Chapter 3 : Celia  'The Invisible Mrs. Lancaster'

By the third day of my marriage, I had learned  my place in this house. Invisible.

I stood just inside the dining room, fingers tightening around the edge of my sleeve as sunlight spilled across the polished silver and crystal glasses. The table was long enough to seat twelve, yet only four places had been set.

Vivian Lancaster, Adrian's mom sat at the far end in cream silk, elegant and cold. Beside her, Eleanor Lancaster, his grandmother, stirred tea with thin, delicate fingers, despite her age. Adrian was already there too, dressed in charcoal, scanning something on his phone with a face carved from indifference.

No one looked up or even noticed when I entered. For one foolish second, I wondered if I could slip away unnoticed.

Then Vivian's voice cut through the silence.

"You're late."

I glanced at the clock. It was Eight-oh-two. A whole two minutes.

"I'm sorry."

She finally lifted her eyes to me. "In this family, punctuality is expected, not applauded."

I moved to my seat without another word.

A maid placed a plate in front of me. Two slices of dry toast, a few strawberries, and black coffee. Across from me, Adrian had eggs, pastries, fruit, and fresh juice.

Ridiculous that I noticed.

More ridiculous that it hurt.

Nobody spoke to me for the next ten minutes. Vivian asked Adrian about an investor luncheon. Eleanor gently mentioned an upcoming charity tea. Adrian answered in short phrases, never once glancing my way.

The silence around me felt thick. It was like everyone at that table had agreed that if they ignored me long enough, I might disappear.

Eleanor was the only one who eventually broke it.

"You should eat, dear."

Dear.

The simple word startled me enough that I looked up.

Her expression was mild.

"I'm fine," I murmured.

Vivian set down her teacup with a soft click. "She'll have to be. Adjustment is part of marriage. Especially for a gold digger like her. She wanted to marry into the Lanchester so much, right? She should enjoy it."

I didn't reply and just lowered my eyes, forcing myself to swallow a bite of toast.

By the time breakfast ended, my appetite was gone.

Adrian rose first. He slid his phone into his pocket and walked out without a single glance in my direction. Vivian followed soon after, pausing only to remark that I would attend Thursday's charity tea and would do well not to embarrass the family again.

Again.

As if I had done anything but survive what they all found so distasteful.

The morning dragged. The Lancaster estate was vast, beautiful, and as cold as a museum. Every maid I passed was glanced at me with indifference, like I was some unwanted guests. Every room gleamed. 

At noon, no lunch arrived.

At half past twelve, I realized that it probably wasn't an accident.

By one o'clock, hunger drove me downstairs.

The back kitchen was warm and noisy, filled with maids walking around.

An older woman with stern eyebrows looked up the moment I stepped in.

"Lost?"

I almost apologized and walked right back out.

"I'm sorry," I began. "I just thought maybe there might be tea, or something small, and if I'm not allowed..."

"Nonsense." She waved a hand. "It's a kitchen, not a courtroom."

The bluntness nearly made me smile.

"I'm Marta."

"Celia."

Marta's eyes flicked over my face, then she pointed to a stool. "Sit. You look like someone forgot to feed you."

A humiliating knot formed in my throat.

Ten minutes later, she placed a bowl of tomato soup and half a grilled cheese in front of me. The first spoonful was so warm, so normal, that I had to blink quickly before my eyes betrayed me.

"Thank you."

Marta snorted. "Don't thank me. Thank common sense."

I had just finished half the bowl when heels clicked in the doorway.

I looked up and my stomach instantly sank.

Sienna.

She stood there in a fitted white dress, sunglasses resting in her hair, her mouth curved in a smile too pretty to be kind.

Marta straightened immediately. "Miss Rowan."

"Can I borrow my sister for a minute?" Sienna asked sweetly.

Marta hesitated, then left after giving me a long look I couldn't quite read.

The second we were alone, Sienna's smile dropped.

"Well," she murmured, taking in the kitchen around me. "This suits you."

I set down my spoon. "Why are you here?"

"To check on you." Her gaze dropped to the ring on my finger. "And maybe to admire how far you'll go for leftovers."

Anger flashed through me. "You lied to him."

She gave a tiny shrug. "I couldn't stain my image. Plus, it's not my fault your 'husband' won't believe you."

"It is your fault. You forced me into this marriage. You ruined my life."

"No, Celia." She stepped closer. "I saved mine."

My hands curled into fists beneath the table.

She leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "Tell me, was it worth it? Throwing yourself into my place? Giving him your body when he thought you were me?"

How did she know? Did Adrian actually tell her?

"Yet even after that, he dumped you into a guest suite. Maybe your body was just that ugly. That's almost embarrassing enough to make me pity you."

I got to my feet so quickly the stool scraped hard across the floor.

"Get out."

To my astonishment, she laughed.

"Still pretending to have pride?" She tilted her head. "Listen carefully. Keep your head down, play obedient wife, and maybe Adrian will ignore you instead of crushing you. Because if you start believing this house is yours..." Her smile turned vicious. "I'll remind you exactly whose place you're borrowing."

Then she turned and glided out.

I stayed where I was, shaking too hard to move.

By evening, I found myself back in the kitchen helping Marta shape rosemary rolls simply because my room felt unbearable.

The dough stuck to my fingers. Flour dusted my dress. For the first time all day, my mind was almost quiet.

Then footsteps sounded behind us.

Adrian.

Marta went still at once. I did too.

He looked tired, jacket loosened, face drawn exhaustion. His eyes moved from the bread to the stew simmering on the stove, then to the flour on my hands.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Rosemary rolls," I replied before I could stop myself.

His gaze shifted to the pot. "And that?"

"Chicken stew," Marta answered.

A beat passed.

Then Adrian pulled out a chair and sat.

Both Marta and I stared.

He noticed. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, sir," Marta answered quickly.

He reached for the bowl she placed in front of him, took one spoonful, and froze.

My heart gave one hard thud. Then he lifted his eyes.

"Who made this?"

Marta opened her mouth, but I answered first.

"I did."

He looked at me for a long second. It was the first real trace of attention he had ever given me.