Chapter 5

Elena's POV

The study door opened and I looked up.

Jason stood in the doorway, still carrying the warmth from the fireplace downstairs. His expression had recovered its usual calm. His collar was flawless. His blood-red eyes gave nothing away.

He was always like this.

Just finished soothing another woman, and came to me composed enough to be decent.

I stood up before he could speak.

“No need to say anything. I'll agree to the divorce.”

Jason went still.

I kept my eyes down and continued.

“My things are scattered; there are a few unfinished canvases in the studio. Give me half a day. I'll pack and be out.”

Silence held the study for a long time.

Long enough that I thought he hadn't heard me.

Then his voice dropped.

“You want to leave me that badly?”

I paused.

When I looked up, his face had gone slightly cold.

I was confused.

Why was he angry?

Wasn't this exactly what he should have wanted?

Vicky was back, divorced, with nowhere else to go, and she could still pull him off-balance without trying.

I, the stand-in, was supposed to step aside gracefully.

I hesitated a moment, then reminded him quietly:

“Jason. From the very beginning I was brought in as a substitute. Now that Vicky's returned, it's time for me to go.”

His brow tightened.

“I haven't asked for a divorce.”

I went still.

Jason walked into the study and closed the door behind him.

“Vicky just went through a divorce. She has nowhere to go right now. I'm keeping her here for a while. There's nothing more to it than that.”

Very calm. All of it very reasonable.

Before, I might have held onto that sentence like a small secret happiness. Told myself that if he was willing to explain, it meant he cared how I felt.

But now I just looked at him quietly.

Looked into his eyes. At that face I had spent three careful, frightened years loving.

And I gave him a smile. Gentle. Proper.

Something in Jason's expression shifted.

He seemed to realize, finally, that the smile on my face wasn't contentment.

It was a habit. A shell.

I lowered my head and let out a quiet, self-mocking breath.

“Do I look like her now?”

Jason's eyes darkened.

“What?”

I raised a hand and touched the corner of my mouth.

“You said Vicky loved to smile. But she never smiled like this, not to please anyone.”

“That part. I could never quite get right.”

Then Jason caught my hand.

Not hard. But I went rigid anyway.

“Don't say that.”

His voice was very low.

I looked at him. I was suddenly so tired, finally too tired to keep pretending, too tired to go on playing the part of the substitute.

I looked at the fingers closed around my wrist.

Beautiful hands. Pale and long, cold in that particular way vampires are cold.

Before, his slightest touch made my heartbeat stumble.

Now I only felt exhausted.

“Jason, you don't need to test me. I'll give you the divorce and I won't bother either of you again. I promise.”

His grip tightened.

“Elena.”

I tried to pull my hand back.

He didn't move. Just held me there and looked.

The study air pressed down.

Rain outside. My breathing coming slower, growing unsteady.

Jason stepped forward. His arm circled my waist.

He bent toward me, and the cold, familiar scent of him closed in.

I understood immediately.

Before his lips could reach me, I turned my head away.

His mouth grazed my cheek and stopped in midair.

I went completely still.

Not from anything overwhelming in my chest.

From humiliation.

“How can you do this?”

My voice was barely steady.

Jason looked at me, jaw tighter.

I met his eyes, my own already burning.

“Vicky is downstairs.”

“You care about her so much. So why come to me?”

Jason’s face hardened.

“This has nothing to do with her.”

I let out a bitter little laugh.

“Nothing?”

“Then why reach for me precisely now?”

“Too afraid to touch her instead?”

Something dangerous moved through his eyes.

“Elena.”

I knew that was cruel.

But I was done pretending not to understand.

Three years: copying her expressions, her habits, her particular kind of carelessness. Thinking if I became enough like her, I'd eventually earn something that actually belonged to me.

But Vicky was downstairs right now.

And he was in the study with his arms around me, trying to kiss me.

What was this?

Too precious to touch the woman he truly loved, so came to find the substitute instead?

I breathed in slowly and pulled my hand free.

“Don't worry. I won't crave what doesn't belong to me.”

Jason's expression froze.

“You really want to talk like that?”

I looked at him.

“Have you forgotten? Those were your words.”

“You said them to me.”

The study went very quiet.

Jason went still.

He'd probably forgotten.

But I hadn't.

In the first year of the marriage, after a miscarriage, I'd come home from the hospital and lay in his arms, trying to hold onto something rare and warm. After a long hesitation I'd finally asked:

“Jason — do you like me, even a little?”

He'd turned on the light and looked down at me.

His eyes were cold.

“Elena. Don't crave what doesn't belong to you.”

That sentence had stayed with me for three years.

Now I didn't even dare to want anything.

Jason stood in front of me, his face gone terrible.

He seemed to want to explain. But explain what?

That he'd only been in a bad mood, that he'd never really been that cruel, that he had noticed the miscarriages?

Or that he'd given me so much dignity over the years that my ingratitude was showing?

In the end he said nothing. Just:

“You're overthinking.”

I didn't answer.

He seemed more irritated by my silence.

“There's a reception tonight. Get ready. You're coming with me.”

I looked up.

“Me too?”

His tone left no room.

“You're my wife.”

That landed in my chest with a certain bitter irony.

He needed me compliant, I was his wife. He needed me to appear in public, I was his wife.

But when I needed his care and protection, I was nothing.

I said quietly:

“All right.”

He watched me a moment. Seemed about to say something more.

Then from downstairs, a maid's voice:

“Young master, Miss Vicky is asking for you.”

His expression shifted.

I saw it then: that brief, instinctive flicker of worry crossing his eyes.

When I fell down the stairs during my second pregnancy, he'd seen it. Stood in the doorway. Turned and calmly asked the butler to call a doctor, without a single change in his face.

Now Vicky only sent a servant to ask for him, and he was already like this.

I dropped my gaze and sat back down.

“Go ahead.”

“I'll be ready.”

Jason didn't move immediately.

But in the end he turned and left.

The door clicked shut.

I sat where I was, slowly pulling my aching wrist back into my sleeve.