Chapter 3

I planned Dad's funeral by myself.

Daniel didn't show. Said he had a board meeting.

Funny thing though—during the service, his Insta updated. New post: him and Sophie shopping on Fifth Avenue, all smiles.

"Poor Emily, married to a man like that," someone whispered behind me.

I just stood there, silent, staring at the altar.

After the service, I had to go back to the house. Some of Dad's stuff was still there—especially the painting he loved most.

The second I opened the door, I heard Sophie's voice floating from the living room.

"Daniel, I wanna learn how to paint. Teach me?"

"I don't know how to paint," he said, sounding way too relaxed.

"Then have Emily teach me. Didn't she major in art?"

I walked in. She was perched on his lap like she owned him.

When she saw me, she didn't even blink—just leaned in closer.

"Oh, you're back? Perfect timing. Daniel says you're good at painting. Teach me, will you?"

I didn't answer. Just kept walking toward the study.

"Emily." Daniel's voice dropped. Cold. "Sophie's talking to you."

I stopped. Looked over my shoulder. "And?"

"Apologize," he said, eyes sharp. "For being rude."

Was this real?

My dad had just been buried, and he wanted me to apologize to his side chick?

"I refuse."

"Emily!" He stood so fast Sophie flopped off him, all dramatic. "Don't push your luck."

"Push my luck?" I laughed, dry and sharp. "My father just died. And you're playing house with your side chick in our living room. Who's really pushing it here?"

Smack.

His hand connected with my cheek so hard my ears rang.

I froze.

Three years, and not once had he hit me—until now.

"Who are you calling a side chick?" His voice went dark. "Sophie's my fiancée. You were just a stand-in."

Fiancée.

Of course.

Sophie smirked. "Hear that? I'm the real Mrs. Wilson. You were just the temp while I was abroad."

My cheek stung, but I felt nothing.

"In that case, let's get divorced," I said.

"Divorced?" Daniel looked amused, like I'd told a joke. "You think marriage is some game? You don't just walk away."

"Then what do you want?"

"What do I want?" Sophie stood, heels clicking as she circled me. "I want you to take care of me, obviously. I mean, I AM the real bride. For starters, my laundry needs doing."

She pointed at a basket stuffed with her clothes.

"I'm not a maid."

"Of course not," she laughed. "Maids get paid. Do you?"

Daniel watched like he was enjoying the show.

I exhaled slow and steady. I walked toward the study. I was only here for Dad's things.

"Stop," Daniel said, stepping in front of the study door. "Do the laundry first."

"Move."

"Laundry. First." No wiggle room in his voice.

Sophie piped up, smug as ever. "Better hop to it, or Daniel's gonna get mad."

One look at his dead eyes, and it clicked.

This wasn't about chores. It was about breaking me.

"Fine." I spun around and headed for the laundry room.

Sophie's voice followed, way too happy.

"Daniel, she's so obedient."

"She knows her place." Cold.