Chapter 4

Marcus became uncharacteristically solicitous.

He'd ask if I was tired. He'd bring me tea.

It was unsettling. He knew I was Eleanor, the woman he supposedly loved, the woman he thought Tori had killed. Now he knew Tori was the one who was dead, and I was the one forced into a lie.

What did he want?

My father sent a message, a desperate plea.

"Ellie, please. Ten more days. Just ten days of silence. I'm taking Isabelle to a specialized clinic in Switzerland. After that, you can do what you want."

Ten days. What were ten more days in a life of lies?

"Okay," I texted back.

I felt a strange, detached calm. He knew. The biggest secret was out, at least to him.

The subtle shift in his behavior continued. He was less cruel, almost gentle at times.

He would look at me, really look at me, and I'd see a flicker of something I couldn't name in his eyes.

Was it guilt? Regret? Or something else entirely?

I didn't trust it. I couldn't.

He was still the man who had tormented me, who had wished for my death.

But now he knew that wish was directed at Eleanor, not the Tori he despised.

The confusion was a heavy weight. What did this new knowledge mean for him, for us?

He knew I was ill, though not the full extent. I hadn't told him about the transplant.

His kindness felt like a trap, more dangerous than his open hostility.