Chapter 1

Chapter 1

WINTER

The crystal glasses clinked softly against each other as I arranged them on the mahogany dining table, I made sure that each placement on the table were  precise despite my trembling hands. 

I have gotten used to being reduced to as a nanny in my own home, ever since Annalise returned home six months ago, a ghost of my husband's past, his first love who had returned to reclaim what she believed was truly hers.

"Winter, hurry up with those glasses," Stiles called from his seat at the head of the table, his voice harsh and cold, not familiar at all, from when he used to call my name with love and affection present in his tone.

 "Annalise will be here any moment."

I nodded silently, smoothing down my simple black dress—the dress symbolizes as my uniform that was linked to my new status in this house. Gone were the days when I sat beside him at this very table, discussing Thomas's school progress or planning our weekend getaways. Now I was invisible furniture, expected to serve and disappear without a fuss.

The front door chimed, and my seven-year-old son Thomas bolted from his chair excited to meet Annalise.

"Anna! Anna's here!" he squealed, his small feet thundering across the marble floor.

I watched through the doorway as Annalise swept into our—no, their—home, her blonde hair catching the chandelier light. She was everything I wasn't: petite where I was tall, delicate where I was sturdy, flawless where I was ordinary. Thomas launched himself into her arms with the kind of unbridled joy that used to be reserved for me.

"My sweet boy," Annalise cooed, spinning him around. "Did you miss me?"

"So much! I drew you a picture at school today!"

The knife in my chest twisted deeper as I retreated to the kitchen, and I kept myself busy with the preparations,there were a lot of things to do.  The roasted chicken needed carving, the wine needed opening, and my heart needed numbing.

When I returned with the first course, they were all seated—Stiles, Annalise, and Thomas creating the perfect family that I  had been erased from. I placed the plates silently, not looking at anyone, nor saying anything.

"This looks wonderful, Winter," Annalise said sweetly, though her eyes held a calculating gleam. "You've really mastered the art of... service."

Stiles chuckled, not catching the barb, or perhaps not caring. "She's always been good with her hands."

I ignored their remarks, knowing that it would only hurt me more if I answered them and went ahead to serve the main course, filling their wine glasses while they chatted about Thomas's upcoming school play. I was a ghost haunting my own life.

Then it happened.

Annalise took a bite of the chicken and immediately began coughing, her hand flying to her throat.

 "Oh no," she gasped, her voice turning raspy. "The seasoning... I think there's something I'm allergic to in here."

Stiles was on his feet instantly, panic replacing his usual composure. "What's wrong? What did you put in this, Winter?"

"Just herbs and spices," I stammered, confusion flooding through me. "Rosemary, thyme, garlic—the same things I always use."

"Always use?" Annalise wheezed, her breathing becoming more labored. "You know I'm allergic to certain herbs, Winter. How could you be so careless?"

But I didn't know. No one had ever told me about any allergies. We'd never discussed—

The slap came without warning, as Stiles's palm met my  cheek with enough force to send me stumbling backward. The sharp crack echoed through the dining room, and I tasted blood where my teeth cut into my inner lip.

"How dare you poison her," he snarled, his face twisted with rage I'd never seen directed at me before as I immediately flinched, worried that he was going to attack me again. 

"After everything she's been through, after all the kindness she's shown you and Thomas."

"I didn't know—"

"Don't lie to me!" Another blow, this one to my shoulder, sending me crashing into the sideboard, where I cried out in pain. 

Crystal glasses tumbled to the floor, exploding into little shards that cut through my dress and tore open my skin, as blood began to drizzle, with reckless abandon.

"Daddy, hit her again!" Thomas's voice rang out, high and excited. "She hurt Anna!"

My son—my baby—kicked at my shin with his small foot, the impact surprisingly painful than I expected as he yelled at my face.

 "I hate you! Anna's going to be my real mommy now, and you can just go away!"

The words shattered something inside me more completely than any physical blow could, the fact that my son was delighted to see me hurt and in pain, over a woman, who barely knew anything about him, tore at me. 

I looked up at Thomas, searching for any trace of the little boy who used to crawl into my bed after nightmares, who used to tell me I was the best mommy in the whole world.

There was nothing but contempt in his young eyes.

"We're taking her to the hospital," Stiles announced, scooping Annalise into his arms, as Annalise wrapped her hands arun dhis neck possessively.

 

"Winter, clean this mess up and wait for us to get back."

They left me there on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and my own blood. The hot gravy had spilled during my fall, soaking through my dress and scalding my legs. My hands were cut from trying to break my fall, red droplets staining the white marble.

