Chapter 2

ELISHA’S POV

From where I stood on the balcony, I could hear every sound, every ripple in the pool below. 

I held my breath, waiting for his answer. 

But as if she’s sensed me, Natalie looked up at where I was standing. She locked eyes with me, silently challenging me to stay and listen for Anthony’s answer to her ridiculous question. 

Though our marriage had been arranged by our families, I had loved him for years. 

He was handsome, poised, the golden boy of the Möllers. When our engagement was announced, I told myself it wasn’t just business. Not entirely. 

He’d kissed me gently on the altar and whispered in my ear that everything would be fine. And some foolish part of me believed that maybe—just maybe—this was love.

But that belief shattered in two words.

“Of course.”

Clear as crystal. A dagger I didn’t see coming, straight through the chest.

The air left my lungs. My hands loosened from the railing. My world tipped slightly on its axis.

Of course.

Of course, he would’ve married her if I weren’t around. Of course, I had always been the substitute.

I staggered back inside, barely feeling the doorknob under my palm. The house felt colder, bigger, emptier than ever. I moved like a ghost through its halls and climbed the stairs back into the nursery, where grief waited like an old friend. 

I closed the door and curled up in the rocking chair, tucking one of Carrie’s blankets under my chin.

***

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but sometime in the afternoon, I woke with a dry throat and heavy eyes. My head pounded with the remnants of unshed tears. 

I pushed myself out of the chair and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, hoping for some peace and a glass of water.

But peace was never part of Natalie’s presence.

“There you are!” she chirped, spinning around from where she stood in front of the fridge. “When’s lunch? I’m starving.”

“We’re ordering in today,” I said flatly, reaching past her for a glass.

“Nooooo,” she groaned dramatically, clutching her stomach like a cartoon character. “Anthony says you cook so well! Come on, do make something.”

I set my glass down harder than I meant to. “Nat, I’m kind of tired—”

“Why?” she cut in smoothly, smile never faltering. “You’ve just been sitting around all day. Get cooking, get your blood flowing.”

I turned to face her, and for the first time that day, I let the anger show. 

She knew why I was tired. She knew what today was. And she came here on purpose. Like a twisted celebration. Like a warning.

Don’t forget what I took from you.

“Come on, Eli…” a familiar voice joined hers. I turned to see Anthony walking in, toweling off his hair from the pool. “Natalie’s our guest. We should be good hosts.”

I gritted my teeth. “I would really like to order in and keep to myself, if that’s alright.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be like that. Make your famous chicken pot pie.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command wrapped in a casual tone.

***

While Natalie waltzed around the house, judging the artwork I had chosen and rearranging my flower vases “just for fun,” I diced onions and boiled broth. 

My hands moved on autopilot, muscle memory from all the dinners I used to cook back when I was still happy. Back when my heart didn’t have a void in it. 

I added extra pepper to my pot pie. 

It was petty, but it was mine.

When lunch was ready, I set the table while Natalie flounced in with exaggerated hunger.

“Ooooh,” she sang, inhaling deeply, “This smells divine! Eli, you really are the perfect wife.” The smile she flashed me was syrupy and smug. “It’d be amazing if I could eat your food like this all the time.”

Anthony chuckled. “Well, if you love it that much, just ask your sister. I’m sure she won’t mind cooking for you more often.”

I looked at him. Did he not hear himself? Or did he just not care anymore?

I sat down quietly, feeling more like a staff than a wife. 

Natalie took a bite and moaned as if it were a Michelin-starred dish. “Mmm, incredible.”

The air was… tight. Uncomfortable. 

Natalie tilted her head slightly, possibly feeling the energy as well. “I hope I’m not being a burden. You’d tell me if I was, right?”

Before I could speak, Anthony jumped in. “Of course not. This is your home too. If you need anything, just say the word.”

Natalie’s smile widened. It wasn’t victorious. It was worse—it was genuine. Like she had won something I didn’t even realize was a prize.

The next few minutes passed in utter silence, except for the sound of silverware clinking and scraping against fine china. 

She dabbed her lips with a napkin and turned to me in her signature sweetness. “Actually, I’d love some dessert. Eli, would you mind getting it for me?”

I didn’t move.

“Get it yourself,” I said quietly.

Anthony glanced between us, lips tightening. Before either of us could say more, he stood, went into the kitchen, and returned with a single plate.

I stared at him.

This was a man who wouldn’t pour himself a glass of water without calling for a maid.

And yet, here he was, serving her.

Natalie smiled again—this time, almost shyly—and took the plate. For a second, just one, Anthony placed his hand on her head. A brief, affectionate gesture. 

He caught himself and pulled it away, but not before I saw it.

I couldn’t sit there anymore.

I stood. Natalie blinked at me. “Oh! Are you clearing up already?”

Anthony handed me his plate. “Here, take this too.”

I walked away. I didn’t take the plate. I didn’t answer either of them. I just walked. 

I could feel Anthony’s stare drilling into my back, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to keep pretending I didn’t see what was happening right in front of me.

I’d just reached the base of the staircase when I heard it.

A plate shattering.

Anthony’s voice: “Natalie?!”

I turned, heart leaping to my throat.

Natalie was on the floor, collapsed in Anthony’s arms, her breathing ragged, shallow. Her hands trembled against his chest, and her skin had turned a pale, terrifying shade.

With wide, tear-filled eyes, she looked straight at me and cried out, “What did you put in the dessert?!”

Time stopped.

“What—” I stepped forward. “It was just chocolate and hazelnuts, I don’t—”

But neither of them was listening.

Anthony shoved me aside with a force I’d never felt from him before, scooping Natalie into his arms like a broken doll.

“Natalie! Stay with me!” he cried, rushing toward the door in a blind panic.

The maid screamed for the driver. The butler fumbled for the emergency line.

I stood frozen in place, my fingers trembling.

What the hell just happened?