Revenge Is Sweet, Love Is Sweeter

My husband, Emit Arnold, only touches me when he's too drunk to remember he hates my guts. For three years, he's blamed me for the death of his true love, Everleigh.

Yesterday, he brought a woman home who had plastic surgery to look exactly like her.

Then my own twin children stood before me and told me to get out.

"Daddy brought our new mommy home," they said. "You have to leave now."

The woman, my adoptive sister Gigi, then deliberately cut her own leg with a knife and blamed me for it.

When Emit saw her bleeding, he didn't hesitate. He shoved me to the floor.

Later, his sister Isadora slapped me, her eyes burning with hate. "I'm the one who told everyone you killed Everleigh," she hissed. "And I'll keep telling them."

My children, my husband, my in-laws-they all chose the woman wearing a dead person's face over me. The love I had held onto for so long was finally gone.

That night, he cornered me in my room, ripped the dress from my body, and called me filthy.

He thought I would break.

Instead, I walked back into the living room, picked up the divorce papers I had already prepared, and threw them right in his face.

Chapter 1

I woke up to the familiar ache in my body. It was a dull throb, a reminder of the night before.

For a moment, I let myself believe it was a dream.

But the man sleeping beside me, Emit Arnold, was very real. His breathing was even, his handsome face peaceful in the morning light. He looked nothing like the man who had accused me of drugging him three years ago.

That night was the start of everything. A secret affair between an eighteen-year-old girl and the man she' d loved her whole life. He' d woken up furious, calling me shameless, convinced I' d trapped him.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

Our families forced us to marry. On our wedding day, his true love, his childhood sweetheart Everleigh Mathews, died in a fiery car crash on her way to stop the ceremony.

He blamed me for that, too.

For three years, he treated me like I was invisible, a ghost in his house. The only time he touched me was in the dead of night, when he was too drunk or too lonely to remember he hated me.

Last night had been one of those nights.

A tear slipped from my eye and soaked into the pillow. I thought I could spend my whole life like this, loving him from a distance, accepting the scraps of attention he gave me. I thought my devotion would eventually wear down his grief and anger.

I was a fool.

Yesterday, he brought a woman home. She looked exactly like Everleigh. A perfect, walking copy of the ghost that haunted our marriage.

Then my twin children, my son and daughter, stood in front of me and told me to get out.

"Daddy brought our new mommy home," they said. "You have to leave now."

That was when I knew. The love I' d held onto for so long was finally dead. It couldn't survive this.

I spent the rest of the day meticulously erasing myself from the Arnold family' s life, packing away every photo, every gift, every trace that I had ever existed here.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in years.

"Mr. Mills, I've made up my mind. Lend me the money, and I'll leave with you."

I hung up before he could answer, my resolve hardening.

The memory of last night' s intimacy felt bitter now, not sweet. I cried silently, the tears a release of three years of pain.

Suddenly, Emit stirred beside me. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. His voice was husky with sleep.

"Don't cry, Doris."

It was a rare moment of tenderness, a ghost of the boy I used to know.

But it was too late. The name Everleigh Mathews was a nightmare that had followed me for years. Her death was ruled an accident, but Emit always believed I had something to do with it. The brake lines of her car had been tampered with, but any evidence pointing to the real culprit was mysteriously erased.

He accused me, screamed at me, called me a murderer. He tried to cancel the wedding, but my pregnancy and the pressure from our grandparents, Connie Pearson and Ebenezer Clay, forced his hand.

I let out a bitter laugh. It was all in the past now.

A maid knocked on the door. "Mrs. Arnold, Mr. Arnold has a guest coming over this afternoon."

A tiny, stupid flicker of hope ignited in my chest. A guest? Was he trying to make things right? Maybe last night meant something to him.

I waited for him all afternoon, my heart fluttering like a nervous bird. I remembered being a little girl, trailing after him, and how he' d always look out for me. That was the Emit I fell in love with.

The front door opened. I turned, a smile already on my face.

And then I froze.

Emit stood there, but he wasn't alone. Beside him was the woman from yesterday. The woman with Everleigh Mathews' s face.

She was an exact replica. It was terrifying.

The woman smiled sweetly. "Doris, you remember me, don't you? I'm your sister, Gigi."

Gigi Kelley. My mother's adoptive daughter. My sister.

"Your face," I whispered, unable to look away. "What did you do to your face?"

Gigi' s smile widened, a hint of malice in her eyes. "I just wanted to look like the person Emit loves most. Don' t you think it suits me?"

She then turned, her face crumbling into tears, and buried her head in Emit' s chest. "Emit, I think I scared her. She looks like she wants to hurt me."

Emit' s face turned to stone. His voice was ice. "Doris, apologize to Gigi. Now."

He guided Gigi into the living room, his arm protectively around her. His sister, Isadora Galloway, followed them in. She shot me a look of pure hatred.

"Still pretending to be the lady of the house? You' re a disgrace, Doris."

Gigi was my adoptive sister. Three years ago, she' d been in an accident that disfigured her. She blamed me, of course, though the truth was far more complicated. That incident was the final nail in the coffin of my reputation.

I stood there by the door, frozen, for what felt like an eternity.

A cold, impatient voice came from behind me. "Are you going to stand there all day?" It was Emit. The brief warmth from the morning was gone, replaced by the familiar, chilling contempt.