Chapter 2

The thought of freedom was a dizzying rush, a lightness in my chest that had nothing to do with medication. I was getting out.

Cedric saw the change in my expression and misunderstood it completely. He thought I was pleased with his grand gesture, that the promise of a penthouse had soothed my ridiculous notions of independence.

"See? Everything is fine," he said, his voice laced with patronizing relief. He scooped me into his arms as if I were a child. "Let's get you to bed."

He carried me to our room, the one that felt more like a hospital ward than a bedroom. He laid me down gently and immediately called for the on-call medical team that lived in a separate wing of the mansion.

Within minutes, two nurses and a doctor were running diagnostics. I was an object again, a fragile piece of equipment being assessed for damage. I let them, my body pliant, my mind a million miles away, planning my escape.

"She's stable," the doctor reported to Cedric. "Just a bit of emotional distress. She needs rest."

Cedric let out a long, slow breath, his relief palpable. It was relief for the heart, not for the woman it was in.

"Don't do that again, Keena," he said, his hand resting on my forehead. It felt heavy, proprietary. "Don't do things that worry me."

I closed my eyes and said nothing. Silence was my only rebellion.

The next morning, sunlight streamed into the room, but it couldn't warm the coldness between us. I came downstairs to find Cedric in the kitchen, personally overseeing the preparation of my breakfast. He was measuring goji berries into a bowl of oatmeal, his brow furrowed with concentration. To anyone else, it would have looked like love. I knew it was just asset management.

The doorbell chimed.

Cedric's brow tightened in annoyance. He hated unscheduled interruptions. A moment later, a woman walked into the kitchen.

She was a younger, slightly less polished version of Fallon. Long dark hair, same heart-shaped face. It was Kortney Bates, Fallon's sister.

"Cedric," she cooed, gliding over to him and linking her arm through his. "I missed you."

Cedric stiffened. For a moment, seeing her face so close, a mirror of his lost love, he looked dazed. It was the same look of haunted obsession I had seen for five years.

"Kortney," he said, his voice flat. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. Let's go out. Like we used to."

He pulled his arm away gently. "I can't. Keena isn't well. I need to stay with her."

Kortney's eyes flickered towards me, and the friendly mask dropped. For a split second, I saw raw, undiluted jealousy. It was ugly and sharp. Then it was gone, replaced by a practiced pout.

"Oh, don't be like that," she whined, leaning closer to him. "Fallon would have wanted you to have some fun. She wouldn't want you cooped up in here all day."

The mention of Fallon's name was a magic word. Cedric's resolve wavered. He looked from Kortney's face to me, his duty warring with the ghost of his desire.

The ghost won.

"Alright," he sighed. "Just for a little while."

The "little while" turned into a charity gala that evening. A glittering, soul-crushing affair where the city's elite gathered to flaunt their wealth and virtue. Cedric was a perfect gentleman, holding my arm, fetching me a glass of water instead of champagne, ensuring my chair was comfortable. The women around us sighed with envy.

"He adores you," one of them whispered to me. "He treats you like you're made of glass."

I smiled weakly. She was right. He treated me like an object, not a person. An irreplaceable, priceless object.

Kortney found him by the bar, her red dress a stark contrast to my pale blue one.

"Cedric, dance with me," she pleaded, her voice just loud enough for me to hear.

"I'm with Keena," he said, his eyes scanning the room as if checking for invisible threats to my well-being.

"Just one dance," Kortney pressed, touching his arm. She tilted her head, and for a moment, in the dim light, she was the spitting image of her sister. "For Fallon."

He was a puppet, and she knew exactly which strings to pull. He sighed, defeated.

"One dance."

The night wore on. Cedric was drinking more than usual, his movements becoming less precise. Kortney hovered by his side, a beautiful, predatory bird.

"You look tired, Cedric," she said, her voice laced with concern. "Let me help you upstairs to one of the guest rooms to rest."

It was my cue. I had no interest in watching this pathetic play unfold.

"I'm going to go," I said, walking over to them.

I just needed to tell him I was leaving. I went upstairs, to the guest suite they had indicated. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open to tell him I was calling my driver.

I froze in the doorway.

Kortney had Cedric pushed against the wall. She was on her tiptoes, her hands on his chest, her face inches from his. She was trying to kiss him.

But Cedric, even in his drunken haze, was pushing her away.

"No," he growled, his voice thick but firm. "You're not her."

Kortney stumbled back, her face a mask of hurt and disbelief.

"But I look like her! Why isn't it enough? I love you, Cedric!"

"You will never be Fallon," he said, his voice cold and final. "Get out."

He shoved past her and stormed out of the room, not even seeing me standing in the hall.

Kortney stood there for a moment, her face crumbling. Then she turned, tears streaming down her cheeks, and ran out of the room.

She ran right into me.

She stopped, her breath hitching. The grief on her face twisted into something venomous.

"You," she hissed. "You think you've won, don't you? You think he wants you?"

"Kortney, I'm just leaving." I tried to step around her.

She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin.

"He doesn't love you. He only married you because of her heart. He calls you his walking memorial. And once he's done grieving, he'll throw you away like trash."