ELISHA’S POV
One year ago today, I lost my daughter, Carrie.
She hadn’t been born yet… it didn’t matter. I knew it was a girl, and I knew I’d name her Carrie.
In the quiet, pastel pink and mint green nursery, I sat on the rocking chair and folded her clothes.
Again.
For the hundred-millionth time.
As if it would dull reality and make my fantasy come alive.
The sharp ring of the doorbell startled me. I glanced at the tiny onesie slipping from my fingers and stood quickly.
Anthony probably forgot his key again.
I hurried down the stairs and swung open the front door, ready to tease my husband for his memory, ready to pretend everything was fine.
But Anthony Möller wasn’t alone.
My sister Natalie stood beside him, glowing like sunshine. “Hey, sis. Anthony invited me to crash here for a while!”
She didn’t wait for an answer, breezing past me into the foyer as Anthony trailed behind, lugging two massive duffel bags that he dropped heavily onto the floor. He didn’t meet my eyes.
How long was “a while”?
Why was she here?
My throat tightened.
How could my husband bring home the woman who killed our baby?
Natalie spun around, grinning with false sweetness. “So? Where’s my room?”
The question lingered between us like poison.
I watched as Anthony motioned for the butler to pick up his bags and show Natalie the guest rooms.
Natalie was my parents’ biological daughter. She had gone missing twenty years ago, which devastated our mother. On the brink of taking her own life, our father adopted me from an orphanage.
As some sort of replacement.
They named me Elisha… Elisha Montgomery.
I was raised by a wealthy family in a wealthy neighborhood and had a life most people only dream of. Good parents, a loving brother, a great school, all the bags, shoes, cars, and vacations a girl could dream of.
And we spent most of our time with the Möller family. Together, our families had several businesses and practically owned the city we lived in.
I believed I was the happiest, luckiest little girl in the world.
But two years ago… Natalie came back. Every DNA test confirmed that she was, indeed, my parents’ real child.
Cameras flashed outside the mansion gates. Reporters buzzed with excitement, chasing the tragic fairytale reunion: “Missing Montgomery heiress found after twenty years.”
My mother sobbed into Natalie’s shoulder like she’d never stopped waiting for this moment, while my father stood behind them, too stunned to speak, his hand trembling on the staircase railing.
The Möllers stood by my parents in solidarity, thrilled and relieved that we were finally reunited.
I stood in the back as the relentless barrage of questions hit both families.
But I wasn’t upset about that. After all, Natalie deserved her moment.
But things didn’t exactly go back to normal after that…
Soon enough, I became an afterthought. First, it was like I didn’t exist. Then, it became like I was a nuisance. A burden.
I was being tolerated, while Natalie was being endlessly celebrated. Any new family photos that were taken after her return, my grandparents insisted I stay out so they could capture the “real” family. My mother would only shoot me an apologetic glance, but never come to my defense.
Nobody did.
It made me feel like I was a thief. Someone who snuck in, stole someone’s life, and was now just around because she couldn’t be thrown away.
Even Anthony, whom I had married years before, was technically promised to her by the Möllers.
Out of guilt, I tried to spend time getting to know her. My long-lost sister. Nat. When she was showered with love and praises, I joined in. I was just happy to have a sister.
But she didn’t feel the same way about me.
She had little inside jokes with Anthony. Her compliments to me were always backhanded, making comments about my clothes, my hair, or my body. I’d find the gifts I gave her in the trash. She started taking over any rituals or routines I had with my parents—tea time with my mother, playing golf with my father.
Bit by bit, she pushed me out of existence.
I snapped back to the present as Anthony came up behind me, his arms slipping around my waist.
“You’ve seemed so down lately,” he murmured softly. “I thought having your sister here might cheer you up.”
Sister.
The word felt like window dressing on a trash can.
I moved out of his embrace, turning to look at him. “Did you forget what today is?”
His expression darkened momentarily, then smoothed again. “It’s been a year. Isn’t it time we all moved on?”
Easy words for someone who hadn’t bled.
A year ago, I suffered a miscarriage, three months into my pregnancy.
All because Natalie bumped me from the top of the staircase in Anthony’s parents’ home.
She’d cried convincingly. Everyone believed her tears, even Anthony. They all saw it as a tragic, horrible accident.
But I still remembered the cold triumph flickering in her eyes just before it happened. The smug smile she gave me as her hands stretched out in front of her, and I tumbled downward.
Anthony had never cared for the child; it hardly pained him. It hardly affected anyone in the family.
I was left alone in my grief. Left alone to mourn.
All because Natalie decided an unborn baby wasn’t as important as her being the center of attention with the Montgomerys and Möllers.
Nat walked back to where we were, smiling ear to ear. “I love the room! I’m hitting the pool until lunch. Anthony?”
He smiled. “Pool sounds great.”
I watched them disappear together, Natalie chattering away, Anthony listening with focus and softness I had never seen.
It stung more than it should have.
I turned, heading back upstairs. I wanted solitude, the nursery, quiet grief.
But Natalie’s voice sliced through the quiet again as she popped around the corner, blocking my escape.
“Hey!”
I turned around to look at her questioningly, not caring to hide my annoyance.
“Anthony said you should help set up my room!” she said brightly.
We had people for that—staff who were paid to handle these things. But Natalie didn’t want efficiency; she wanted me humbled.
“Sure,” I said softly, swallowing my pride. “I’ll handle it.”
She flashed another bright, empty smile, vanishing toward the pool.
I made my way to the guestrooms and saw the maid already setting up. Quietly, I helped her lay the sheets flat and put the duvet on.
After finishing up, I stepped onto the balcony for fresh air. Just one quiet breath before returning to my grief.
