Chapter 2

Elena's POV

I shut myself in the bedroom and tried to calm down. My head was full of static.

Every corner of this room held memories of him and me.

Our wedding night. A thousand-plus nights of marriage since, all of them spent here.

Yesterday he had still been holding me, soothing me to sleep.

Today, a woman with my face had walked through the door.

They'd been lovers ten years ago. James had never gotten over her death — in three years of dating and marriage, he'd never once taken me anywhere near the sea.

All of it, because of her.

He had only ever fallen for me, married me, because I reminded him of her.

I looked at my face in the vanity mirror, and something inside me broke. I dropped to the floor and gagged.

I didn't want to think any further. I couldn't stop.

They were downstairs right now. What were they saying? What were they doing? I didn't know.

I was the wife. I was the one with a ring. And I didn't even have any standing to call them out.

She'd been there first. It was that simple.

I was the stand-in. I was the one who didn't belong here.

I wrapped my hand around the pendant at my throat.

A blood-red gem, set in fine silverwork.

I could still picture the way James had looked when he went down on one knee in front of me, holding it out.

He'd told me he wanted me to be his vampire bride.

He'd said when the time was right, he would turn me, and we'd be together forever. Never apart.

Every word, still ringing in my ears.

Was none of it real?

Did none of it count anymore?

The tears came in a rush, and I sobbed into my hands.

He was right downstairs. He could hear every sound from up here.

He knew I was crying. He knew I was breaking.

He didn't come.

I sat on the floor, for I don't know how long.

The tears dried up. Only the tight ache in my throat was left.

The voices downstairs drifted up, on and off.

Soft, but I caught every word.

They were talking.

She was crying. He was comforting her.

That low, coaxing tone — I knew it too well.

He'd used it on me a thousand times in three years.

Now all that gentleness was for someone else.

It struck me as almost funny.

The things I'd thought were mine alone — they were just his habit, his default tenderness.

They had never been mine.

I got up slowly and walked to the door.

My hand was on the doorknob. I stopped.

I knew that the moment I opened this door and went down those stairs, I would see them.

I didn't have the courage for it.

I couldn't bear to see his face when he looked at her.

I couldn't bear to see how well they fit together.

I didn't want to remind myself, again, that I was the stand-in.

I still loved him. That was why this hurt so much. That was why I was such a coward.

I stepped back. I leaned against the wall, then slid down it slowly.

There was a weight on my chest that wouldn't shift. I couldn't breathe right.

I don't know how long I sat there. The sky was getting pale.

The voices outside finally went quiet.

Familiar footsteps came up the stairs, closer and closer to the bedroom door.

I froze.

I held my breath.

The door didn't open.

He was standing out there. Hesitating.

I could hear him raise his hand and lower it. Again. And again.

Finally, two soft knocks.

"…Elena."

His voice was low. Through the door, I couldn't read it. I had no idea what he'd decided.

I didn't answer. My throat had closed up. I couldn't have spoken if I'd wanted to.

He waited. When I didn't move, he tried again, gentler.

"Are you all right?"

The question pulled a bitter smile from me.

Was I all right.

Wasn't he the one who would know.

I sat on the floor, eyes fixed on the door.

I said nothing.

The silence got terrible — he must have felt it.

His voice cut off.

After a while, he tried again.

"Can I come in? Let's talk."

I still didn't answer. I curled tighter into the blankets, as if holding on to myself was the only way I could keep breathing.

It went quiet outside.

He stood there. He didn't knock again. He didn't leave.

"I'm sorry, Elena. I…"

He didn't know what to say. Maybe he didn't know how to face me either.

He heard me crying through the door, and he just stayed there. None of his usual soft words. None of the old certainty that a single kiss would stop my tears.

After a while, the footsteps moved away.

He was walking away from the room.

I closed my eyes and sat alone in the dark.

Something hollowed out in my chest.

Like something had been taken from me for good.

I knew what he had decided.

He didn't need the stand-in anymore.