Chapter 3

The next morning, Chloe came downstairs to the smell of coffee and the sound of Kenya' s grating voice. She was sitting at the breakfast table, wearing one of Chloe' s silk robes, her feet propped up on a chair. Eudora Welch, Cornell' s snobbish mother, sat opposite her, beaming.

"You look so much more at home here than she ever did," Eudora said, not even bothering to lower her voice as Chloe entered the room.

Chloe ignored them and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Her hands were steady now. The storm of emotion had passed, leaving behind a cold, clear calm. She had a plan.

Kenya followed her in, leaning against the doorframe. "You know, that old man was really annoying," she said conversationally, filing her nails. "He just wouldn't die. The paramedics were, like, begging me to move. It was so dramatic."

Chloe' s grip on her glass tightened.

"I told my followers all about it on my private livestream," Kenya continued, a smirk on her face. "They thought it was hilarious. I got, like, a million likes." She laughed. "He was probably some loser with no family, anyway. Who cares?"

The glass in Chloe's hand shattered.

She didn't feel the shards digging into her palm. She saw only red. She lunged, grabbing Kenya by her bleached-blonde hair and slamming her head against the wall.

"My father was not a loser!" she roared, her voice a guttural snarl she didn't recognize. "He was worth a thousand of you!"

Kenya shrieked, a high, piercing sound. "Get her off me! Cornell!"

Eudora rushed in, her face a mask of horror and fury. "Chloe, you animal! What are you doing?"

Cornell appeared moments later, taking in the scene: Chloe, with blood dripping from her hand, holding a terrified Kenya against the wall.

He ripped Chloe away from Kenya, his face dark with rage. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"She was mocking my father's death!" Chloe yelled, struggling against his grip.

"I was not!" Kenya sobbed, clutching her head. "I was just saying I was sorry he didn't have any family to mourn him! I didn't know he was her dad!"

It was such a pathetic, transparent lie. But Cornell bought it. Or, more accurately, he chose to buy it.

"Look what you did," Cornell said, pointing to a small red mark on Kenya's forehead. "You hurt her. Apologize. Now."

"No," Chloe said, her voice shaking with rage. "I will never apologize to her."

Cornell's eyes narrowed. He looked at Chloe, then at the sobbing Kenya, and then at the steaming silver coffee pot on the counter. A cruel idea formed in his mind.

"You're right," he said softly, his voice dangerously calm. "An apology isn't enough."

He let go of Chloe. He walked to the counter, picked up the hot coffee pot, and pressed it into Kenya's hands.

Kenya looked at him, confused. "Cornell, what...?"

"She hurt you," Cornell said, his eyes fixed on Chloe. "It's only fair you get to hurt her back. An eye for an eye. It' s a family tradition."

Kenya' s confusion melted into a gleeful, malicious smile. She looked at the coffee pot in her hands, then at Chloe, who was standing frozen in shock.

"Cornell, no," Chloe whispered, taking a step back.

But he just watched, his expression cold and unyielding.

Kenya stalked toward Chloe, the silver pot held out like a weapon. "This is for being a boring, stupid prude," she snarled, and she threw the hot coffee straight at Chloe' s face.

Chloe turned her head at the last second, but the scalding liquid splashed across her neck and shoulder. The pain was searing, immediate. She cried out, stumbling backward.

She clutched her burning skin, the pain so intense it brought tears to her eyes. But she refused to let them fall. She locked eyes with Cornell, who hadn't moved a muscle. She saw a flicker of something in his gaze-pity? Regret?-but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same cold resolve.

"Now you're even," he said, as if he had just mediated a playground dispute. He put a comforting arm around Kenya. "There, there. It's all over."

Chloe stared at them, the happy couple, standing over their victim. The pain in her shoulder was nothing compared to the agony in her heart.

"You know," Kenya said brightly, the incident already forgotten, "my birthday is next week. We should have a huge party. Right here. To, you know, wash away all this bad luck."

"Of course," Cornell said immediately, stroking her hair. "Anything for you, Ken. We'll throw the biggest party New York has ever seen."

"And Chloe has to be there," Kenya added, shooting a triumphant look at Chloe. "It wouldn't be a party without the guest of honor."

"I'm not going," Chloe said through gritted teeth.

Cornell's face hardened. "Yes, you are," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You are my wife. We are the Welches. We present a united front. You will be at that party, you will smile, and you will act like nothing is wrong. Do you understand me?"

He was talking about his image. His reputation. In the face of her pain, her grief, her humiliation, all he cared about was appearances.

Chloe thought of the post-nup in her safe. She thought of the video on the burner phone. She thought of her father.

"Yes," she said, her voice a dead whisper. "I understand."

She would go to their party. She would smile. And she would let them think they had won. Let them think they had broken her into a thousand pieces.

They had no idea that each of those pieces was being sharpened into a weapon.