up, letting my newly clear eyes linger on the handsome, angular face of the man before me. Grant, the legendary, untouchable “Ice Man” of the City’s elite, who had always seemed above the mess of the Maxwells’ world. Why had he agreed to this two-year farce? The motive didn’t matter anymore. If they wanted to play a game, I would play it to the end. I dropped my gaze, pretending I was still in the dark. I moved forward, a hesitant, sightless figure, and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. “Honey, you’re finally home.” I pressed myself against him, my hands instinctively running over the hard, carved lines of his abdomen. Two years of restraint had defined our relationship. Even when we shared a bed, he maintained a rigid distance. Now, I was crushing that boundary. My unexpected closeness startled him. His body stiffened beneath my touch, his voice catching slightly. “June… what is it? Is something wrong?” I squeezed out a few manufactured tears and tried to sound hurt. “Preston, since the accident, you haven’t touched me. Have you… have you stopped finding me desirable?” Grant paused, then lowered his voice, the comfort sounding forced. “No, don’t think that. You were injured in the crash, not just your eyes, but your body. I didn’t want to put any strain on you.” “My body is fine now. I can handle it.” I fumbled—or pretended to—with the buttons of his tailored dress shirt, my fingers brushing the solid expanse of his chest. “It’s been two years, darling. You must be suffering, too.” Grant’s throat worked, his voice a raw whisper. “…I’m fine.” I leaned in, blowing a gentle, warm breath on his exposed collarbone. “Maybe we should…” The sentence died as his phone rang. “I need to take this.” Grant seemed grateful for the interruption, pulling away to take the call on the balcony. I crept to the window and heard Preston’s lazy voice through the speaker. “Miller, I’m swapping days with you. My grandfather’s birthday is tomorrow.” Grant hesitated. “Fine.” “It’s been months since we switched places. Catch me up—what’s happened with June? Don’t want any slip-ups when I get back.” Then came the mocking voice of one of Preston’s friends again. “Preston, chasing your soulmate and keeping the wife happy—who’s more important to you?” Preston scoffed, his tone dripping with contempt. “June? She’s nothing compared to Geneva. June has been chasing me for years, a clingy shadow I could never shake. I had to fight to win Geneva over. If it weren’t for the Old Man, I would have never married June in the first place.” I stood frozen, the blood draining from my face. The self-mockery was a bitter taste in my mouth. He was right. I had been chasing him for so long. Ten years. From sixteen to twenty-six. And after finally getting what I thought I wanted—marriage—the man I was sharing my bed with was his best friend. For two years, my life had been a massive, pathetic lie. 2 That night, I initiated the physical closeness, holding Grant Miller in my arms until dawn. I felt the rigid tension in his body—he never relaxed, never reciprocated, but he didn’t pull away either. I woke the next morning to an empty space beside me, but Preston was standing by the bed, formally dressed. “Up, sleepyhead.” He smiled, a forced, unfamiliar expression. “Get ready. The Old Man’s birthday party is today.” I stretched languidly, giving a fake, husky purr. “Honey, your bones were so hard last night. You bruised my hip, I swear.” Preston’s smile shattered. The air instantly frosted over. The drive to the Maxwell estate was silent and tense, Preston’s face dark, his mood a brewing storm. But the moment we walked into the grand hall, he plastered on the perfect, adoring-husband mask and squeezed my hand. “Grandpa, happy birthday. Wishing you health and wealth!” The Elder Maxwell was thrilled to see me and kept me at his side, chatting warmly. The room was packed. I saw Grant Miller across the hall, the man I had slept with hours ago, and then my attention snagged on the other woman: Geneva Stone, the object of Preston’s obsession—his “soulmate.” Geneva’s eyes found mine, and she held a look of blatant challenge and scorn. I ignored her completely, pretending to be utterly unaware of her presence. Mid-party, I excused myself to the restroom. Emerging from the stall, I found Geneva waiting. She walked directly toward me, and just as we were about to pass, I heard the tell-tale slosh sound. A cascade of red wine splashed over my head, soaking my hair and the front of my dress. “Oops, I am so sorry,” Geneva cooed, the apology