Chapter 4

The last few weeks of warmth from him, those stolen moments in the night, had been a lie. A cruel trick that made me believe things could change.

Now, I knew they never would.

I looked at him, my heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest. I didn't want another child born into this loveless, hateful family.

Emit' s rage exploded. He threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered. He ground the scattered pills into the carpet with the heel of his shoe.

"Why now?" he roared. "Three years ago, you were popping fertility drugs to trap me, and now you want to avoid it?"

I didn't bother to correct him. The "fertility drugs" had been another "mistake" by a maid, another part of the plot to force this marriage. It didn't matter.

"Why are you so angry?" I asked, my voice flat. "You don't even like me."

My gaze hardened. "Or is it because of her? Does it turn your stomach to see her face, a cheap copy of Everleigh' s? Does it make you feel like you' re betraying the dead?"

I stood up, my voice rising. "You used to lecture me about propriety, about how I couldn' t have feelings for my 'uncle-in-law'. So why is it okay for her?"

He just looked at me with a cold, mocking smile. "You really don't get it, do you, Doris?"

The man I knew, the boy who had protected me and wiped my tears, was gone. He had defended me from bullies, driven off boys who tried to flirt with me. He had been my hero.

Everything changed on his birthday, the year I turned fifteen.

I had been so happy, so bold. I wore the white dress he' d given me and, in a fit of courage, I confessed my love for him.

His face had instantly shuttered. "Doris Navarro," he'd said, his voice cold and formal. "Have you no shame? Having such thoughts about your elder?"

My heart had shattered. "But we're not related by blood!" I pleaded.

He just laughed. "Know your place, Doris."

The birthday cake that year was the most bitter thing I had ever tasted.

Now, looking at him, I finally understood. It wasn't about us being related. It was never about that.

It was just me. He didn't want me.

But a copy of a dead woman? She was perfectly acceptable.

He just didn't love me. That was the simple, brutal truth.

As I stood there lost in thought, he suddenly lunged for me, his hands grabbing the fabric of my white nightgown.

"You don't deserve to wear white," he snarled, his eyes wild. "You're filthy, Doris. Filthy."

I remembered then. This nightgown was a birthday gift from him, from years ago. A relic of a time when he seemed to care.

I didn't fight back. I let him rip the fabric, the sound of tearing cloth filling the room. The gown fell away in shreds, leaving me exposed. I stumbled and fell, the dust on the floor clinging to my skin.

I felt dirty. Truly dirty.

He looked down at my body with utter contempt, then turned to leave.

"Don't you dare take those pills again," he warned, his voice a cold threat. Then he was gone, leaving a chill in his wake.

I didn't understand why the dress had made him so angry. It was just a piece of cloth. But now it lay in tatters on the floor, a perfect symbol of my heart.

Numbly, I crawled to my nightstand and fumbled for the spare pill bottle. I shook a few into my palm and swallowed them dry.

His warning echoed in my head. I couldn't let him find out. He would only mock me, call me weak.

Frantically, I found an empty bottle of birth control pills and poured my antidepressants into it. He would never look closely. He didn't care enough to.