Chapter 2

I remember my wedding day. It wasn't a celebration. It was a transaction.

When Fletcher lifted the veil, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second. The shock was quickly replaced by a cold, simmering fury.

"Who are you?" he'd hissed, his voice low so only I could hear. "You're not Aislinn."

That was the start of my punishment. He saw me as a constant reminder of the Nortons' deception. My existence in his house was a humiliation he had to endure, and he made sure I endured it with him.

One night, drunk and angry, he came into my bedroom. He smelled of whiskey and rage. In the darkness, he must have mistaken me for her. He had whispered Aislinn's name as he forced himself on me, his touch brutal and unforgiving.

When he was done, he switched on the light. He stared down at me, his eyes clearing. For a moment, I saw something flicker in their depths – confusion, maybe even a sliver of regret. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual cold mask.

After that, the rules became stricter. I was to be a perfect, silent doll. I had to dress how he wanted, speak when spoken to, and smile for the cameras. A prisoner in a palace.

The pain in my jaw was a dull throb as I woke the next morning. It was a familiar ache.

On the nightstand was a glass of water and two painkillers. Beside them, a note in Fletcher's sharp, precise handwriting.

'Wear the blue dress. Be downstairs by nine. Don't disappoint me.'

I swallowed the pills, the bitterness coating my tongue. I did as I was told. I always did.

The blue dress was a beautiful, suffocating sheath of silk. A maid helped me with the zipper, her eyes carefully avoiding mine. They all knew. They saw the bruises. They heard the arguments. But they were loyal to the man who signed their paychecks.

The charity gala was held at a lavish waterside venue. Fletcher's hand was a heavy weight on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. He smiled for the photographers, his arm possessively around my waist. A perfect picture of a happy marriage. It was all a lie.

Then, she arrived.

Aislinn Norton.

She made an entrance, of course. Dressed in a glittering silver gown, she captured every eye in the room. She was beautiful, radiant, and she knew it.

She walked straight to Fletcher, a dazzling smile on her face. "Fletcher, darling. I'm back."

He stiffened beside me, but his public face didn't falter. "Aislinn. What a surprise."

His hand, still on my back, tightened its grip. It wasn't a gesture of comfort. It was a warning. Stay in line.

Aislinn's eyes flicked to me, a flash of contempt in their blue depths. "And Kiara. Still playing house, I see."

She leaned in and kissed Fletcher's cheek, a deliberately intimate gesture. I stood there, a ghost at their reunion.

Then I noticed it. She was wearing a silver dress, almost identical in style to my blue one. A cruel, deliberate choice. A message to me and everyone else watching: I am the original. You are just the copy.

Fletcher led us to a table, his attention now completely on Aislinn. He was laughing at something she said, a genuine laugh I hadn't heard in months.

Before he left to speak with a business associate, he leaned over me. His lips brushed my ear. "Don't move from this table," he whispered. Then he kissed my cheek, a cold, public display of ownership that made Aislinn's eyes narrow.

The moment he was gone, Aislinn's sweet facade dropped. "You think that means anything?" she sneered. "He's just marking his territory. A dog pissing on a fire hydrant."

She picked up her champagne flute. "You look pathetic in that dress. A cheap knock-off."

With a flick of her wrist, she "accidentally" spilled her champagne all over me. The cold liquid soaked through the silk, clinging to my skin.

Before I could react, she stumbled backward, pulling me with her. Her shriek of fake surprise was drowned out by the splash as we both tumbled over the railing and into the dark water of the bay.

Chaos erupted. People screamed. The cold shocked the air from my lungs. I struggled to stay afloat, the heavy dress pulling me down.

I saw Fletcher at the edge of the deck. His eyes met mine for a second. There was no hesitation.

He dove in, but he didn't swim for me. He swam for Aislinn.

He pulled her into his arms, cradling her as if she were made of glass. He ignored my desperate gasps for air, ignored my flailing arms. He had made his choice.

I was sinking. The world was a blur of dark water and muffled sounds. He was abandoning me. Leaving me to die.

Just as my vision started to fade, strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me to the surface. It was one of the event staff. He dragged me onto the deck, where I lay coughing and shivering, a pathetic, drenched heap.

Across the deck, Fletcher was wrapping his own jacket around Aislinn's shoulders, murmuring soft words of comfort. He didn't even glance in my direction. He just led Aislinn away, leaving me behind without a second thought.

I was taken home and locked in the wine cellar. The air was cold and damp, the darkness absolute. It was my punishment for embarrassing him. For upstaging the real star of the show.

Hours later, the heavy door creaked open. Fletcher stood silhouetted in the doorway.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" he asked, his voice echoing in the small space.

I stayed silent, huddled on the cold stone floor.

Wrong? My only mistake was believing, for one insane second, that he might choose me. That I might matter at all.

I was wrong to exist. Wrong to be a Norton. Wrong to be his wife.

But soon, I would be free. The thought was a small, warm coal in the freezing darkness. Just two more weeks. Then I would be free.