Chapter 3

Sunday dinner at the Vance estate in Connecticut was always a performance.

Marcus played the devoted husband perfectly, his hand on my arm, his smile charming.

My mother, Isabelle, watched us, her eyes clouded. She hadn't been the same since Tori died.

After dinner, I cornered my father, Arthur, in his study.

"I can't do this anymore, Dad," I said, my voice trembling. "I have to tell Marcus the truth. That I'm Eleanor."

His face turned purple with rage.

"Absolutely not!" he thundered, slamming his hand on his mahogany desk. "Have you forgotten your mother? The shock would kill her! She still thinks you're Tori."

He paced the room, his anger a palpable force.

"Tori would have handled this. Tori knew how to please. You were always the weaker one, Eleanor."

His words, always favoring my dead sister, cut deep.

I remembered two years ago, after the sailing accident that took Tori.

Isabelle had shattered. She only responded if I called myself Tori. She only saw Tori when she looked at me.

Arthur, desperate to protect his wife's fragile mind, and maybe to keep his preferred daughter "alive" in some twisted way, had forced me.

"You will be Tori," he'd said, his voice like ice. "If you refuse, I'll ruin Marcus. He's still dependent on Vance funding, remember?"

Tori had liked Marcus, too. Maybe that was part of it for my father.

But Arthur's threats were old now.

"Marcus doesn't need your funding anymore, Dad," I said, a bitter taste in my mouth. "He's CEO of Thorne Media Group. His biological family finally claimed him."

A floorboard creaked outside the study door.

I froze.

Marcus stood there, his face unreadable. He had come back for a forgotten briefcase.

He had heard everything.

He knew I was Eleanor. He knew about the coercion.

His eyes met mine, and for a second, something flickered there. Not hatred. Something else. Confusion?

Then it was gone. He picked up his briefcase and left without a word.

His demeanor towards me began to change after that, a subtle, confusing shift.