In her first life, she had been asleep. She had woken up to hear Cordero talking to someone, soft murmurs that she interpreted as intimacy. It had fueled her jealousy, made her act crazy the next morning.

This time, she lay perfectly still. She controlled her breathing.

On the sofa, Cordero groaned. He shifted, the leather creaking under his weight. "What the hell?" he muttered.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. He looked at the door, annoyed. He stood up, his movements stiff, and walked across the room.

Elaina watched through her eyelashes.

He opened the door a crack.

"Cordero?"

The voice was sweet, dripping with synthetic concern. Amanda.

"It's late, Amanda," Cordero said, his voice rough with sleep. He didn't open the door wider. He stood in the gap, blocking her view of the room.

"I know," Amanda cooed. "I just... I saw the light under the door earlier. I couldn't sleep thinking about you. I know how hard this is for you. Being forced into this..."

Elaina's fingernails dug into her palms under the duvet. The audacity.

"I brought you some warm milk," Amanda said. "With a little honey and nutmeg. Just like your mom used to make. It helps with the stress."

Elaina almost gagged. Warm milk? It was so cliché it was insulting. But it was calculated. It highlighted Amanda's role as the "childhood friend" who knew his comforts, contrasting with the "stranger" wife in his bed.

"I don't need milk, Amanda," Cordero said. He sounded tired, but not receptive.

"Are you sure?" Amanda's voice lowered. She stepped closer; Elaina could see the shadow of her movement in the sliver of light from the hallway. "Is... is she asleep? Is everything okay? Did she try anything?"

"She's asleep," Cordero said shortly. "Go to bed, Amanda."

"Can I just come in for a second? I left my-"

"No."

The word was sharp. Final.

Elaina's eyebrows shot up. In her memory, she thought he had let her in. She thought they had laughed together. But he hadn't.

"It's my wedding night, Amanda," Cordero said, his voice dripping with irony. "Regardless of how I feel about it, having another woman in the room isn't appropriate. Goodnight."

He closed the door. He didn't slam it, but he closed it firmly right in her face.

Elaina heard a muffled gasp from the other side, then silence.

Cordero leaned his forehead against the wood of the door for a second. He let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn't look like a man in love with his mistress. He looked like a man trapped in a cage, being poked by everyone around him.

He turned and walked back toward the sofa. As he passed the bed, he paused. He looked down at Elaina.

She kept her eyes shut, breathing evenly.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself. "Sleeps like the dead while my life falls apart."

He threw himself back onto the sofa, punching the pillow into shape.

Elaina opened her eyes in the darkness.

He had sent Amanda away. He had defended the sanctity of the marriage, even if he hated the wife.

It was a small piece of information, but it was vital. Cordero wasn't Amanda's puppet yet. He was honorable, in his own twisted, cold way.

Elaina stared at the ceiling. Her mind began to race, connecting dots she had missed the first time. Amanda wasn't just attacking her; she was actively trying to isolate Cordero, painting herself as the only safe harbor.

She wants to be the savior, Elaina thought. So I have to stop being the villain.

She needed to change the narrative. And it had to start immediately.

She closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax. Tomorrow was going to be a war. She needed rest.

Chapter 3 3

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