Chapter 5: Catching Him in the Act

Vivian glanced toward Nora, standing alone by the doorway, and found the sight almost satisfying.

She let out a light laugh. "Mom, Elliot, don't just fuss over me, Nora's still standing all the way over there."

Nora?

Grant, already seated, seemed to remember her existence a beat too late.

He looked her over, brow creasing. He hadn't clocked it at the door, but now, seeing her properly, something about her outfit sat wrong with him.

Jeans. A plain white shirt.

Not one of the dresses he'd bought her?

The irritation that had started at the front door flared into something sharper now. "Nora. Come here."

She didn't move. "Did you need something?"

Is this defiance?

In Grant's experience, Nora had never exactly been eager to please, but she'd always known how to keep up appearances. This wasn't like her.

Did something rattle loose in her overnight?

When she made no move to obey, Elliot scoffed. "Don't waste your breath on her, Grant. She actually thinks she's the real Ashford heir. Someone should hand her a mirror. She's the nanny's kid, if it weren't for this family taking pity on her, she'd be scrubbing floors somewhere."

The nanny's kid.

Nora's fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, something in her chest twisting sharp and sudden.

Before Vivian ever entered the picture, Elliot had been the sibling who loved her most.

She used to lean on him for everything.

When Elliot was ten, he'd fallen through thin ice on the lake. Eight-year-old Nora had dragged him out in the dead of winter and nearly died of the fever that followed. He'd lived. She'd almost hadn't.

She still remembered exactly what he'd said to her afterward, small and fierce, "I swear, Elliot Ashford, I'll take care of you for the rest of my life. Anyone who so much as looks at you wrong, I'll burn their whole world down."

Do you even remember saying that anymore, big brother?

Vivian, quietly delighted, arranged her face into something soft and wounded instead. "Elliot, don't be like that. Nora's a victim too, in her own way. It's not fair to blame her for what her mother did."

Elliot snorted. "That's exactly your problem, Vivian, you're too kind for your own good. That's why she walks all over you."

It was Vivian's favorite move, this one, play the picture of innocence in front of a crowd, and let everyone else do the work of painting Nora as the jealous, bitter villain.

Aren't you tired of running the same play after all these years?

Nora's eyes went cold and flat. "Elliot, you're supposedly the pride of this family. Doesn't it embarrass you to talk like a schoolyard bully?"

She turned and headed for the stairs without waiting for a response.

Elliot's temper flared. "Nora Ashford, you get back here"

She kept walking.

Behind her, Mrs. Ashford's voice rang out, deliberately loud enough to carry. "Oh, let her go. She's exactly like her mother, ungrateful to the bone. Not worth the argument."

Nora's mouth twitched into a small, bitter smile, and she kept climbing.

---

Upstairs, she knocked softly on a familiar door. "Grandma. It's me."

"Nora! Come in, come in." Warmth, immediate and real, in the voice behind the door.

In the entire Ashford house, her grandmother was the only person who had ever simply been kind to her, without conditions attached.

Nora allowed herself a rare moment to relax. She found her way to the edge of the bed and sat. "How have you been feeling? Did the medicine I brought last time help?"

Her grandmother took her hand, voice gentle. "So much better, sweetheart. No relapses in weeks. Honestly, whatever this is works better than anything the doctors ever gave me. But there's no label on the bottle, where does it come from?"

The medicine had been custom-formulated for her grandmother by Nora and her friend Bea, which was exactly why it carried no label, no manufacturer, nothing traceable.

Bea was something close to a prodigy in pharmacology. And yet, in all her years of brilliant work, the one thing she'd never managed to crack was Nora's eyes. She'd developed formula after formula, and for three years straight, not one of them had made a shred of difference.

Nora understood now exactly why. It was never that the medicine failed. It was that there'd been no cornea left to treat in the first place.

"A friend," Nora said simply, smiling.

Her grandmother's heart ached for her, plain on her face. She smoothed a hand over Nora's hair. "My clever girl. If it weren't for your eyes, you'd already be a famous painter by now. My poor Nora. You've been through so much."

Something in Nora's chest clenched, sharp and quick, then gone. "It's fine, Grandma. I'll get my sight back eventually. It's only a matter of time."

Her grandmother didn't say anything more, but her eyes were heavy with old regret.

Nora had been painting since she could hold a brush, winning an international competition at age seven, catching the attention of a master painter before she'd even finished elementary school. Then Vivian arrived, determined to compete with her at everything, painting included.

Rather than risk their real daughter looking anything less than exceptional, the Ashfords had smashed Nora's easel themselves. Elliot had threatened to break her hand if he ever caught her holding a brush again.

Then she lost her sight entirely, and the question became moot. There was no color left to chase.

After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, Nora rose to leave. Her grandmother needed her rest, and she didn't want to overstay.

At the door, she hesitated. "Grandma, please take care of yourself. Eat on schedule, take your medicine on schedule. I brought enough this time to last you the whole year, so you won't run low anytime soon."

Her grandmother laughed softly. "A whole year's worth? It's not like we won't see each other again, silly girl. Anyone would think you're trying to say goodbye."

Something in Nora broke quietly in half.

I want so badly to tell you that's exactly what this is.

She couldn't make herself say it.

Eyes stinging, she forced a smile instead. "Don't be silly. I'll always want you around, Grandma. You're the person I love most in this world."

---

Nora pulled the door shut gently behind her, looking for somewhere quiet to sit for a while.

She stopped mid-step outside another door.

A woman's soft moan drifted through it.

Vivian's moan.

"Grant~"

The floor seemed to tilt beneath her.

Out in the open now? In her own family's house?

In such a hurry, Grant? Couldn't even wait until we got home?

Fine. Good. Perfect, even.

Nora steadied her breathing, reached into her pocket, and quietly switched on the voice recorder.

Divorce court is going to love this.

Inside the room, Vivian caught the whole scene through the gap in the door and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

At almost the same moment, Grant came back to his senses and shoved her away.

Nora had already slipped off without a sound.

Grant, breathing hard, lipstick smeared across his mouth, said sharply, "Vivian. We both have families now. This isn't right."

Vivian, in a champagne cheongsam that did nothing to hide her figure, arranged her face into disappointment. "I'm sorry, Grant. I don't know what's gotten into me lately, things haven't been good between me and Adrian. It won't happen again, I promise. And Nora won't hear a thing about it from me. I'll head out first."

She turned and left.

Grant's expression darkened.

He'd never loved Nora. But once he'd chosen her, divorce had never entered his mind and neither had betrayal, not really, not until tonight.

And there was the child to think of now. Nine months from fatherhood. The thought alone softened something hard in his chest.

---

Nora hurried down the stairs, and just as she reached the landing on the second floor, a hand closed around her wrist.

"Nora Ashford. Enjoy the show?"

Vivian's voice, low and gleeful, right against her ear.

"Your husband likes it when I say his name just like that, you know. In my bed. He can never get enough of it.”