Revenge Is Sweet, Love Is Sweeter

My husband, Emit Arnold, only touches me when he's too drunk to remember he hates my guts. For three years, he's blamed me for the death of his true love, Everleigh.

Yesterday, he brought a woman home who had plastic surgery to look exactly like her.

Then my own twin children stood before me and told me to get out.

"Daddy brought our new mommy home," they said. "You have to leave now."

The woman, my adoptive sister Gigi, then deliberately cut her own leg with a knife and blamed me for it.

When Emit saw her bleeding, he didn't hesitate. He shoved me to the floor.

Later, his sister Isadora slapped me, her eyes burning with hate. "I'm the one who told everyone you killed Everleigh," she hissed. "And I'll keep telling them."

My children, my husband, my in-laws-they all chose the woman wearing a dead person's face over me. The love I had held onto for so long was finally gone.

That night, he cornered me in my room, ripped the dress from my body, and called me filthy.

He thought I would break.

Instead, I walked back into the living room, picked up the divorce papers I had already prepared, and threw them right in his face.

Chapter 1

I woke up to the familiar ache in my body. It was a dull throb, a reminder of the night before.

For a moment, I let myself believe it was a dream.

But the man sleeping beside me, Emit Arnold, was very real. His breathing was even, his handsome face peaceful in the morning light. He looked nothing like the man who had accused me of drugging him three years ago.

That night was the start of everything. A secret affair between an eighteen-year-old girl and the man she' d loved her whole life. He' d woken up furious, calling me shameless, convinced I' d trapped him.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

Our families forced us to marry. On our wedding day, his true love, his childhood sweetheart Everleigh Mathews, died in a fiery car crash on her way to stop the ceremony.

He blamed me for that, too.

For three years, he treated me like I was invisible, a ghost in his house. The only time he touched me was in the dead of night, when he was too drunk or too lonely to remember he hated me.

Last night had been one of those nights.

A tear slipped from my eye and soaked into the pillow. I thought I could spend my whole life like this, loving him from a distance, accepting the scraps of attention he gave me. I thought my devotion would eventually wear down his grief and anger.

I was a fool.

Yesterday, he brought a woman home. She looked exactly like Everleigh. A perfect, walking copy of the ghost that haunted our marriage.

Then my twin children, my son and daughter, stood in front of me and told me to get out.

"Daddy brought our new mommy home," they said. "You have to leave now."

That was when I knew. The love I' d held onto for so long was finally dead. It couldn't survive this.

I spent the rest of the day meticulously erasing myself from the Arnold family' s life, packing away every photo, every gift, every trace that I had ever existed here.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in years.

"Mr. Mills, I've made up my mind. Lend me the money, and I'll leave with you."

I hung up before he could answer, my resolve hardening.

The memory of last night' s intimacy felt bitter now, not sweet. I cried silently, the tears a release of three years of pain.

Suddenly, Emit stirred beside me. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. His voice was husky with sleep.

"Don't cry, Doris."

It was a rare moment of tenderness, a ghost of the boy I used to know.

But it was too late. The name Everleigh Mathews was a nightmare that had followed me for years. Her death was ruled an accident, but Emit always believed I had something to do with it. The brake lines of her car had been tampered with, but any evidence pointing to the real culprit was mysteriously erased.

He accused me, screamed at me, called me a murderer. He tried to cancel the wedding, but my pregnancy and the pressure from our grandparents, Connie Pearson and Ebenezer Clay, forced his hand.

I let out a bitter laugh. It was all in the past now.

A maid knocked on the door. "Mrs. Arnold, Mr. Arnold has a guest coming over this afternoon."

A tiny, stupid flicker of hope ignited in my chest. A guest? Was he trying to make things right? Maybe last night meant something to him.

I waited for him all afternoon, my heart fluttering like a nervous bird. I remembered being a little girl, trailing after him, and how he' d always look out for me. That was the Emit I fell in love with.

The front door opened. I turned, a smile already on my face.

And then I froze.

Emit stood there, but he wasn't alone. Beside him was the woman from yesterday. The woman with Everleigh Mathews' s face.

She was an exact replica. It was terrifying.

The woman smiled sweetly. "Doris, you remember me, don't you? I'm your sister, Gigi."

Gigi Kelley. My mother's adoptive daughter. My sister.

