Chapter 3

Ellie POV

The clock on the wall read 2:00 AM when he finally came home.

Marcus never drank. He was a man of discipline who prided himself on absolute control. But tonight, he stumbled through the door, reeking of bourbon and the cloying scent of her perfume.

I was sitting on the couch in the dark, waiting.

He saw my silhouette and stopped dead in his tracks. He swayed slightly on his feet.

"Chloe?" he whispered.

The name hit me like a physical blow. I sat perfectly still, my breath trapped in my throat.

He walked over, his steps heavy and uncoordinated. He dropped to his knees in front of me and buried his face in my lap.

"Why did you leave?" he mumbled into the fabric of my dress. "Why did you make me marry her?"

I stiffened. I wanted to push him away, but my hands were frozen at my sides.

"Who?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper. "Who did you marry?"

"Ellie," he slurred. He laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "The little orphan. The substitute."

He looked up. His eyes were unfocused, swimming with alcohol and tears. He reached up and cupped my face. He didn't see me. He saw the ghost he desperately wanted me to be.

"I hate her, Chloe," he said. "I hate her because she isn't you. Every time I touch her, I wish it was you. Every time I look at her, I'm just looking for pieces of you."

I stopped breathing. The pain was so sharp, so visceral, it felt like my heart had actually cracked inside my chest.

"You don't love her?" I asked.

"Love her?" He scoffed. "I pity her. She is a tool. A way to stay close to you without your father killing me."

He leaned his forehead against mine.

"But it is over now, right? You are back. We can be together."

He closed his eyes and slumped against my legs, passing out cold.

I sat there for a long time. The weight of his head on my lap was heavy, suffocating.

Finally, I pushed him off. He rolled onto the floor with a thud and didn't move.

I stood up. My legs were shaking violently.

I walked to his jacket, which he had thrown on the chair. His phone was in the pocket. The screen was lit; a voice memo app was open. It was a recording.

I pressed play. It was a recording of a conversation from earlier tonight.

Chloe's voice was sharp, angry. "Why did you promise to marry her, Marcus? Why?"

Marcus's voice was sober, intense. "Because she looks like you. Because your father forbade me from seeing you, but he trusted me with his charity case niece. It was the only way I could sit at the same table as you."

The recording crackled.

"You are sick, Marcus," Chloe said.

"I am crazy about you," he replied. "I went to Florence just to watch you from a distance. I stood in the rain for hours outside your hotel."

"And Ellie?" Chloe asked. "Does she know she is just a warm body?"

"She doesn't need to know," Marcus said. "She is happy. I give her money, I give her a home. She is a good little mimic. When she paints, she holds the brush exactly like you do. I trained her well."

There was a heavy silence on the tape.

"I am pregnant, Marcus," Chloe said.

The sound of glass shattering echoed through the speaker.

"Is it mine?" Marcus asked. His voice was filled with a terrifying hope.

"Yes."

"Then we name him Leo," Marcus said. "Like we planned in high school."

Leo.

I touched my own stomach. I hadn't named the life growing inside me yet. I hadn't even let myself dream that far.

Marcus's voice came through the speaker again.

"What about Ellie?" Chloe asked.

"She is nothing," Marcus said. "She is just a placeholder. She won't know. And even if she finds out, she won't leave. She has nowhere else to go. She worships me."

The recording ended.

I looked at the man passed out on my rug. The man I had worshipped.

He was right. I had nowhere to go.

But he was wrong about one thing.

I wasn't a placeholder. I was a person. And I was done.

I went to the bathroom and vomited until my stomach was empty. Then I washed my face with cold water.

I looked in the mirror. The face staring back was pale, gaunt, eyes rimmed with red. But there was something else there. A spark. A tiny, angry flame.

I walked back into the living room. I stepped over Marcus's body.

I picked up the landline phone. I dialed a number I had memorized from a billboard weeks ago-a number I had stared at, never admitting to myself why I needed to remember it until this exact moment.

"Hello," I said when the lawyer answered. "I need to file for divorce. Immediately."

I hung up.

The sun was starting to rise over the city. It painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and bloody orange.

I packed a small bag. Just essentials. No clothes he bought. No jewelry.

My phone rang. It was David, my neighbor from the apartment complex I lived in before Marcus took me in. We hadn't spoken much, but he was kind.

"Ellie?" he asked. "I heard you were back. Are you okay?"

I gripped the phone tightly.

"David," I said. "Can you pick me up?"

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere," I said. "Just away from here."

I looked at Marcus one last time. He mumbled Chloe's name in his sleep.

I walked out the door and didn't close it quietly. I let it slam.