I dragged myself to my feet, every movement that I made, did nothing but send fresh waves of pain through my body. In the kitchen, I wrapped dish towels around my bleeding palms and tried to clean the burns on my legs with cold water, wincing as I pressed it against the peeled skin, trying to stop the bleeding before I could wrap them up.

Each step up the stairs to my room was agony.

My reflection in the bedroom mirror was a stranger—hollow-eyed, bruised, broken. When had I become this woman? When had I allowed myself to disappear so completely?

I was attempting to bandage my worst cuts when my bedroom door exploded inward startling me as I got to my feet, wondering if armed robbers had broke in. But it turned out to be two of Stiles' security guards who were standing at the doorway, their facial expression remaining blank and neutral as usual.

"Mrs. Blackwood," the larger one said, though the title felt like mockery now. "You're coming with us."

"Where?" I managed to croak out.

"Hospital. Now."

They didn't wait for my agreement. They pulled hard at my arms, ignoring my cry of pain as my wounds were aggravated once more. They dragged me down the stairs and through the house that I once saw as home. 

The trunk of the black sedan was already open. They shoved me inside like a piece of luggage, my injured hands scraping against the rough carpeting. The space was cramped and dark, filled with the scent of motor oil and my own fear.

The drive felt endless. Every bump in the road sent fresh jolts of pain through my battered body, and the confined space made it hard to breathe. When the car finally stopped and the trunk opened, fluorescent lights from the hospital parking garage blinded me momentarily.

The guards hauled me out and through sliding glass doors, past a reception desk where a concerned nurse started to approach before being waved off. They knew exactly where they were going.

The private room was on the third floor. Through the doorway, I could see Annalise propped up in the hospital bed, looking pale but beautiful, with Stiles holding her hand and Thomas perched on the chair beside her, chattering animatedly.

"Bring her in," Stiles commanded without looking at me.

I was shoved forward, stumbling slightly. Annalise looked up with eyes that held no trace of the supposed allergic reaction's severity—her breathing was normal, her color good.

"Winter," she said softly, "I'm so disappointed. I thought we were becoming friends."

"I truly didn't know about any allergies," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "If you had told me—"

"Enough excuses," Stiles cut me off. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a thick envelope. "You're going to apologize to Annalise properly, and then you're going to sign these."

Divorce papers. My heart stopped beating for a moment as I stared at the legal documents that would officially end my marriage, my family, my life as I knew it.

"No," I whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"I won't sign them." The words came out stronger than I felt. "I won't make this easy for you, Stiles. If you want to destroy our family, you'll have to do it the hard way."

His face darkened with fury hearing those words from my mouth as he clenched his hands into a fist.

 "You think you have a choice in this matter?"

He nodded to the guards, who stepped forward immediately. The first blow knocked me to my knees. The second sent me sprawling across the cold hospital floor. The guards were beating me up, on orders of their boss, not sparing their pinches at all. truly they were efficient, brutal, and thorough, targeting areas where bruises wouldn't show.

"Stop, please," I gasped after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes.

"Sign the papers, Winter," Stiles said calmly, as if he were asking me to pass the salt.

With shaking hands, I accepted the pen and scrawled my name across the bottom of each page, officially signing away my marriage, my home, my son.

"There's one more thing," Stiles said, reaching for my left hand. The wedding ring—his grandmother's ring, a family heirloom that had been passed down for generations—slid off my finger easily. My hands had grown thin from stress and poor eating.

He walked over to Annalise's bedside and dropped to one knee. "This belongs to the woman I truly love," he said, sliding the ring onto her finger. "Will you marry me, Anna?"

"Yes!" Thomas shrieked before Annalise could answer. "Now Anna will really be my mommy!"

Annalise beamed, admiring the ring that had once symbolized my marriage, my place in this family. "It's beautiful, darling. Of course I'll marry you."

They kissed while Thomas clapped and cheered. I lay forgotten on the floor, watching my life officially transfer to another woman.

The room began to spin. The pain, the emotional trauma, the blood loss from my untreated cuts—it all crashed over me at once. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision.

The last thing I heard before unconsciousness claimed me was Thomas's voice: "Is the mean lady going to go away now?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Annalise replied softly. "She won't bother us anymore."

When I came to, the room was empty and dark. My body ached everywhere, and dried blood had crusted over my various wounds. A piece of hospital stationary lay crumpled beside me, with Stiles' familiar handwriting scrawled across it:

*Stop with the dramatics and return to the mansion immediately to prepare food for tomorrow's picnic in the city. Don't embarrass us further with your pathetic displays.*

I struggled to sit up, my head spinning with the movement. Through the window, dawn was breaking over Moreau City, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that seemed to mock my devastation.

They had abandoned me on the hospital's floor and went home together. They truly did not care about me at all.​