Chapter 3

Later that night, I couldn't sleep. I walked downstairs for a glass of water and found Ethan in the dark, sitting in his armchair in the living room. He was staring into the unlit fireplace.

The room was filled with the scent of Tara's perfume, a cloying gardenia scent that was starting to permeate the entire house.

"Couldn't sleep?" I asked softly.

He turned, and for a moment, in the dim light, his eyes softened. He looked at me, really looked at me, and a flicker of something I couldn't name crossed his face.

"Gabrielle?" he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and longing.

My heart stopped. He thought I was her. He reached out, his hand gently touching my cheek. It was the most tender touch I had ever received from him. He leaned in, his lips just inches from mine. This was it. This was my chance. The kiss.

But then his eyes focused. The softness vanished, replaced by a cold fury. He snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned.

"Jocelyn," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "What the hell are you doing? Trying to trick me?"

"No, Ethan, I-"

"I should have known," he snarled, getting to his feet and towering over me. "You've always been manipulative. Wearing her perfume, standing in the dark like that. You're pathetic. Desperate for any scrap of attention you can get."

"That's not true," I said, my voice trembling. "It's Tara's perfume. It's everywhere."

"Don't you dare blame her," he said, his voice dangerously low. "She's nothing like you. She's pure. You... you would do anything to get what you want."

He took a step closer, backing me against the wall. His face was a mask of rage.

"You' ve been playing these games for five years. Planting stories in the tabloids, staging those ridiculous affairs. Did you think I was a fool? Did you think I didn't know you were trying to make me jealous?"

His hand shot out and grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. It was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me in anger. The shock of it was a physical blow.

"Let go of me," I whispered, fear coiling in my stomach.

"You want a kiss so badly?" he sneered, his face close to mine. His breath was hot with anger. "Is that what this is all about? You're so starved for affection you have to resort to these pathetic little tricks?"

He was pressing me harder against the wall, his body trapping mine. It wasn't desire; it was punishment. It was a violation.

"Ethan, please," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Just kiss me. Please."

He stared down at me, his eyes cold and empty. For a second, I thought he might. But then a look of utter revulsion crossed his features.

"No," he said, his voice flat. He released me so abruptly that I stumbled, catching myself on a side table.

He looked at me, one last time, with pure disgust. "Get out of my sight."

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone in the dark, shaking and broken. The red thread on my wrist seemed to burn, a stark reminder that my time was running out. My one chance had been a mirage, and the reality was a nightmare.