Mistaken Identities and the Price of Love

I became my ex-boyfriend's lover.

Everyone whispered that I was merely a stand-in for his childhood sweetheart, his unattainable dream girl.

But little did they know, he was the victim of my substituting plan. He was the stand-in to me.

1.

When Jase Davis stormed into my studio, I was embroidering a lovebird on the gown I'd made for him.

He was furious, snatching the gown from my hands and tossing it to the floor like trash.

He rarely visited the studio, always too busy.

Once, he came late at night when everyone else had left.

Sewing was a sophisticated job. I was so absorbed in sewing diamonds on a client's gown that I didn't notice him until I stood up to get water and found my cup already full.

He was leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

I took a sip from the cup; it was warm and comforting.

"I like seeing you so focused," he said.

Back in college, he'd often stand quietly behind me, promising to wear a tuxedo I made when he married me.

But I was always too busy with competitions to make him one.

The needle pricked my finger as he moved, snapping me out of my memories. I stared at the bead of blood, finally catching his words. "Is this how you treat your guests, by kicking them out?"

So, he was here to defend Chelsey Quinn.

I pieced together what he must have heard.

Apparently, she'd come to order a gown for the Emmy Awards, and I'd thrown her out without explanation.

My mind buzzed, still unaccustomed to being treated this way by Jase.

The cold light reflected off his glasses as he spoke. "A woman like you loves money, doesn't she?"

A woman like me?

I pressed my bleeding finger and smirked. "Yes, but she didn't offer enough."

His tone softened as he noticed the wound. "Ten million for making a gown for Chelsey. Is that enough?"

I gritted my teeth. "Miss Quinn is welcome to come for measurements anytime."

Turning down money would be foolish.

2.

Unexpectedly, Jase had lost his memory.

He had forgotten all the unforgettable moments we shared.

I knew it the moment we reunited three months ago at a party.

He stood there, impeccably dressed, surrounded by the glittering crowd, yet his demeanor was cold and distant.

Unlike me, who'd barely scraped my way into the event, he was the guest of honor -the heir to the Davis Group empire.

When our eyes met, there was no recognition, as if I were a stranger.

Someone nearby whispered, "Three years ago, Jase had a car accident. He forgot a lot, and his personality changed."

I approached him, pretending to be tipsy. His expression remained unchanged, likely accustomed to women throwing themselves at him.

He didn't push me away, instead, he gently touched the corner of my eye. "Your beauty mark at the corner of your eye is tear-shaped. It's lovely to me," he said.

He'd said the same thing years ago, but back then, his eyes had sparkled.

Now, they were cold and unreadable.

Still, I was willing to fall into that abyss for him.

After that night, I became his lover.

But it became painfully clear that he'd forgotten our college days, the stars on the school field and the sunrise on the mountain top.

And moreover, he'd forgotten me.

Perhaps amnesia made him gullible.

How else could the CEO of a publicly listed company believe Chelsey's blatant lies?

3.

Chelsey had come to the studio earlier that day.

Since getting involved with Jase, I'd been constantly reminded that his heart belonged to someone else- not me, but Chelsey, the newly crowned actress.

A year ago, she'd left him to pursue her career abroad, giving me the chance to be his stand-in.

Despite being rivals, I had to admit Chelsey was stunning. Her skin was flawless, and her features were striking, more vibrant in person than on screen.

She removed her sunglasses, revealing a tear-shaped beauty mark at the corner of her eye -just like mine.

She pushed a card across the table. "Five million. Leave Jase."

I never thought I'd encounter such a cliché in real life, and couldn't help but laugh.

To her, it was a provocation.

Before she could react, I said, "Miss Quinn, this is a fashion studio. If you are trying to joke around, try the Broadway stage."

She smirked. "Is it too little for you? Women like you are indeed all about money."

Her exquisite face radiated superiority.

I had to admit, I was short on money.

Ignoring my family's objections, I'd chosen fashion design over the family business, and they'd cut me off.

After moving to Nostern to find Jase, I'd lost my last source of support. My brother was threatened with the same fate if he helped me.

They were waiting for me to crawl back home and take over the family business.

Even though the studio's rent was due, I tossed the card at her and asked my assistant Wendy to see her off.

I refused to earn such dirty money.

However, I never expected the famous actress to stoop to tattling.

4.

Chelsey returned to the studio the next day, her face glowing with triumph.

I sent Wendy to take her measurements, but she exploded, demanding to know why the designer wasn't handling it personally.