sickly sweet. “My hand must have slipped. Clumsy me.” I didn’t panic. I calmly picked up the wet floor warning sign by the door, lifted it, and deliberately swung it, hitting her squarely in the face. “Ah!” Geneva shrieked, clutching her stinging cheek. “June Reed! What the hell was that!” I feigned confusion and post-facto apology. “Oh, goodness, my apologies! I still can’t see a thing, you know. I was just trying to feel for a railing. Did I hit you?” Geneva was covered in wine, fury contorting her face. She raised her hand to slap me. I lifted the sign again and swung it back at her. “Stop it!” Two male voices barked the command simultaneously from behind. Preston and Grant both strode toward us, followed by several staff members. Geneva immediately crumpled into Preston’s arms, her tears turning her perfect makeup into a mess. “Preston, your wife hit me with that sign! You have to do something!” “June, apologize now,” Preston said, his voice dangerously low. I stumbled—or pretended to—into Grant’s embrace. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I can’t see, it was an accident. Please don’t be mad at me.” Preston stood there, his face an angry, mottled purple. Grant gently patted my back and lowered his voice for my ears only. “It’s fine, June. Don’t worry about it.” I glanced up. Preston’s face was dark enough to drip ink. A spark of malicious glee shot through me. I snuggled closer to Grant’s chest, sniffing dramatically. “My clothes are completely soaked, darling. I’m freezing. Can you take me home and run a bath for me? And maybe give me a massage? My hip is killing me.” Grant’s hand, still on my back, tightened. His voice was a little rougher. “I… I think I can manage that.” “Mother Chen!” Preston’s eyes flashed with a potent mix of displeasure and possessive rage. He cut us off with a clipped tone. “Take Mrs. Maxwell to be bathed and changed!” 3 After I had changed into a dry dress, I accidentally overheard Preston and Grant talking in the hallway. Preston’s face was stormy. “Grant, you’ve never been interested in women. Why are you reacting to June?” Grant lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before replying. “I’m a man, Preston, not a saint. When a beautiful woman is pressed against you, constantly touching you, you react.” Preston looked physically ill, unable to process the idea. “But June is cold! She would never… Grant, you have to promise me, no matter what, you absolutely cannot touch June! She’s still my wife, no matter how much we ‘play’ with the setup.” “You still remember she’s your wife?” Grant exhaled a plume of smoke, a mocking edge to his lips. “You’ve spent two years with your Holy Grail, Preston. Have you cared about your wife for a single day?” Preston fell silent. Grant chuckled, a cynical, dismissive sound. “If you love Geneva so much, just divorce June already.” “I can’t!” Preston’s denial was frantic. “June and I grew up together. I have feelings for her… but I spent years pursuing Geneva. She finally accepted me. I can’t let her go, either.” “God,” Grant muttered, stamping out the cigarette. “You’re a joke, Preston.” I didn’t need to hear any more. I turned and walked away. Preston, you want to keep your idealized woman and your convenient wife. You want everything. But life doesn’t work that way. … The party eventually ended, and Preston drove me home. Just as we arrived, I saw Grant waiting by the front door. Preston handed me over to Grant without a single backward glance, speeding off immediately. Once inside, I went straight to the master bath. A few minutes later, I called out, my voice laced with theatrical panic. “Honey! I slipped! I think I twisted my shoulder. Can you bring the ointment in and help me?” The door clicked open immediately. Grant walked in, holding a tube of muscle rub. I was wrapped loosely in a towel, my hair half-wet, water still clinging to my skin. Grant stared for two seconds, then awkwardly averted his gaze, busying himself with squeezing the cream onto his palm. I let out a small, dramatic gasp, pretending to lose my footing, and “plunged” directly into his arms. The towel fell to the floor, pooling at my feet. Two warm bodies met, skin to skin. Grant’s ears went crimson. He tried to push me away, his voice strangled. “June, wait. We can’t…” I cut him off, pressing my mouth fiercely against his. Grant froze for a moment. Then, with a sound that was half-growl, he abandoned all pretense, wrapping his arms around me and returning the kiss with desperate, hungry heat. In the brief moments we pulled apart for