_Danica's POV_The dining room had always been too large for breakfast. I sat in my usual seat, third from the end, where I’d always been placed since moving into this house, and watched my stepmother’s sister, Margot, butter her toast.“Such a shame about the gala,” Margot said, her voice carrying that particular pitch women like her perfected, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to claim innocence. “Celeste looked forward to it all year.”My fingers tightened around my fork. Celeste wasn’t here because I existed. Because carrying evidence of my father’s attention had finally pushed her over an edge I hadn’t known existed.“Well.” My stepmother’s cousin, Philippa, dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin. “Some people simply can’t handle adversity with grace.”The words landed like stones. I kept my eyes on my plate, scrambled eggs I couldn’t eat, fruit I couldn’t stomach. The baby had turned my body into a battleground, and breakfast was usually the first casualty.“I heard the Whitmor
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