Deny the dead

SERENA POV

The funeral is in three days, Jackson," I whispered, my voice cutting through the quiet hallway like a sharp blade. "Are you really going to let them bury an empty box... or are you going to tell me why my husband is standing right in front of me?"

The air between us went ice-cold.

My fingers dug into his wrist, holding him tightly right where the white, jagged line ran across his skin. I knew every millimeter of that scar. I had spent five years tracing it with my fingers in the dark while he lay beside me, rigid and distant, wishing I were someone else.

For a split second, a flicker of sheer panic crossed his face. His dark eyes widened, and his chest heaved as he sucked in a sharp breath. The mask slipped. For one glorious, heartbreaking second, the man standing in front of me didn’t act like Jaden. It was Jackson. My Jackson. The cold, unyielding husband I had wept over for four agonizing days.

Then, just as quickly, the mask slammed back into place.

He pulled his hand out of my grip with a firm, deliberate twist. He adjusted the cuff of his expensive silk shirt, covering the scar, and looked down at me with a heavy, pitying sigh. It was the exact look of sympathy Jaden always gave people. It made my stomach turn.

"Serena," he said, keeping his tone soft, gentle, and infuriatingly patient. "I know the shock of losing your husband is still fresh. You haven't been sleeping, and you haven't been eating. You're confused."

"Stop lying to me!" I yelled, my voice breaking the silence of the house. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Stop it, Jackson! Is this really how far you will go just to get away from me? You would fake your own death? You would pretend to be your brother just to be close to her?"

"Serena, lower your voice. You're going to upset Avery," he warned, taking a step back as if I were dangerous. "You are grieving. You aren't thinking clearly."

"Is this really how far you will go to get away from me?" I choked out, the absolute coldness in his eyes shattering something deep inside me.

Five years of rejection, five years of begging for a single scrap of his affection, came crashing down on my shoulders all at once. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't bear the cruelty of watching him breathe, speak, and stand right in front of me while acting like a stranger.

My knees gave out. I dropped to the polished floor, my black sweater pooling around me. I reached out and grabbed the fabric of his trousers, holding onto his legs with every ounce of strength I had left.

"Please," I sobbed, the tears finally bursting free, burning my cheeks. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did wrong in our marriage, I'm sorry. Just stop this, Jackson. Please. Don't do this to me. Don't make me bury you when you're standing right here."

I was begging. It was humiliating, pathetic, and desperate, but I didn't care. I just wanted my husband back. I wanted the nightmare to end.

Jackson looked down at me, his face turning hard as stone. He grabbed my wrists and forced my hands off his legs, pushing me back with enough force that I fell onto my side on the hard floor.

"Stop this, Serena!" he snapped, his voice sharp and firm. "I am not Jackson. I am Jaden. Stop putting on a show here!"

I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, shaking uncontrollably, looking up at him through a blur of tears.

"The scar!" I cried, pointing a trembling finger at his right wrist. "Explain the scar! Jaden never had a scar on his wrist! That glass bottle cut you when you were twelve years old! You told me the story yourself!"

Jackson stood over me, tall and unyielding. He slowly unbuttoned his cuff and pulled the sleeve back, exposing the small white mark to the faint hallway light. He looked down at it, then looked back at me with an eerie, calm expression.

"How do you know I didn't have it, Serena?" he asked quietly.

I froze, staring at him.

"It was a small accident we both had together when we were kids," he lied smoothly, his voice completely steady. "Jackson was your husband, Serena, but he didn't tell you every single detail of his life. He must have skipped telling you that part. I have had this scar just as long as he did."

"You're lying," I choked out, shaking my head. "You're lying!"

He crouched down in front of me, bringing himself to eye level. He reached out as if to touch my shoulder, but I flinched away from him. He let his hand drop, sighing heavily.

"Please don't make this burial any harder than it already is," he said softly, putting that fake, gentle Jaden tone back into his voice. "I also lost a twin brother, Serena. And you lost a husband. We are both grieving right now. But creating these crazy stories in your head isn't going to bring Jackson back. It's only hurting you."

He stood up, looking down at me like I was a broken, pitiful creature.

"I'll have Arthur bring some tea to your room," he added, adjusting his cuffs once more. "You need to rest. We have a funeral to get through in three days."

I sat on the cold floor, completely paralyzed by the sheer evil of his performance. He was gaslighting me. He was making me feel like I was losing my mind, using his own dead brother's memory to cover his tracks just so he could step into Jaden's life and take Avery for himself.

Before I could open my mouth to scream at him, a soft, sweet voice cut through the dark hallway.

"Honey? What are you still doing out there? It's late, let's go to bed..."

Avery stepped into the hallway from the doorway of the study. She was wrapped in a luxurious silk robe, her hands resting gently over her barely swollen stomach. She looked between the two of us—me, kneeling messily on the floor with tear-stained cheeks, and Jackson, standing tall and immaculate above me.

A subtle, cold smirk flashed across Avery's face for a fraction of a second before her expression shifted to one of gentle worry.

"It's late, darling," Avery repeated, her voice dripping with sweet affection as she looked at Jackson. "Come to bed. You need your sleep, and the baby is kicking."

Baby?