air, I reached down and fumbled for the belt buckle on his trousers, my voice low and husky. “We’ve been married so long, darling… maybe it’s time we finally had a baby.” Grant’s throat bobbed. His voice was thick and raw. “…Yes. Whatever you want, June.” He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom. Just as he laid me down, his phone rang again. Grant looked at the screen and immediately hit “Ignore.” “Aren’t you going to answer that?” I whispered. He swallowed the rest of my words with another demanding kiss. From that afternoon until deep into the night, Grant was not the restrained, icy man I had known. He was a starved wolf who had finally tasted meat. He was relentless, insatiable. I fell asleep, utterly exhausted. Sometime in the pre-dawn hours, I vaguely heard Grant answer the phone, his voice a low murmur. “I know.” “No, I won’t touch her.” “You don’t trust me? Then don’t.” “Take an oath? I don’t believe in superstition.” He hung up. Grant leaned down, his voice barely audible as he spoke into my ear. “June, why did you only ever love him?” I want to tell you I don’t love him anymore. But I was too tired, too drained, and drifted back to sleep. 4 After that first night, Grant became a completely different man. He was a predator who had tasted blood and couldn’t get enough. For two months, he was consumed by me, throwing himself entirely into our newly passionate life. Preston, meanwhile, had taken his soulmate on a romantic European getaway and hadn’t been seen since. One day, feeling unwell, Grant took me to the doctor. Unexpectedly, we ran straight into Preston and Geneva, who had just returned from abroad, outside the clinic. “Oh, what a surprise,” Geneva chirped, dripping fake concern. “I’ve been having a bit of an upset stomach and morning sickness. Maybe too much fun abroad, I don’t know. Just here to check if I’m expecting! What brings you two here?” Grant looked at her, his expression ice-cold. “June isn’t feeling well. I brought her for a checkup.” Preston remained speechless, trying to hide his fear of the charade collapsing. But his eyes were glued to the angry red marks blooming on my neck—marks he knew he hadn’t made. His face was rigid with cold fury. I pretended not to notice either of them and walked past. As I brushed past Geneva, she let out a piercing shriek and dramatically stumbled backward, landing squarely in a decorative water fountain. Preston’s face went white. He jumped into the fountain immediately and scooped her out. Geneva was soaking wet, sobbing hysterically. “Preston! Your wife pushed me in! I don’t even know what I did to her, why is she always provoking me?” Preston’s composure evaporated. His voice was a whip-crack. “June Reed, apologize to Geneva!” I scoffed. It was always the same. He never questioned. He simply issued my sentence. “I didn’t do it. Why should I apologize?” Preston’s eyes were dark and menacing, his voice like chipped ice. “Who else would have done it? Geneva walked right past you! Did she jump in herself? Are you as black-hearted as you are blind?” Ten years of devotion. Ten years of giving him everything. It all came back to this: Geneva was always his priority. “I won’t apologize,” I stated flatly. “You don’t have a choice!” Preston kicked my knee hard. The sudden, searing pain made me gasp and drop straight to my knees. He grabbed my head, forcing me down, trying to make me kowtow to Geneva. “Let go of her!” Grant lunged forward, wrenching Preston’s hand away. His eyes burned with barely contained rage. “Don’t you touch her!” Preston ground his jaw, his face a terrifying shade of crimson. As they wrestled, a sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness hit me. All my strength vanished, and I started to fall backward. Two voices cried out simultaneously. “June!” Grant was instantly there, catching my limp body. But before he could properly hold me, Preston grabbed me from his arms. “June, what is it? Wake up!” “I’m sorry, June, I shouldn’t have been so cruel, just wake up…” Preston carried me frantically toward the emergency room. Outside the doors, Preston glared at Grant, his voice low and frigid. “Explain the marks on her neck, Miller.” Grant merely sneered. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about her health right now?” The door to the emergency room opened. The doctor pulled down her mask. “No cause for alarm. The patient fainted due to high emotional stress. She’s pregnant, and she’ll be fine after a rest.” “What did you say?” Preston looked as though he had been struck by lightning.