Chapter 3 No.3

The days that followed blurred into a gray fog of quiet agony. Aliyah played her part. She stayed in her room, the door closed. She let the world believe she was broken.

Meanwhile, Benedict and Kendall solidified their new reality. Their laughter echoed from the kitchen. The scent of Kendall's perfume replaced Aliyah's in the master bathroom. Aliyah would hear the front door close late at night, a signal that they had returned from a dinner, a function, a life that no longer included her. Each sound was a small, sharp jab, a constant reminder of her exile.

The first public humiliation was at a charity gala Benedict insisted they still attend. "For the company's image," he'd said.

Aliyah had agreed, a silent observer in her own life. She wore a simple black dress. She stood by his side, a ghost in expensive silk.

Then Kendall arrived. She wore a stunning red gown, a stark slash of color in the muted ballroom. She walked straight to Benedict, ignoring Aliyah completely. She looped her arm through his.

"Darling," Kendall said, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "I was saving you a seat."

She smiled, a brilliant, proprietary smile. It was a declaration. He is mine. Aliyah saw the looks, the whispers that rippled through the crowd. She was the grieving widow. Kendall was the devoted companion, the one helping the great Benedict Howard through his tragedy.

Later, Aliyah found herself cornered by an old family friend.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Aliyah," the woman said, her eyes full of pity. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm..." Aliyah started, but the words caught in her throat.

Before she could answer, Benedict was there, his hand on her arm, his grip a little too tight. Kendall was at his other side, looking concerned.

"She's still very fragile," Benedict said, his voice a smooth performance of care. "We're taking it one day at a time."

"It's just so wonderful that you have Kendall to help you through this," the woman said, smiling warmly at the younger woman.

"I try to do what I can," Kendall said humbly. "Ben and Leo... they mean the world to me."

Aliyah tried to speak, to say something, anything. "I think-"

"Aliyah, darling, you look pale," Benedict cut her off, his smile never wavering. "Kendall, would you be a dear and get her a glass of water? I think the stress is getting to her."

He was dismissing her. Right there, in front of everyone. He made it clear her voice didn't matter. She was the patient. He and Kendall were the caretakers.

The final, definitive blow came a week later. Aliyah was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, when they came in from the garage. They were arguing.

"...don't think it's right, Ben," Kendall was saying. "What will people think?"

"They'll think I'm a man trying to move on from an unspeakable tragedy," Benedict snapped. "And they'll see a supportive, loving partner by my side."

Aliyah froze, hidden by the refrigerator door.

Kendall's voice softened. "But Aliyah... she's still here. In the house. She might get the wrong idea."

"What wrong idea?" Benedict's voice was laced with contempt. "That my life isn't over? That I deserve some happiness?" He sighed, a long, theatrical sound. "Look, I know this is hard. But her grief... it's becoming pathological. It's not healthy. She spends all day locked in her room, staring at the walls. Frankly, I'm worried she's losing her mind."

Kendall was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice dripping with faux concern, she said, "Do you think... do you think she might have had something to do with it? Postpartum depression can last for years, they say. Maybe she was overwhelmed. Maybe she... snapped."

The silence that followed was heavy. Aliyah held her breath, her knuckles white on the counter's edge.

"Don't be ridiculous," Benedict said, but there was no force in his words. He didn't defend her. He let the poison hang in the air. "She's not a monster. She's just... broken. And we have to protect ourselves from that."

He was painting her as unhinged. A danger. It was the perfect narrative.

He walked into the kitchen then, stopping short when he saw her. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his face settled into a mask of pity.

"Aliyah. I didn't see you there."

He came closer. He used to have this gesture, a way of tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear whenever she was stressed. It was a small, intimate act of care.

He reached out, but his hand went to Kendall, who had followed him in. He gently tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

The world tilted on its axis. He had taken that, too.

"Kendall and I are getting engaged," he announced, his eyes fixed on Aliyah, watching for her reaction. "It's what's best. A way to show the world we're a united front. A family."

He was announcing his happiness over the grave of their son.

Aliyah looked from his triumphant face to Kendall's smug one. She felt nothing. The pain had been burned out of her, leaving only a cold, hard resolve.

She had to give them what they wanted.

She nodded slowly, manufacturing a look of dazed confusion.

"A family," she repeated, her voice a hollow echo. "Yes. That's... nice."

She turned and walked out of the kitchen, her back straight. She didn't let them see the look in her eyes. She went to her room and packed a single bag. It was time for her graceful exit. Time to be the broken woman they needed her to be.