Chapter 3 No.3

The following days were a slow, grinding torture.

Adriana watched as her life was systematically dismantled. She saw them everywhere: Gifford and Jovita laughing in the garden; their heads bent close together over coffee on the terrace. Each glance was a fresh cut. She felt her energy drain away, leaving a hollow ache in her chest.

The staff watched, their faces impassive, but she could feel their pity. It was almost worse than the pain itself.

The public humiliation came at a Sunday brunch hosted by one of Gifford's business partners.

As they arrived, Jovita, clinging to Gifford's arm, stumbled slightly.

"Oh, be careful," Gifford said, his arm tightening around her protectively. He shot Adriana a look. A look that said, See? She's fragile. She needs me.

Later, a woman Adriana had known for years approached her.

"Gifford is so noble," the woman gushed. "Taking in that poor girl. It's a testament to his character."

Adriana just smiled, a perfect, empty smile.

The worst moment came when she tried to join a conversation between Gifford and his grandmother. They were discussing a new wing for the city hospital, a Stanton family donation.

"I was reading about the architectural firm they're considering," Adriana began. "I think their modernist approach might clash with the historical facade..."

"Adriana," Gifford interrupted, his tone patronizing. "This is a family matter. The board has it handled."

He turned back to his grandmother, dismissing Adriana as if she were a child who had wandered into an adult conversation. He had stripped her of her voice, of her role as his partner, in front of everyone. She was not family. She was an accessory.

The final, devastating blow landed that evening.

They returned home. The house was quiet. Adriana went straight upstairs, wanting only to escape into the silence of her room.

She found Jovita waiting for her in the hallway.

"Adriana," Jovita said, her eyes wide with a malicious sort of concern. "Can we talk?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Jovita."

"I'm just so worried," Jovita pressed on, blocking her path. "I know you're not happy I'm here. I saw the way you looked at me tonight. I think... I think you're planning to do something to hurt me."

The accusation was so absurd, so twisted, that Adriana could only stare.

"What are you talking about?"

"I just want you to know," Jovita said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "that if anything happens to me, Gifford will know it was you."

Before Adriana could process the threat, Gifford's voice boomed from the top of the stairs.

"What is going on here?"

He had been listening.

Jovita immediately burst into tears. "Gifford! I'm so scared. Adriana... she threatened me."

Gifford's face was thunderous. He stormed down the hallway and pulled Jovita behind him, shielding her as if Adriana were a physical threat.

He turned on Adriana, his eyes filled with a disgust that ripped the breath from her lungs.

"What is wrong with you?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "Are you so jealous, so pathetic, that you would threaten a guest in our home? A girl who has been through so much?"

"She's lying, Gifford." Adriana's voice was shaking, not with fear, but with a rage so profound it made her dizzy.

"Lying?" Gifford laughed, a short, ugly sound. "I see what's happening. I see the poison in you. I never thought you were capable of such pettiness. You are not the woman I married."

He was right. The woman he married would have apologized. She would have smoothed things over. She would have swallowed the injustice to keep the peace.

That woman was gone.

He put his arm around Jovita's shaking shoulders. It was the same gesture of comfort he used to offer Adriana when she'd had a bad day. A small, intimate rub between her shoulder blades.

Seeing it now, offered to this other woman, was like a physical blow.

"Come on, Jovita," he said softly. "I'll have Mrs. Gable prepare the guest suite in the east wing for you. You'll be safer there."

He was reorganizing his home, his life, around this girl. Publicly. Decisively.

He started to lead Jovita away, then stopped and looked back at Adriana. His face was cold, his eyes hard.

"We're hosting the annual Stanton Foundation charity gala next month," he said. "It's the most important event of our year. You will be there. You will be smiling. You will play your part. After that... after that, we need to seriously reconsider this marriage."

It was a threat. A final, public declaration that her position was temporary. Her role, conditional.

Adriana watched them walk away, the two of them, a united front. She was the outsider. The problem. The thing to be managed and, eventually, discarded.

She stood alone in the hallway of the house that was no longer her home.

The silence that followed was absolute.

She walked back to her room. She didn't cry. The time for tears was over.

She sat on the edge of her perfectly made bed and felt the last thread of hope snap.

She would play her part. She would go to his gala. She would smile.

And she would burn his world to the ground.