"Your face," I whispered, unable to look away. "What did you do to your face?"

Gigi' s smile widened, a hint of malice in her eyes. "I just wanted to look like the person Emit loves most. Don' t you think it suits me?"

She then turned, her face crumbling into tears, and buried her head in Emit' s chest. "Emit, I think I scared her. She looks like she wants to hurt me."

Emit' s face turned to stone. His voice was ice. "Doris, apologize to Gigi. Now."

He guided Gigi into the living room, his arm protectively around her. His sister, Isadora Galloway, followed them in. She shot me a look of pure hatred.

"Still pretending to be the lady of the house? You' re a disgrace, Doris."

Gigi was my adoptive sister. Three years ago, she' d been in an accident that disfigured her. She blamed me, of course, though the truth was far more complicated. That incident was the final nail in the coffin of my reputation.

I stood there by the door, frozen, for what felt like an eternity.

A cold, impatient voice came from behind me. "Are you going to stand there all day?" It was Emit. The brief warmth from the morning was gone, replaced by the familiar, chilling contempt.

"Do you even want to be the woman of this house anymore, Doris?" Emit' s voice was sharp, cutting through my daze.

He gestured towards the kitchen. "Gigi is a guest. Are you just going to stand there and let her do all the work?"

I lowered my head, not wanting him to see the tears welling in my eyes. I brushed past him without a word.

He probably thought I was ashamed. He was wrong. I was just tired of him seeing me break.

In the kitchen, Gigi Kelley was bustling around like she owned the place. She was preparing a fruit platter, her movements graceful and practiced. Isadora was right beside her, helping chop vegetables, chattering away like they were best friends.

It was ironic. Isadora used to follow me around like a puppy, always telling me how much she admired me. That all changed after Everleigh died.

"Doris," Gigi said, her voice dripping with fake politeness. "Could you help me cut up these mangoes?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just pushed the bowl of fruit and a sharp knife into my hands.

I flinched back. "I can't."

I'm allergic to mangoes. Deadly allergic.

The bowl slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. The knife clattered beside it, bouncing off the tile and slicing a thin, deep line across Gigi' s calf.

Blood welled up instantly, bright red against her pale skin.

"Oh!" she cried, clutching her leg. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. "Doris, I know you don't like me, but did you have to do that?"

She started to rock back and forth, her breathing becoming ragged. "The knife... the blood... it' s just like that day..."

It was a performance. A perfect imitation of someone having a PTSD attack.

"It was an accident!" I said, my voice shaking. "The knife fell!"

No one was listening.

Emit rushed in, his face a mask of fury. He saw Gigi on the floor, bleeding and hysterical, and didn't hesitate. He shoved me, hard.

I stumbled backward, my foot catching on the leg of a chair. I fell, my hip hitting the hard floor with a sickening crack of pain.

"I' m allergic to mangoes!" I yelled, trying to push myself up. "It' s on my medical records! I have the report!"

Isadora sneered. "Allergic? I've never heard of that. You' re just making excuses."

"It happened after I had the twins!" I insisted, the pain in my hip making me dizzy. "The report is in my room. I can prove it."

I tried to stand, to go get the piece of paper that would vindicate me.

"Enough," Emit' s voice was a low growl. He wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were fixed on Gigi' s pale, tear-streaked face. It was the same face as Everleigh's.

He knelt, scooping Gigi into his arms as if she were made of glass. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "I'm here."

He carried her out of the kitchen, walking right past me as if I wasn't there, as if I wasn't crumpled on the floor in pain.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to cry. With every ounce of strength I had, I pulled myself up, leaning on the counter. My leg throbbed with a fiery pain.

I limped back to my room, the silence of the house pressing in on me.

Just as I reached for the doorknob, a hand shot out and stopped me.

Isadora.

She slapped me, the sound echoing in the hallway. "That was for Gigi," she hissed.

"And this," she said, her eyes burning with a hatred that was three years old, "is for Everleigh. You killed her, you bitch. I told everyone you did it, and I'll keep telling them."

A white-hot rage I hadn't felt in years surged through me. I swung my hand back and slapped her, hard.

"I didn't kill her!"

Isadora just laughed, a cruel, triumphant sound. "It doesn't matter. No one will ever believe you. Not Emit. Not my grandparents. Not even your own mother. She likes Gigi more than you, you know."

