Chapter 3

I needed to see it again. Not with the eyes of a heartbroken wife, but with the cold, calculating gaze of a strategist.

I put on a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a plain grey hoodie. I drove a nondescript rental car, not my own. I was a ghost, an observer in a life that was supposed to be mine.

I parked further away this time, making my way through the woods that bordered the estate. I found a spot on a small hill overlooking the back patio, hidden by a cluster of thick pines.

From here, I could see everything.

And what I saw shattered the last remaining fragments of my heart.

My father, Senator Franklin Vance, was on his hands and knees on the grass. Leo was riding on his back, giggling, shouting "Giddy-up, grandpa!"

Gwyn sat in a patio chair, smiling. Not her tight, public smile, but a genuine, relaxed smile I hadn't seen in years. She was watching them, her face full of warmth.

A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. A few years ago, I had jokingly asked my father to give me a piggyback ride, like he used to when I was very little, before my mother took me away. He had laughed it off, patting my shoulder. "We're not children anymore, Elara. We have an image to maintain."

But here he was, a powerful senator, playing horse for a child he called his "true" heir.

I heard a maid walk by on the path below me, talking to a gardener. "It's so lovely to see the Senator and Mrs. Vance with their grandson," she said. "They're so natural with him. A real family."

Gwyn called out to the boy. "Leo, darling, come give grandma a kiss."

The boy ran to her, and she lifted him into her lap, hugging him tightly. "You are our perfect, true boy," she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "Our true Vance."

The words struck me with the force of a physical blow. I wasn't the heir. I was the placeholder. The tool. The brilliant, useful machine they brought in to achieve their ambitions, while their real family, their real legacy, was hidden away here.

Just then, Christian's car pulled up. He got out, and his entire demeanor changed. The tension fell from his shoulders. He smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile. Leo ran to him, shouting, "Daddy!"

Christian swung him up into the air. "Hey, buddy! Did you miss me?"

"I thought you had a deposition," Isabelle said, walking out to greet him.

"It got moved," he said, kissing her. "I couldn't stay away."

Another lie. A business trip I had helped him prep for, a convenient excuse to spend the day with his other family. How many times had he done this? How many "late nights at the office" or "weekend strategy sessions" were spent here, in this house, with this woman and this child?

I had the video. I had the bank statements. It was damning. But it wasn't enough. A good lawyer-a lawyer like Christian-could spin it. They could claim he was just supporting his dead fiancée's child out of a sense of duty. They could paint Isabelle as a victim. They would still use their plan to paint me as unstable, hysterical.

I needed something more. Something they couldn't deny. Something personal.

A silent scream built in my throat, a wave of pure, undiluted agony. I pressed my fist against my mouth to stifle it, my body trembling.

Suddenly, a dog barked nearby. A groundskeeper was walking a large German Shepherd just below my position.

"Who's there?" he called out.

Panic seized me. I scrambled back, deeper into the trees, trying to move silently. I stumbled, catching myself on a low branch, and ended up closer to the house, concealed behind a large, manicured hedge just off the patio.

I was only a few feet away now. I could see the tiny lines around Christian's eyes as he smiled at Isabelle. I could see the way her hand rested on his arm, a gesture of casual ownership.

"Franklin says the primary is a lock," Isabelle said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Once he's the nominee, we can start the next phase."

"We stick to the plan," Christian said. "We can't rush this."

"I'm tired of hiding, Christian," she whined. "Leo deserves a public life. After the election, once Franklin is in the White House, it will be easier to handle. We'll introduce him to the world. And as for Elara..."

She paused, looking at him. "You need to be ready to deal with her."

My blood turned to ice. They weren't just hiding. They were waiting. Waiting for the right moment to discard me. I was a means to an end, and my expiration date was approaching.

"I will," Christian said, his voice soft. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I promise. I'll handle it. We'll have the life we were always supposed to have."

That was it. The final nail in the coffin of the woman I used to be.

My gaze scanned the patio table. Among the glasses and plates was Christian's personal phone. Not his work phone, but the one he used for "friends and family." He also had a second, identical phone right next to it. A burner. For her.

An insane, desperate plan formed in my mind.

I waited. It felt like an eternity. Finally, the air grew cooler, and they started gathering things to go inside. Christian, Isabelle, and my parents herded Leo indoors, their laughter echoing in the twilight.

This was my chance.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I took a deep breath, slipped out from behind the hedge, and moved silently across the stone patio. My hands were shaking, but my movements were precise.

I picked up the burner phone. In my other hand, I held a cheap, identical dummy phone I had bought on the way here. A perfect match.

I was about to make the switch when a voice behind me said, "Hey!"

I froze.

It was Christian. He had come back out for his jacket.

He was staring right at me. He couldn't see my face, hidden by the cap and the deepening shadows, but he saw my figure. He saw me holding his phone.

"Who are you? What are you doing?" he demanded, taking a step toward me.

I didn't move. I couldn't breathe. My mind was a blank wall of sheer terror.

"I said, who are you?" he repeated, his voice sharp with suspicion and anger. He was closer now. Just a few more steps and he would see my face. He would know.

It was over.