Chapter 2

He doesn’t even stop to change his shoes.

Still wearing his rain-soaked dress shoes, Victor strides across the room and grabs the front of my collar.

The black rose freshly tattooed beneath my collarbone is exposed under the light.

“I told you not to put this kind of thing on your body.”

His thumb rubs hard over the edge of the tattoo.

Pain shoots through me, and my eyes sting instantly.

The absurdity of it nearly drowns me.

“This is my body. I like it. Why can’t I?”

“Let go, Victor. You’re hurting me.”

Victor’s expression darkens.

“Why can’t you take better care of your body? Do you have any idea your eyes can’t—”

“Victor, I’m thirsty.”

A soft voice suddenly cuts through our argument.

I lift my head and look toward the doorway.

It’s the woman from his office earlier today.

She stands there with the ease of someone already familiar with every corner of this house.

Victor lets go of me.

When he turns to her, his voice is already gentler.

“I’ll get you some water. Your hand is still injured. Go sit on the couch.”

Only then does he look back at me.

“Her name is Leah Valenti. She’s the younger sister of a friend. She’ll be staying here temporarily until she finds somewhere else to live.”

I stare directly into his eyes.

“What friend? Have I met her?”

Before Victor can answer, a quiet laugh comes from across the room.

“She’s dead. Of course Mrs. Moretti never had the chance to meet her.”

Leah pauses, her eyes drifting to the tattoo beneath my collarbone.

“But if she were still alive, Mrs. Moretti, you definitely wouldn’t be the one standing here.”

The malice in her voice is unmistakable.

Victor acts as if he doesn’t hear a word.

He simply hands her the glass of water.

Then he turns back to me.

“Get the tattoo removed tomorrow. It doesn’t suit you.”

I bite my lip and say nothing.

He probably thinks I’ll compromise again.

Just like I always have.

“Oh, this perfume is still here.”

Leah walks quickly toward the glass cabinet beside the fireplace.

“Don’t touch it!”

The words leave my mouth almost instinctively.

That bottle is Victor’s most treasured possession.

An old, unbranded perfume bottle with less than half of the perfume left inside. The glass is worn from age.

I never understood why it mattered so much.

Once, because I thought the scent was unusual, I sprayed a little on my wrist.

Victor saw it.

And for the first time, he lost his temper with me.

“Who gave you permission to touch my things?”

It was the first time in our five years of marriage that we stopped speaking to each other.

Later, I gave him two perfumes with similar scents to apologize.

He never wore either of them.

Not once.

Leah ignores me.

She picks up the old bottle and sprays it lightly against her neck.

My heart drops.

I’m already preparing myself to defend her.

“Victor, do I smell good?”

She lifts her face, smiling with innocent confidence.

Victor only gives her a helpless look.

Then he takes the perfume from her hand and places it on a higher shelf.

That’s all.

I feel as though someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

Then what was that entire week of silence I endured for touching this perfume supposed to mean?

A sharp pain suddenly shoots through my ankle.

When I stood up too quickly earlier, I hit the corner of the coffee table. The skin split open, leaving a thin cut.

A drop of blood appears.

Victor frowns.

“Why are you always so careless?”

He turns and brings over the first-aid kit.

But before his hand can reach my injury, Leah lets out a soft sound.

“Victor, I think the cut on my hand opened again.”

He immediately pulls the first-aid kit back.

Then he hurries to her side and takes her hand in both of his.

“Does it hurt? Do you want me to call Elena?”

I lower my eyes to the blood slowly running down my ankle.

Suddenly, I want to laugh.

So he does know how to comfort someone when they’re hurt.

He does know what to do.

My eyes pass over the small, triumphant smile on Leah’s face and settle on Victor as he bends over her hand, his expression tense with concern.

So in his heart, I don’t even matter as much as the younger sister of the woman he once loved.

As if sensing my gaze, he looks over, his brows drawing together.

“Ivy, Leah makes a living with those hands. She can’t afford to injure them.”

“Don’t overthink it. She’s like a sister to me.”

Of course.

If Selena were still alive, Victor would have married her.

Leah really would have been his sister.

Leah looks up at him, her eyes red.

“Exactly, Victor. You promised my sister you’d take care of me for the rest of my life.”

My heart jerks painfully.

In the reflection of the glass cabinet, I see a small bead of blood forming at the edge of the black rose beneath my collarbone.

The fresh tattoo burns against my skin.

I force out the words.

“I don’t want her living here.”

Victor’s frown deepens.

“Ivy. Don’t be childish.”

Childish?

Not wanting the sister of his dead former fiancée to move into our home is childish?

Leah suddenly jumps to her feet, her eyes filling with tears.

She shoves Victor away, grabs the half-empty perfume bottle, and heads for the door.

“I’m leaving! I told you your wife wouldn’t want me here!”

“If that’s the case, I’ll take the things my sister left behind with me too. No point leaving them here to offend her!”

Victor doesn’t hesitate.

He immediately goes after her and grabs her arm.

As he passes me, his shoulder slams into mine.

I lose my balance and fall to the floor.

My injured ankle twists again.

Pain flashes through me so violently that my face turns white.

But the next words that fall from Victor’s mouth are even colder.

“She doesn’t get to decide.”

He looks at Leah.

“This is your home too. You can come whenever you want and stay as long as you like.”

Leah is quickly soothed.

Victor carefully takes the old perfume bottle from her arms, as if he’s recovering some priceless treasure he almost lost.

Then my eyes fall on the bottom shelf of the glass cabinet.

Two perfume bottles sit there. The two bottles I gave him.

The perfume that remained in the old bottle belonged to Selena.

The two bottles I gave him to apologize were never used.

He never cared about them.

The old perfume is returned to the center of the cabinet.

I look away.

Finally, I can’t stop myself from asking.

“Victor.”

He looks at me.

“Was her sister the woman you loved most in your life... but never got to marry?”