Chapter 2

Jordan paused, his tone dropping into an unfamiliar chill.

"Divorce? Do you honestly think your family will take back a daughter with intellectual deficiencies? If you leave me, where could you even go?"

I stared at his angry expression. In the past, if anyone so much as whispered that I was slow or disabled, Jordan would fly into a rage and beat them senseless.

He used to bark at them. "Mark my words! As long as I'm around, no one is allowed to say those words to Jane!"

Yet here we were. The same venom was now dripping from his own mouth.

Realizing he had spoken too harshly, Jordan softened his tone. "Alright, stop throwing a tantrum. I'll keep my distance from Giselle from now on, alright?"

I tried to explain that I wasn't throwing a tantrum, but the sharp ring of his phone cut me off.

Giselle's lazy voice drifted through the speaker. "Hey, did you finish playing nursemaid yet? Your dad just called. He wants us back at the estate for dinner tonight."

Jordan's brow furrowed. He refused without hesitation. "No. I'm staying with Jane tonight."

"No?" Giselle sneered. "Fine by me. Your dad is setting me up on a blind date anyway. I think I'll just sleep with the guy and see if he handles himself better than you do."

A tense silence stretched across the room before Jordan finally muttered, "Fine. Don't do anything stupid. I'll come."

He hung up and turned back to me, his features instantly smoothing into that familiar, gentle expression.

"This is the last time," he promised, pressing an apologetic kiss to my cheek. "I'll make everything clear to Giselle tonight. Once tomorrow comes, I'll make it up to you properly, okay?"

I lowered my eyes and gave a small nod. But there was no tomorrow for us.

As his figure disappeared down the corridor, I pulled out my phone and bought a one-way train ticket to the north.

Jordan never knew that I wasn't homeless. My mother, Hannah Kendrick, had left me the keys to a secluded villa before she passed away. It was my final, hidden sanctuary.

...

I hurried back to our house to pack my things.

On the dining table sat the untouched anniversary cake. Next to it was a brand-new hearing aid for Jordan and a small jar of ointment for Giselle.

A bitter, suffocating ache swelled in my chest.

Last year, Giselle had complained to me, "It's unfair. Jordan and I met you on the same day, yet you spend every anniversary with Jordan. I want an anniversary, too."

I had taken her words to heart. This year, I had planned to invite her to celebrate with us. Knowing that her knee still flared up with excruciating pain from the day Jordan's car crushed her leg, I had spent weeks making that special ointment.

I never could have imagined that when the anniversary finally arrived, I would be the one left out. Even the cake was covered in fruits that the two of them loved.

What a fool I had been! I should have just bought a chocolate cake I liked.

My phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification on social media. It was a snapshot of Jordan serving food to Giselle at the Skinner family dinner.

The caption read: [The pseudo-siblings can fight as violently as they want on the outside, but at the end of the day, they always go home for family dinner together.]

The top-voted comment underneath read: [This is the real power couple! Brilliant, beautiful Giselle is always meant to be the true heroine of Jordan's story.]