Chapter 8: Send Her Little Bastard Straight to the Grave

The coat was a shade of brown Grant had never once worn. There was no version of this where it belonged to him.

Something about that fact sat wrong in his chest, a feeling he quickly chalked up to nothing more than territorial instinct. He didn't love Nora. He just didn't like the idea of another man's hands anywhere near what belonged to him.

He looked at her one more time, asleep in the sunlight, and felt his throat tighten with something he refused to name.

He almost woke her right then to demand an answer. Almost. In the end, he talked himself out of it.

---

Nora woke around noon, stomach growling, and made her way out of the bedroom. "Mrs. Doyle? I'm starving. Is there anything ready?"

It wasn't Mrs. Doyle who answered.

"She stepped out. What do you want? I'll make it myself."

Nora froze, turning toward the voice. "What are you doing home?"

Logic said he should still be with Vivian. His being here at all set off a quiet alarm somewhere in the back of her mind.

Unless...

Something about this felt wrong already.

"We need to talk about something," Grant said. A pause. "But first answer me one question."

His footsteps stopped directly in front of her. "Whose coat is this?"

She heard the fabric shift in his hands and remembered instantly what he was holding.

Why on earth would he care about something this small?

Unless he's just that committed to the performance now.

Still not feeling like herself, she gave the first answer that came to mind. "The cab driver lent it to me this morning. I forgot to give it back."

Grant's brow furrowed, something cold flickering in his eyes.

He'd recognized the coat the second he saw it, an Italian tailoring house, the kind of piece that didn't end up on the back of anyone driving a cab for a living.

His first instinct was that she was lying.

But then a second thought caught up with the first: why does this matter to me at all?

And besides no man with that kind of money would waste a second glance on a blind married woman.

Satisfied with his own logic, he exhaled and moved on to what actually mattered.

"Get dressed. We're going to the Ashford estate."

Wariness crept into her voice. "Why?"

He tossed the coat carelessly onto the sofa, hands sliding into his pockets, sunlight cutting sharp lines across his face. "You pushed Vivian down a flight of stairs last night. The least you owe her is an apology."

There it is. Exactly what I expected.

Nora took a half-step back, cold spreading through her chest like she'd been dropped into ice water. Her face went even paler than before. "No. I'm not doing that."

She gripped her cane and turned to head back upstairs, but Grant's arm shot out, blocking her path.

His patience was already gone. "Nora. You did something horrific, and Vivian's still willing to forgive you if you just apologize. What exactly are you so upset about?"

I'm upset because I didn't do it. Why would I apologize for something I never did?

Vivian's little performances fooled everyone else in that house without fail. They were happy to play along. Nora simply wasn't.

Her voice came out flat and cold. "Because apparently I'm exactly the kind of person who'd do something like that. You've known me long enough by now, haven't you?"

Grant's temper flared. "Nora. Don't push this."

Something in her chest cracked further, like a hammer coming down on glass that had already gone brittle.

Who's actually in the wrong here?

Vivian walked away without a scratch. Nora had been slapped by her own husband, kicked by her own brother, screamed at by her own mother and nearly lost the baby in the process.

And now she was supposed to apologize?

Her throat burned. She wanted so badly to ask him outright why he treated her this way, whether he thought she deserved any of it.

But the words died before they ever reached her mouth. A familiar, crushing helplessness swallowed them whole.

In Grant's eyes, in the Ashfords' eyes, she had always been the one nobody bothered to defend.

They wouldn't feel a shred of sympathy for her. They'd only think she'd earned every bit of it.

A short, hollow laugh escaped her.

Vivian loves playing the victim so much. Loves painting me as some cruel woman who preys on the weak.

Fine. We're leaving this city soon anyway. Let's give her exactly the ending she's been begging for.

"Fine," she said. "I'll go."

Grant's shoulders loosened with relief. Thank god she'd agreed he genuinely hadn't had a backup plan if she'd refused.

Whatever appetite she'd woken up with was long gone now.

---

The drive from Cloudspire Manor to the Ashford estate passed in complete silence, Nora staring straight ahead without a word.

Eventually, seeming to feel the weight of it, Grant tried to smooth things over. "Nora, when you do something wrong, you apologize. You're my wife Grant Pierce's wife. That comes with responsibilities."

She almost laughed out loud.

He's said things like that to me a dozen times before. How did it take me this long to notice what a hypocrite he really is?

She said nothing, and after a moment he reached over and took her hand.

She tried to pull away on instinct. He held on. "I shouldn't have hit you yesterday. I'm sorry. I was out of my mind, at that moment it wasn't intentional."

Her face stayed perfectly still. "Grant. If Vivian had pushed me down those stairs, would you have hit her too by accident?"

Silence swallowed the car whole.

It stretched on long enough to say everything neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Nora let out a quiet, bitter laugh, closed her eyes, and turned her face toward the window.

---

They arrived without further conversation. At the door, one of the household staff met them with open contempt.

"You've got some nerve showing your face here. Not satisfied until our young lady's dead, is that it?"

Nora, dropping the meek act entirely, shot back, "Impressive. Someone's been coached on their lines."

The maid's mouth fell open. Had she lost her mind? Taking the wrong medication?

"You.. you" she sputtered, red-faced.

Grant's expression darkened. "Enough. She's here to apologize. Move."

The staff might have felt free to sneer at Nora, but nobody dared cross Grant. The door opened, and they were let inside.

The moment they stepped through, Vivian's voice rang out, warm and delighted. "Grant! You're here, come see, I just finished a new painting. Tell me what you think."

She looped her arm through his without hesitation, the way she always did, and he barely registered it anymore.

Then, spotting Nora, Vivian's face shifted instantly into wide-eyed alarm, shrinking closer against Grant's side. "Grant, why is Nora here too?"

He soothed her gently. "Don't worry. She's here to apologize to you."

Vivian bit her lip, the picture of reluctant mercy. "I already forgave her, Grant. She doesn't need to do this. Let's just drop it."

"Absolutely not," Grant said firmly. "What she did was serious. An apology is the bare minimum here. Vivian, I know you're too generous for your own good, but you can't keep letting her get away with things like this."

Unbelievable. Actually unbelievable.

Something in Nora finally, completely gave out. This was the man she'd loved for three years. The man whose bed she'd shared. And she'd never once seen him clearly until now.

They're both so far gone, they deserve exactly what's coming to them.

Fine. I'll give them their apology. The real kind.

Vivian approached slowly, radiant, and took Nora's hand in both of hers. "Nora. I forgive you. We're still like sisters, right?"

Then, so quiet only Nora could hear it, something dark slid into her voice.

"You finally learned your place today, didn't you. Good girl, bowing your head like that."

"Oh does your face still hurt, by the way? Elliot doesn't hold back when he kicks. Real shame that one landed on your cheek instead of your stomach. One good hit lower and that little bastard of yours would already be in the ground."

The crack of a slap rang out through the entire room a half-second later.