Chapter 8

Dallas returned to the silent Morgan mansion. The house felt like a museum of her pain. She heard the housekeeper on the phone, telling someone that Mr. Desmond would not be coming home tonight; he was with Miss Taylor. Of course he was.

She walked to her room, the purchased wedding dress in a large box under her arm. As she closed the door behind her, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind.

The stale smell of whiskey filled the air. Antone.

"I missed you," he slurred, pressing his face into her neck, trying to kiss her.

"I'm on my period," she said, the lie coming easily. It was the simplest way to get him off her.

He chuckled, a low, drunken sound. "I just want to kiss you."

She turned her head away. "I'm tired, Antone. I want to sleep."

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with a moment of drunken confusion, then he let her go. "Are you still mad about today?" he asked. "You know we have to pretend to be brother and sister in front of everyone. It's our secret."

His lies were so reflexive, so ingrained, she felt a wave of profound weariness. They were both liars. Desmond, with his promises of a future, and Antone, with his performance of love. A pair of brothers, playing with her heart as if it were a toy they could share and break at will.

She was done.

"You're right," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "We are brother and sister. It won't be misunderstood again."

He frowned, sensing the shift in her tone, the finality in her words. His gaze fell on the box in her hands.

"What's that?"

"The wedding dress," she answered truthfully. "I got blood on it, so I had to buy it."

He accepted the simple explanation without question. His self-absorption was a shield that made him blind.

Just then, his parents called his name from downstairs. He gave her a quick, distracted kiss on the cheek and left.

Dallas opened her largest suitcase and carefully placed the wedding dress inside. Then, for the next two days, she dismantled her life in that house. She packed her essentials. Everything else, every memory, every gift, every last trace of the girl who had lived and hoped and loved within those walls, she threw away.

When she was finished, her room was startlingly empty. Three suitcases stood by the door. That was all that was left of a decade.

The day she was to leave for Seattle, to be married to a stranger, was also Chelsea Taylor's lavish birthday party. The Morgans were hosting it on their mega-yacht. Dallas was required to attend. One last performance.

The party was a glittering affair. The air buzzed with champagne and gossip.

"Chelsea is so lucky. The Morgans adore her."

"Did you see her ring? It must be twenty carats."

Then, the whispers turned to her.

"That's the adopted one, Dallas Cole."

"I heard she tried to seduce both brothers. So shameless."

"Look at her, she has no class at all."

Their disdain was a familiar cloak. She'd worn it for years. She lowered her head and slipped out of the main salon, seeking refuge on the open deck.

The cool sea breeze felt clean. She stared out at the dark, churning water, trying to breathe.

"You really are a piece of work, aren't you?"

The voice was sweet, but the words were pure venom. It was Chelsea. Her beautiful face was twisted into an ugly sneer Dallas had never seen before.

"Excuse me?" Dallas said, confused.

"Don't play dumb with me," Chelsea spat. "You think I don't see how you look at him? How you're trying to win him back? I saw you at the bridal shop. I saw the way he looked at you even when he was angry. He's never looked at me like that."

"Chelsea, you've misunderstood--"

"I haven't misunderstood anything! You're a leech, a charity case who got a taste of the good life and now you won't let go! You threw yourself at Desmond, and when that didn't work, you went for his brother! You're disgusting! You are ruining everything!"

Her hatred was so sudden, so intense, it was staggering. In that moment, Chelsea grabbed Dallas's shoulders and shoved. Hard.

Dallas gasped, her feet slipping on the slick deck. She pinwheeled her arms, trying to find her balance, but it was useless. The railing was terrifyingly low.

She saw the dark, swirling water below, and a primal fear seized her. She instinctively grabbed onto Chelsea, her fingers digging into the expensive fabric of her dress.

"Let go of me!" Chelsea shrieked, her own balance compromised as she tried to shove Dallas again.

They teetered on the edge for a split second, a grotesque, tangled mess of fear and hatred.

Then they both fell.