Chapter 2

Liv POV

The next morning, the silence in the house hung heavy and oppressive, like the static air before a thunderstorm. I moved through the rooms like a sleepwalker, my body present but my spirit hovering somewhere near the ceiling, detached and watching the tragedy unfold.

I started packing.

Not everything-just the things that mattered. The cheap silver bracelet my mother gave me before she died. The journals I used to write poetry in before Marcus told me it was a waste of time. I packed them into a small box and shoved it to the back of the closet, hidden behind the rows of designer dresses he had bought me.

"What are you doing?"

I jumped. Marcus was standing in the doorway, buttoning his cuffs. He looked impeccable, his face untouched by the alcohol or the cruelty of the night before.

"Just organizing old things," I said. My voice was steady. It was amazing how easy it was to lie when you had nothing left to lose.

He didn't press. He didn't care enough to press.

"I've been busy, Liv," he said, checking his watch in the mirror. "The business is demanding right now. I know I haven't been around."

He was offering a blanket excuse, just as he had justified the unanswered calls when my father was sick last month.

"It's okay," I said. "I understand."

He looked at me then, really looked at me, frowning slightly. "You look pale. Are you sick?"

I had been throwing up for three days. My period was late. But I looked him in the eye and shook my head.

"Just tired."

His phone rang. He snatched it from the dresser before I could even glance at the screen. He answered it, his voice dropping an octave, becoming urgent and engaged in a way it never was with me.

"David Hayes is calling," he said after hanging up. "Your father. There's a dinner tonight."

"I don't want to go," I started to say.

"We're going," Marcus interrupted. He grabbed my arm, firmly guiding me out of the room. "It's family. Everyone will be there."

He didn't mean my father. He meant her.

Before we left, he handed me a box wrapped in silver paper.

"Give this to Izzy," he said casually. "It's a late birthday gift. I didn't have time to give it to her yesterday."

I took the box. It was light, but it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He was using me as his courier, his cover.

"You're so thoughtful," I said. The sarcasm was thick on my tongue, but he heard only compliance.

The dinner was held at the main estate, a cavernous hall where the long table was set with crystal and china. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and expensive wine.

When we arrived, Marcus didn't wait for me. He walked straight to where Izzy was standing by the fireplace. They didn't touch, but the air between them crackled. It was a magnetic pull, undeniable and sickening.

"This is Liv," my uncle said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "And this is Isabella, Marcus's favorite cousin."

Izzy smiled at me. It was a predator's smile, sharp and knowing.

"Marcus gave me a gift for you," I said, extending the silver box.

She opened it. A diamond bracelet glittered inside. It caught the light, dazzling and obscene.

"Oh, Marcus," she purred, looking past me directly at him. "You have such exquisite taste."

I stood there, invisible.

We sat down for dinner. Marcus sat at the head of the table. I was on his right. Izzy was on his left.

He spent the entire meal turning his head to the left.

The servers brought out the main course: Lobster Thermidor.

Marcus picked up the serving spoon. He scooped a large, succulent piece of lobster tail.

"Here," he said, his voice dripping with affection. "I know how much you love this."

He placed it on Izzy's plate.

Then, without cleaning the spoon, he scooped another piece and dropped it onto mine.

"Eat up, Liv," he said, not even looking at me.

I stared at the plate. My throat began to close up just looking at it.

"I'm allergic to shellfish, Marcus," I whispered.

He paused. The fork froze halfway to his mouth. He looked at me, genuine confusion in his eyes.

"Since when?"

"Since always," I said. "Since the day you married me."

The table went quiet. Izzy let out a small, tinkling laugh.

"Oh, Marcus," she said, touching his arm. "You're just so busy with the family. You can't remember everything."

He relaxed. He smiled at her, grateful for the excuse.

"Right," he said. "Just eat the side dishes, Liv. Don't be dramatic."

I looked at the man who was supposed to be my protector. He didn't know me. He didn't care if I lived or died, as long as I played my part.

I watched him pour wine into Izzy's glass, his hand brushing hers. I saw the look they exchanged-a look of shared secrets and a bond that excluded the rest of the world.

I wasn't his wife. I was the shield. I was the distraction.

I put my napkin on the table.

"Excuse me," I said.

I walked to the bathroom, locked the door, and sank to the floor. I didn't cry. I was done crying. I sat on the cold tiles and made a promise to myself.

I was going to disappear. And when I did, I was going to make sure he never forgot the name he couldn't remember.