Chapter 3

Edward let out a breath he didn' t realize he' d been holding. He thought he knew me so well. My pride, my composure, my supposed emotional distance. He believed I was incapable of the kind of raw jealousy that would lead me to suspect him. He was a fool.

"You look pale," he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheek. The gesture, which once would have made my heart flutter, now felt like the touch of a snake. "Did something happen at the office?"

"Just a long day," I lied, leaning into his touch just enough to sell the performance. "The wedding plans are a bit overwhelming."

He bought it completely. "I know, darling. It'll all be worth it." He kissed my forehead, a gesture of feigned affection. "I'll run you a bath. You just relax."

He turned and went into the master bathroom, leaving the door ajar. I knew Dara was still in there. A morbid curiosity, a need to see the full extent of their depravity, pulled me forward. I crept to the door and peered inside.

Dara was submerged in the oversized marble tub, surrounded by bubbles, a smug smile on her face. She looked like a pampered cat.

Edward knelt by the tub. "You need to be more careful," he whispered, his voice a low caress. "She almost saw you."

"Wouldn't that be more exciting?" Dara pouted, splashing a bit of water at him. "Getting caught."

He chuckled and caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. "You're a wicked girl. But I'll make it up to you later, I promise."

My stomach churned. The casual intimacy, the shared conspiracy-it was a physical blow. I stumbled back, my hand pressed against the wall to steady myself. The air in the penthouse suddenly felt thick and suffocating, still carrying the faint, foul scent of them.

I remembered Edward explaining why he always kept the windows closed. "The city air is so polluted, darling. I want to keep our home pure for you."

Pure. The irony was so bitter it almost made me laugh.

I couldn't stay there. I couldn't breathe the same air as them for another second. I turned and fled down the grand, sweeping staircase, my bare feet silent on the cold marble.

I found myself in the cavernous living room, sinking onto a cream-colored sofa by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glittering lights of the New York skyline spread out before me, a city that had once felt like my kingdom, now felt like my cage.

A few minutes later, Edward came down, holding a glass of water. He stopped when he saw me, a flicker of something-was it guilt?-crossing his features before it was gone.

He looked at me sitting there, bathed in the city lights, and I saw a tremor of genuine admiration in his eyes. I was, by all accounts, beautiful. The kind of polished, old-money beauty that he, with all his new-money billions, had desperately wanted to possess. But he quickly smothered the thought. I could almost hear his internal monologue, the one I' d heard in my past life: She' s beautiful, but cold. Malicious. Not like my sweet, gentle Dara. He had convinced himself of this narrative to justify his own treachery.

"Why did you come downstairs?" he asked, his voice soft and laced with that same fake concern. "I was running you a bath."

I didn't look at him. "It felt stuffy upstairs."

He came over and stood behind the sofa. He picked up a towel from a nearby chair and began to gently dry my still-damp hair. It was another one of his signature moves, an act of tender domesticity designed to disarm me. In my first life, I had melted under this touch, believing it was proof of his love. Now, I sat rigid, my mind clear and cold. I knew this was just an act, a part of the long con. He had sacrificed so much, even his own body in a way, to win my trust and my family's fortune.

Just then, a small figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Dara, wrapped in one of my silk robes, looked down at the scene. Her eyes narrowed with a flash of pure venomous jealousy. She couldn't stand seeing him touch me, even in this staged, passionless way. She believed she owned him.

With a small, theatrical whimper, she "tripped," tumbling down the last few steps and landing in a heap on the floor.

"Dara!"

Edward dropped the towel and rushed to her side in an instant. He didn't even glance back at me. He knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her as if she were made of glass.

"Are you hurt? Did you fall?" His voice was thick with genuine panic, a stark contrast to the hollow affection he showed me.

Dara, clutching her ankle, looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. Then, her gaze flickered over to me, a triumphant, mocking little smirk playing on her lips. It was a clear message: See? He loves me. You are nothing.

I felt a chill spread through my body that had nothing to do with the night air. I lowered my gaze, hiding the fury in my eyes. It was one thing to know the truth, but to see his preference for her displayed so blatantly, so cruelly... it solidified something inside me.

When I looked up again, my expression was serene. The storm inside me had passed, leaving behind a hard, diamond-bright clarity. They thought this was their game. They had no idea I was the one who had already rewritten all the rules.