Chapter 3

The sounds from the next room were a special kind of torture. Emit' s low, comforting murmurs, Gigi' s soft sobs.

I remembered a time when he used to comfort me like that. When I was a little girl with a scraped knee, he would carry me home and sing me to sleep.

That felt like a different lifetime.

Ever since our wedding, we' d slept in separate rooms. It was only in the last few weeks that he' d started seeking me out in the middle of the night, a brief, confusing return to an intimacy I craved. It had given me a sliver of hope.

Now I knew that hope was a lie.

I could hear the water running in his bathroom. I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, the sharp pain a welcome distraction.

I tried to tell myself this was all a nightmare. That the warmth of our childhood was the reality, and this cold, cruel present was just a bad dream.

But it wasn't.

I don' t know why, but my feet carried me out of my room and to his door. I stood there, listening, my heart pounding.

The door opened suddenly, and we almost collided. Emit was on the phone, his brow furrowed. He barely glanced at me as he walked past.

A wave of pathetic relief washed over me. He was leaving. He hadn't spent the night with her.

I pushed his door open.

The relief died instantly.

Gigi was there, standing in the middle of the room. She was wearing nothing but a pair of silk panties and one of Emit's white button-down shirts. The shirt was unbuttoned low, revealing the curve of her breasts. It was an unmistakable declaration.

She ran a hand through her hair, a slow, seductive gesture. "Emit, honey," she called out in a sultry voice, knowing I was watching. "Are you coming back to bed?"

Something inside me snapped.

I lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. I slapped her, once, twice, the sting on my palm immensely satisfying.

"Don't you ever call him that," I snarled, my voice raw with fury. "He's not your 'honey.'"

Gigi just smirked, her eyes full of venom. "He's my uncle-in-law, Doris. That makes him my elder. You, on the other hand, are just the adopted daughter who shamelessly climbed into his bed."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

Three years ago, on the night of my eighteenth birthday, someone drugged me. I woke up in Emit' s bed. He woke up disgusted, convinced I had orchestrated the whole thing. The truth never came out. A maid was paid off to take the blame, and then she conveniently disappeared. Emit never believed her confession for a second.

Our families were scandalized. My mother, Hildur, and Emit's grandparents decreed that I couldn't marry him as a Navarro. It was too shameful. So they made me the adopted daughter, and Gigi, her actual adopted daughter, was elevated to the status of the proper young lady of the house.

I stared at Gigi' s face, that perfect copy of Everleigh' s. My whole body trembled with a rage so profound it scared me.

"Why?" I choked out. "Why would you make yourself look like her?"

Gigi' s smile was a slow, cruel curve. "To take him from you, of course."

She leaned in closer, her voice a poisonous whisper. "I should thank you, really. If you hadn't pushed me into that fire and ruined my face, I never would have had the chance to get this one. And he loves this face."

"I didn't push you!" I screamed, the old accusation tearing a fresh wound.

"Doesn't matter," she purred, stepping back. "No one believes you. Your mother hates you. Your brother hates you. They all wish you were the one who died in that fire, not Everleigh."

Her words were daggers. "You should just die, Doris. Go on. Do it."

She walked out of the room, her hips swaying, wearing nothing but that shirt and panties. The maids in the hallway lowered their eyes, not daring to look at her, the new queen of the castle.

I went back to my room, my mind a blank haze of pain. I grabbed the handful of her hair I had pulled out and threw it in the trash can. Disgusting.

I sank to the floor in the corner, my body curling into a tight ball. My eyes landed on the bottle of pills on my nightstand. Antidepressants.

My hand reached for them. It would be so easy.

Just then, Emit burst into the room. He saw the bottle in my hand, and his eyes darkened.

He strode over, his face a mask of cold fury. "You wouldn't dare," he growled, ripping the bottle from my grasp. "You don't want to have this baby, do you?"

He looked at the label. It was a bottle of birth control pills. I had put the antidepressants inside it.

"I promise," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I won't touch you again. So you can stop taking these."