The fight went out of me. She was right.

I stumbled into my room and found the allergy report. My hands shook as I stared at the doctor's signature, the clinical words that proved my innocence.

What was the point?

I tore the paper into tiny pieces, letting them flutter to the floor like dead leaves. Evidence meant nothing in a world where no one was willing to listen.

The sounds from the next room were a special kind of torture. Emit' s low, comforting murmurs, Gigi' s soft sobs.

I remembered a time when he used to comfort me like that. When I was a little girl with a scraped knee, he would carry me home and sing me to sleep.

That felt like a different lifetime.

Ever since our wedding, we' d slept in separate rooms. It was only in the last few weeks that he' d started seeking me out in the middle of the night, a brief, confusing return to an intimacy I craved. It had given me a sliver of hope.

Now I knew that hope was a lie.

I could hear the water running in his bathroom. I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, the sharp pain a welcome distraction.

I tried to tell myself this was all a nightmare. That the warmth of our childhood was the reality, and this cold, cruel present was just a bad dream.

But it wasn't.

I don' t know why, but my feet carried me out of my room and to his door. I stood there, listening, my heart pounding.

The door opened suddenly, and we almost collided. Emit was on the phone, his brow furrowed. He barely glanced at me as he walked past.

A wave of pathetic relief washed over me. He was leaving. He hadn't spent the night with her.

I pushed his door open.

The relief died instantly.

Gigi was there, standing in the middle of the room. She was wearing nothing but a pair of silk panties and one of Emit's white button-down shirts. The shirt was unbuttoned low, revealing the curve of her breasts. It was an unmistakable declaration.

She ran a hand through her hair, a slow, seductive gesture. "Emit, honey," she called out in a sultry voice, knowing I was watching. "Are you coming back to bed?"

Something inside me snapped.

I lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. I slapped her, once, twice, the sting on my palm immensely satisfying.

"Don't you ever call him that," I snarled, my voice raw with fury. "He's not your 'honey.'"

Gigi just smirked, her eyes full of venom. "He's my uncle-in-law, Doris. That makes him my elder. You, on the other hand, are just the adopted daughter who shamelessly climbed into his bed."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

Three years ago, on the night of my eighteenth birthday, someone drugged me. I woke up in Emit' s bed. He woke up disgusted, convinced I had orchestrated the whole thing. The truth never came out. A maid was paid off to take the blame, and then she conveniently disappeared. Emit never believed her confession for a second.

Our families were scandalized. My mother, Hildur, and Emit's grandparents decreed that I couldn't marry him as a Navarro. It was too shameful. So they made me the adopted daughter, and Gigi, her actual adopted daughter, was elevated to the status of the proper young lady of the house.

I stared at Gigi' s face, that perfect copy of Everleigh' s. My whole body trembled with a rage so profound it scared me.

"Why?" I choked out. "Why would you make yourself look like her?"

Gigi' s smile was a slow, cruel curve. "To take him from you, of course."

She leaned in closer, her voice a poisonous whisper. "I should thank you, really. If you hadn't pushed me into that fire and ruined my face, I never would have had the chance to get this one. And he loves this face."

"I didn't push you!" I screamed, the old accusation tearing a fresh wound.

"Doesn't matter," she purred, stepping back. "No one believes you. Your mother hates you. Your brother hates you. They all wish you were the one who died in that fire, not Everleigh."

Her words were daggers. "You should just die, Doris. Go on. Do it."

She walked out of the room, her hips swaying, wearing nothing but that shirt and panties. The maids in the hallway lowered their eyes, not daring to look at her, the new queen of the castle.

I went back to my room, my mind a blank haze of pain. I grabbed the handful of her hair I had pulled out and threw it in the trash can. Disgusting.

I sank to the floor in the corner, my body curling into a tight ball. My eyes landed on the bottle of pills on my nightstand. Antidepressants.

My hand reached for them. It would be so easy.

Just then, Emit burst into the room. He saw the bottle in my hand, and his eyes darkened.

He strode over, his face a mask of cold fury. "You wouldn't dare," he growled, ripping the bottle from my grasp. "You don't want to have this baby, do you?"

He looked at the label. It was a bottle of birth control pills. I had put the antidepressants inside it.

"I promise," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I won't touch you again. So you can stop taking these."