Chapter 3

Chloe was waiting at the bottom of the grand staircase, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Finally got kicked out, did you? Serves you right. Eating our food, living in our house, and still trying to boss me around."

I almost laughed. Boss her around? I'd only tried to stop her from running off with some tattooed deadbeat when she was sixteen. She'd screamed then, too, as if I'd ruined her life.

"Chloe, honey, your sister-in-law probably meant well," a smooth voice purred. Victoria Vance, with her mother, a woman who looked like a perfectly preserved doll. "She's from a different world, after all. No real breeding."

"She's not my sister-in-law!" Chloe pouted, linking her arm through Victoria's. "Ethan can't stand her. He always takes *you* to events, Vivi. Never her."

So that was the other perfume on his clothes after his late nights.

I knew Ethan worked hard. He never shared his burdens with me. He assumed I wouldn't understand. Eventually, we stopped talking altogether.

"Then I wish you luck looking after Ethan, Ms. Vance," I said, extending a hand.

Victoria just looked at it, a small, disdainful smile playing on her lips.

Her mother stepped forward. "Our Victoria isn't like you, dear. She won't be a glorified housekeeper. She's an Ivy League graduate, fluent in two languages. She can make Ethan millions. You... well, you wash clothes and cook gumbo. A maid can do that."

Victoria preened. "Elara, I know you were with Ethan through the hard times. But he's more than repaid any debt to your... family."

The hard times. I remembered selling my grandmother's few gold pieces, the ones saved for my dowry, to pay for Chloe's private school application fees. I remembered working off-the-books in a sweltering French Quarter kitchen, scrubbing pots till my hands bled, so Ethan could afford the right suits to impress investors.

He never knew. Or never asked.

Ethan appeared, his face drawn. "Enough. Elara, you'll stay in the guest wing for now. Victoria, Mother Vance, please." A weak attempt at diplomacy.

Chloe, however, had other plans. "The guest wing is being repainted. She can have the attic storeroom. It's... cozy."

The attic was cold, damp, and smelled of mothballs and forgotten things. Like me.

I lay on a dusty cot, the pain in my belly a constant reminder.

Later, much later, I heard voices from downstairs. Ethan and Victoria.

"It's just... that oath at her grandmother's grave," Ethan was saying, his voice low. "It sounds ridiculous, I know, but those old Cajun beliefs... they can be potent. Bad luck."

Victoria laughed, a tinkling, dismissive sound. "Darling, I've already taken care of that. I sent a landscaping crew out to that little swamp plot this morning. They're 'beautifying' the area. Clearing out some of the... undergrowth. By tomorrow, your little problem with curses will be neatly paved over."

Her grandmother's grave. The simple wooden cross. The sacred ground where my ancestors lay.

Something inside me snapped.

I flew down the stairs, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet.

Victoria was admiring her reflection in the grand hall mirror, Ethan's arm around her waist.

I didn't think. I just swung.

My palm connected with Victoria's cheek. The sound cracked through the silent house.

She shrieked, clutching her face.

Ethan whirled, his eyes blazing. "Elara! Have you lost your mind? You're acting like a savage!"

He didn't ask why. He never asked.