Chapter 3

I was done fighting.

The security notification lingered on my screen for a few seconds before disappearing.

I stared at the name "Elena," then went straight to the Upper East Side apartment.

The door opened to a living room stacked with four or five suitcases.

Elena was padding out of the master suite barefoot.

"Claire's here?"

She pointed at the boxes on the floor.

"Give me a hand? I can't lift heavy things right now."

I didn't move.

But someone was still going in and out of the master suite.

A cleaning woman came out carrying a box, startled when she saw me, then turned to ask Elena:

"Mrs. Elena, shall I put all these maternity supplies in the master bathroom?"

Elena answered easily.

"Go ahead."

I looked at Dominic.

He was adjusting the room's climate control system for her.

From start to finish, he never corrected that "Mrs. Elena."

I walked into the master suite.

The engagement photo that Dominic and I had chosen together just last month—the one on the bedside table—was gone.

Only two nail holes remained on the wall.

"Where's the photo?"

Elena poked her head in from behind.

"I had someone put it away."

"Opening my eyes at night to your two giant faces staring at me—how creepy would that be?"

She laughed at her own joke.

Dominic only glanced at her.

"Quit being ridiculous."

I opened the closet door.

My silk robes and the formal dresses I'd prepared to wear after the wedding had all been shoved to the very back.

The other half was already crammed with Elena's things.

Even my toiletries from the bathroom had been packed into a cardboard box and placed by the door.

Elena pointed at it.

"Claire, your perfume and body wash are too strong. I smell anything fragrant right now and I want to throw up."

"You haven't moved in yet anyway, so I had them put away."

Dominic's response was even more seamless.

"Once she gives birth, we'll put everything back."

I looked at him.

"Why is she in the master suite?"

"The guest room doesn't have an en suite bathroom."

Dominic frowned slightly, as if answering a completely unnecessary question.

"She's a pregnant woman. Running back and forth isn't convenient."

I looked at Elena's stomach, which wasn't even showing yet.

"And after the wedding? Where do I sleep?"

Elena was unwrapping her own pillow, not even looking up.

"The guest room, obviously."

She laughed.

"Claire, you're not going to fight a pregnant woman for the master suite, are you?"

Dominic didn't laugh, but what he said was worse than anything Elena had said.

"It's just a few months."

"You're perfectly healthy. What does it matter where you sleep?"

I stood beside the bed we'd picked out together, watching my things being carried out one by one.

Next month, I would walk down the aisle in a wedding dress and marry Dominic.

The reception would go ahead as planned.

The guests would all be invited.

Everyone would call me the bride.

But the marriage license bore Elena's name.

The master suite of the Upper East Side apartment belonged to Elena.

Even on my wedding night, when I came home, I'd be sleeping in the guest room.

Elena suddenly remembered something and dug a deep blue velvet jewelry box out of her suitcase.

"Oh, right."

She opened it to show me.

Inside was a pair of Moretti family heirloom emerald rings.

I recognized them.

On the day of our engagement, Mrs. Moretti had slipped one onto my wrist to see how it looked.

She'd said:

"This was left by Dominic's grandmother. When you officially become the mistress of the Moretti household, it'll be yours."

Elena slid the bracelet onto her own wrist.

"Mrs. Moretti said since I'm carrying the baby, she's giving it to me first—to bless the family's fortune."

She shook her wrist.

"Pretty heavy."

I looked at Dominic.

He only said:

"She's just wearing it for a few months."

"It'll still be yours eventually."

In that moment, I suddenly couldn't even muster the will to argue.

The marriage license could be lent out.

The Upper East Side apartment could be lent out.

The heirloom ring meant for the family's mistress could be lent out.

Even the husband—he could be lent to Elena for a few months first.

Every indignity they couldn't bear to let Elena suffer, they made me suffer instead.

When I got home, I sent a message to the family corporation's executive vice president.

[That European port project you mentioned—has the lead been assigned yet?]

The reply came quickly.

[Not yet. Why the sudden interest?]

I typed a single line.

[I want to go.]

The other end paused for a few seconds.

[Isn't your wedding next month?]

I stared at that sentence and deleted the explanation I'd originally typed out.

[It won't affect the project.]

Soon, the reply came:

[Done.]

[Once you've got things arranged on your end, head over directly.]