Chapter 4

Elena's POV

I knew this would put James in a hard spot.

I knew, too, that the reason he'd asked for a divorce so quickly was that he wanted to spare me more pain.

But he should have remembered something about me. I keep my word.

A promise made stays made. I don't take it back.

I had sworn to walk through this life with him. I wasn't going to give that up overnight.

Three years dating. Three years married. None of those memories were fake.

I'd been with him long enough. I refused to believe there hadn't been a single moment when he'd actually loved me — me, not the resemblance.

I remembered every step he'd taken to win me over. Every night and day he'd treated me like I was something precious. How was I supposed to walk away from that?

Our marriage had been registered with the Council of Elders. As long as I refused to sign, James had no legal grounds to remove me.

I'd chosen the most foolish way to fight, just so he'd be forced to face what he really felt.

I wanted to keep believing he still loved me. The truth was unbearable.

But pretend as I might, the house had changed.

Vicky moved in. She didn't make a scene of it. She just slipped into the household, like she'd never left. The staff started checking her face before mine before they did anything. She spoke softly, and people did what she said.

I still slept in the master bedroom. I was still, in name, his wife. After she came, that word — wife — felt thin.

A few days later was the annual gala for the vampire nobility.

I dressed the way I always did. I stood in front of the mirror, and out of habit, I straightened the pendant at my throat.

It was the one James had given me when he proposed. I had once thought of it as the firmest promise he could make.

Now, looking at the red stone in the mirror, all I could see was that it was the wrong color, on the wrong face — a face she also wore.

The ballroom was lit up bright. When James and I walked in together, the crowd parted for us, the way they always did. But the looks were different this time.

They weren't admiring our love story. They were watching the three of us, whispering.

Some lowered their voices. Some openly stared. One person mistook Vicky for me, then realized her mistake and asked me, awkwardly, why I hadn't been turned yet.

There was curiosity in their voices, and the bright edge of people watching a scandal unfold up close.

I pretended I hadn't heard, and kept walking with my arm in his. He didn't pull away. But his hand was colder than it had ever been.

Vicky wore a deep red gown. She looked like the night itself. Standing next to me, we were like light and shadow side by side. Someone gasped. Others looked back and forth between us, comparing. I had never hated my own face this much.

We made polite conversation. James introduced Vicky, and in front of everyone he still called me his wife, carefully protecting my dignity.

It only made me ache worse.

While my mind drifted, Vicky was already at ease, chatting with a cluster of vampires, telling the story of her death and return.

I was about to slip away quietly when she called my name.

"Elena. Thank you for taking care of James these past few years."

She said it softly, even gratefully. But she said it loud enough, in a setting like this, for everyone to hear.

The room went still. People glanced over, waiting to see what I'd do.

I looked at that face that was the same as mine, and something pressed hard on my chest. I made myself smile.

"It was nothing. He's my husband."

The strain in my own voice was obvious to me. I had no choice but to keep up appearances.

The Elders had noticed the moment too. They walked over without hurrying. Their eyes lingered on Vicky and me, then settled on me.

"Elena," one of them said. The tone was kind, but the weight in it couldn't be ignored. "We've heard your turning ceremony was interrupted. That's rare among the noble families."

He took his time. There was no way around it. "As your union is officially registered, we need to know whether this is going to affect the marriage."

The room went silent. Every eye came back to me.

I stood very straight. I didn't dare let my breathing show.

"It was just an interruption. It's nothing."

My voice was steadier than I'd expected from myself.

I paused, and added, "James and I are fine."

The moment I said it, I caught Vicky's small smile. She didn't say anything. She lifted her hand and slid it through James's arm, easy, like she'd been doing it for years.

He didn't pull away. He just looked at me. Worried.

The gala dragged on. I made it through on instinct. I smiled, I raised my glass, I said the right things at the right times. No one could have called me anything but composed.

Only I knew my hands hadn't stopped shaking.

When it was over, I didn't go back to the main hall. I went out onto the terrace alone.

The night air was cold. I stood there and drank, glass after glass, trying to dull the pain.

After a long time, I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't turn around.

"Where's Vicky?" I asked, mild.

"I sent her home." James came up beside me. His voice was low. "I wanted to talk to you."

I gave a small laugh and swirled the wine in my glass. "What's left to talk about?"

He was quiet. He seemed to be choosing his words.

"I don't want it to be like this," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

I didn't answer. I kept drinking.

"I loved her for years. When she died, I almost didn't survive it. I couldn't function for a long time."

He stopped, like he was weighing the next part.

"And then I met you."

The wind off the terrace was cold. He took off his coat and put it around my shoulders.

It was the same gesture he'd done a thousand times. I reached up to take it without thinking. I almost leaned against him. He stepped to the side.

For a second, I felt myself nudged away — gently, but definitely. The ache it set off cleared my head completely.

"So now you have to keep your distance — for her sake?" I said.

He frowned. He didn't answer.

I lowered my head and breathed in his coat. "There's a women's perfume on you. It's strong. I don't like it."

His face darkened. "Elena. Don't talk about her like that."

I nodded, smiling without warmth. "Right. I don't have the standing." I looked up at him, calm. "I'm only the stand-in, after all."

His voice got quieter. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I shook my head. I didn't argue.

"Do you remember the first time we met? It was a gala too. A terrace, like this one. I was sitting alone in a corner. You were the one who came over to me."

I looked at him. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

He paused. "I was afraid you'd refuse me."

I laughed. My eyes were burning.

"If you'd told me earlier — that I only looked like her, that that's why you wanted me — I wouldn't have been so stupid. I wouldn't have loved you all these years."

He looked rattled. The words rushed out of him.

"Elena. I can make this right. I can still turn you—"

"Enough."

I cut him off. Quiet. Final.

"I only agreed to be turned because I wanted to spend forever with the man I loved."

He went still.

I handed his coat back. I gave him a small, easy smile, like nothing had happened.

"None of that matters now. You don't have to force yourself."

I turned to leave. The wind off the terrace was cold, but I didn't look back.

"As for the divorce," I said over my shoulder, "I won't agree to it."