Wendy tried to placate her, explaining, "Your order is urgent, so the designer is focused on the sketches. I'll take your measurements."

But Chelsey was relentless. "No, I want Tina Kim to do it."

Wendy, at her wit's end, called me over. Chelsey didn't waste time.

Right in front of me, she dialed Jase's number and put the call on speaker.

He answered quickly, pausing what sounded like a meeting to listen to her.

Her voice dripped with grievance as she complained about the studio's lack of respect, sending an assistant instead of the designer.

Jase spent several minutes soothing her, but she insisted I handle the measurements myself. Finally, his voice came through the phone, "Tina, could you please measure Chelsey yourself?"

His tone momentarily disoriented me.

Back in college, whenever I was on my period, my temper would flare, and Jase would patiently follow me around, bringing me painkillers and the food he made.

He'd been as gentle then as he was now with Chelsey.

"Alright," I said, though I barely remember how I got through the measurements. I just wanted it over with.

Jase had lost his memory three years ago, and that was when he'd gotten together with Chelsey.

I couldn't help but wonder if, when he looked into her eyes, any shadow of me ever crossed his mind.

5.

That evening, just after work, I got a call from Jase's assistant, Issac. "Jase drank too much at a business dinner. Can you come over?"

Given the day's events, I thought he'd dialed the wrong number.

But Issac called back, insisting Jase had specifically asked for me.

Skeptical, I decided to see for myself.

When I arrived, Issac had already helped Jase to bed.

Relieved to finally clock out, Issac whispered, "The company's in financial trouble. Only a big player like the Quinn Group can fix it. That's why Jase's been so nice to Chelsey lately. But don't worry, I'm rooting for you."

With a wink, he left.

Jase looked peaceful in his sleep, and his bangs were soft against his forehead, just like in college.

As his lashes fluttered, I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist.

With a firm pull, Jase drew me onto the bed, against his chest.

His gaze was deep, not like a drunk man's.

He guided me toward him, and I found myself asking, "Who am I?"

He didn't answer, instead kissing me with the taste of alcohol on his lips.

I pushed back, staring into his eyes. "Who am I?"

"Tina," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry."

His expression was pained, a side of him I'd never seen before.

The Jase I remembered was always confident, never this vulnerable.

Maybe time had weighed too heavily on him.

My nose suddenly tingled. My emotions, held back all day, finally spilled over.

At that moment, I believed he had his reasons.

6.

The next morning, I woke up at Jase's place.

Sunlight streamed across his face, making his lashes flutter.

I drew the curtains and lay back down, tracing his features with my fingers-eyes, nose, lips.

Then I realized his eyes were open.

The person beside me had woken up at some point, his gaze deeply fixed on me. I felt a mix of guilt and shyness, hastily covering his captivating eyes with my hand.

He chuckled, pulling me into a deep good morning kiss.

The morning was a whirlwind, and we didn't get off the bed until noon.

As long as the partner was strong and skillful enough, even workaholics would stay instead of going to work.

We sat across from each other at the dining table, eating our first meal of the day. He ate with focus and silence.

I asked, "I heard you had a car accident three years ago, right?"

He stiffened.

I hadn't brought it up before, but Chelsey's presence made me desperate. "Jase, when will you remember me?"

His face conrted in pain, as if trapped in a terrible memory.

I couldn't bear to push further, gently holding his hand. He gripped mine tightly, asking, "Tina, do you love me, or the old Jase?"

His gaze was stubborn.

Weren't they both you?

The accident had clearly scarred him. I missed the sunny, cheerful Jase from before.

Upon hearing my answer, he didn't respond, just hung his head.

Jase's ability to recover was impressive; within an hour, he was back to his composed self.

I rubbed my sore arm and went to change my clothes and apply makeup.

7.

I got ready to leave, but as I opened the door, Chelsey stood there.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

I countered, "How do you know the password to Jase's place?"

She smirked. "The password's my birthday. Didn't you know?"

I truly didn't know. So what?

Thanks to her, now I knew it.

I turned to Jase. "Can you change the password?"

He hesitated, glancing at Chelsey, who tugged his sleeve. "I can't..." he said.

Great.

I wanted to shake him and ask what he was thinking.

Instead, I left in silence.

Jase had changed so much. The former Jase would never have sacrificed his true feelings for profit.

Had the accident not only taken his memory but his true self as well?

After much thought, I made a call. "Hello? Could you help me investigate a car accident from three years ago?"