The air was thick with summer heat, tinged with the sharp scent of chlorine and coconut sunscreen. Laughter echoed from the pool, distant and shrill, as sunlight flickered through the trees in golden patches. The stone railing burned warm beneath my palms. A soft breeze stirred my hair, but it didn’t cool me.
Nothing did.
I stared at the sky until it blurred, the world moving on around me while I stayed frozen in that one moment—falling, bleeding, breaking.
But from the patio below, Natalie’s voice drifted up, clear as crystal, her words a dagger straight into my heart:
“So… if my sister weren’t around… you would’ve married me, right?”
ELISHA’S POVShe left as gracefully as she’d arrived, full of thanks for my understanding, as if I had gifted her something meaningful. I suppose I had.I didn’t say anything. I don’t even remember how I responded. I watched her walk away, heels tapping against the pavement in a measured rhythm, and the sound followed me long after she disappeared around the corner.Only when I was back in the apartment—my apartment—did I finally break.There was only one pillow left on the sofa; the others were boxed away. I buried my face into that one, clawed at it, twisted the fabric in my hands, and let it absorb the sobs that had been burning inside me since I saw Anthony walk into the building with her.She’d been so calm. So composed. She hadn’t mocked me. She hadn’t raised her voice or made threats. She didn’t need to. And that made it worse. She was collected, self-assured, and direct.And I—I stood there like an idiot. Like someone who had forgotten her own dignity somewhere on the way in
ELISHA’S POVI had heard whispers.Not just in the idle chitchat that floats around parties or in the back rooms of offices. No. These were deliberate, quiet conversations. The kind that always began with someone leaning in and lowering their voice, as if the truth they were about to share was too heavy to say out loud.“Anthony’s father wants him to remarry.”Of course he did.Old money didn’t leave men unanchored. A man like Anthony—with his name, his reach, his potential volatility—wasn’t safe without a ring on his finger. The marriage didn’t need to be real; it didn’t even need to be happy. It just had to look good. Controlled. A wife signaled that he wasn’t drifting. That he was stable. Predictable. Safe for business. Safe for legacy.And when it became clear to his father that I wasn’t coming back, that I had finally drawn a line—I suppose other arrangements had been made. Quietly, of course.I didn’t know what Sylvester thought. Whether he’d protested or even known. If he had
ELISHA’S POVI took the glass he extended to me and noticed, for the first time, how nervous he was.It was subtle—almost imperceptible—but I saw it in the slight shake of his fingers and how his eyes darted to mine and then down again. Anthony, always confident, always in control, was uncertain tonight. There was no reason for him to be, not really. Not after everything we’d already been through. But maybe that was exactly why.Maybe because, finally, it was quiet between us. No battles, no layered meanings, no sharp words wrapped in softness. Just… us. And I think the quiet made him uneasy.I took a sip. Cool, sweet. It tasted like summer.He watched me for a reaction, his thumb twitching against the side of his glass. I looked at him directly, and I didn’t smile right away—I just let the moment hang there. The way the fading sunlight caught the edge of his jaw. The way he looked so boyish, despite everything he’d done, everything we’d survived. I gave him a small nod, then a smil
ELISHA’S POVThe hum of the air conditioning did little to cut through the quiet heat in the clinic that afternoon. It wasn’t quite busy, but the lull gave me a moment to catch my breath, finally settling at the breakroom table with Bethany, two lukewarm coffees between us.I leaned back, trying not to think about the day before, but the words were already forming.“Zane was waiting in the parking lot for you yesterday.”Bethany’s face froze mid-sip.“What?”I nodded, casually, but the weight of it was anything but.She sighed, setting her coffee down. “Sorry you had to deal with that.”“I’ve dealt with worse,” I replied. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just… he’s persistent.”Bethany tilted her head, eyes scanning mine. “I guess he isn’t used to being dumped?”“No,” I said with a short laugh. “I think he’s okay with something ending—as long as he’s the one ending it.”She smirked at that. “Of course. Classic.”“Typical of everyone in that group, really,” I added, voice dipping just enough to
NATALIE’S POVThe sun was blazing, the air thick with the scent of overgroomed turf, expensive colognes, and sweat disguised under perfume. I shifted uncomfortably in the white dress my mother insisted I wear, my hand resting on the mound of my belly, reminding me that I couldn’t drink.Not for another few months. Pity, because you’d need a barrel of alcohol to get through this farce. Everyone around me was sipping champagne or something equally bubbly, their laughter lilting through the private stands of the polo tournament like some perfect symphony of old money.I was bored out of my mind.Francesco’s father had organized the event, as he did every year. It was one of those elite traditions where nobody really cared who won the match, only that they got to show off their wealth to others attending in subtle ways while savoring the Michelin-starred catering. I sat on one of the shaded benches near the edge of the seating area, sipping a lukewarm glass of mango juice someone had h
ELISHA’S POVTo make things worse, Anthony pulled up beside me just as I unlocked my car.I blinked at the sleek, black vehicle as it slowed to a stop beside mine. The window rolled down smoothly—of course it did. His world was seamless, polished, effortless.I had driven myself to work that morning. I usually did now. But every few days—without warning or pattern—Anthony would show up like this. He’d call it convenience, or say he “happened to be in the area,” but I knew better.Mark would always take my car back to the mansion for me, without complaint. Like it was part of the routine. Like I wasn’t being… managed. Watched.Monitored.I should have hated it more. Some days, I did. But today? I didn’t know.There was something about seeing him just then—eyes flashing with immediate concern, lips tight, posture tense—that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t totally alone in the mess. That there was still someone on my side, even if the terms were… blurred. Complicated. May