Chapter Two

I went back alone to the guest room I’d lived in for five years.

Gordon had never allowed me into his master bedroom—just as he’d never once acknowledged me in public. I used to feel a furtive little thrill over this “private” room. Now it only felt ironic.

Blood was still seeping from my knee. Combined with the burning brand on my back, every movement tugged at raw nerves.

I had just finished wrapping my knee in a rough layer of gauze when Gordon walked in, his clothes carrying that sweet, sultry scent Paula liked to wear.

“All taken care of?” His tone was flat as his eyes skimmed over the stark white bandage on my knee.

“Mm.” I kept my head down, putting away the medical kit.

“Paula’s hand is fine.” His voice showed no change in emotion. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the table. “We’ll let this one go.”

His tone sharpened with reprimand. “From now on, do your own job. Don’t dump it on her. And stop targeting her on purpose.”

My fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the kit.

See? He didn’t even need to ask. The verdict had already been handed down in his mind. Paula would always be the delicate, put-upon victim in need of comfort and protection.

My patience and my injuries had become “laziness” and “malice.”

“I’m not targeting her.” I lifted my head. My voice was quiet, but clear.

He clearly hadn’t expected me to talk back. His hand froze mid-tap. His brows drew together, and a flicker of surprise—and then displeasure—crossed his eyes.

In the end, he simply waved a hand, dismissing me like a child throwing a tantrum. “Get some rest.”

That night, I stopped wondering where Gordon slept. Stopped wondering who he slept beside.

The next morning, when I opened my door, I was startled to find Gordon in the living room. It looked like he’d been waiting. He was dressed casually for once, none of his usual tailored armor.

“Does your knee still hurt?” he asked, turning to me. His tone was, unusually, gentle.

I blinked, caught off guard. “It’s better.”

“I remember you saying you wanted to go out on the water.” He picked up a set of car keys from the coffee table, the movement casual. “The weather’s nice, and that shipment went smoothly. I’ll take you out to clear your head.”

I stared at him.

Once, in one of my pathetic fantasies, I had pictured something like this—going to sea with him like a normal couple, feeling the wind and watching the sunset. Every time, he brushed me off with: too dangerous, no point, busy.

For five years, at his side, my existence had been confined to scheduling, passing him guns, taking calls, drinking in his stead. I was never “the one he took along to have fun.”

For one second, I almost believed he had remembered me.

Until—

We reached the car. I instinctively headed for the passenger seat.

Before I could touch the door, the window slid down. Paula’s carefully made-up face appeared, smiling softly. “Morning, Alani. Gordon said you were coming too. Perfect, it’ll be livelier on the way.”

“Paula said she wanted to see the ocean,” Gordon added, sliding behind the wheel, his tone light.

So that was it.

I was the one being brought *along for the ride*.

The sea wind tasted of salt as it blew across my face. The expanse of blue on the horizon was vast and bright—and yet my chest felt unbearably tight.

“Gordon, I want that fruit tart. And some smoked salmon,” Paula said, pointing to the buffet table not far from us, her eyes bright and childish.

Gordon turned his head toward me. “Alani, go get it.” He paused, then added, “She likes it sweet. More berries.”

My fingertips shook. He remembered Paula’s taste in food—but had forgotten that I was severely allergic to peanuts, and many of those delicate little pastries were dusted with crushed nuts.

I said nothing. I just nodded. “Okay.”

I went back and forth, carrying food and drinks to the sofa where they lounged.

Gordon sat beside Paula, carefully handing her tissues, removing the garnishes she didn’t like, wiping a smear of cream from the corner of her lips, murmuring something that made her laugh behind her hand.

He never once noticed that the plate in front of me remained untouched, or that the gauze at my knee was seeping red again from all the walking.

The wind picked up. Gordon was called inside by an urgent phone call. Paula complained that it was too windy on deck and stuffy inside, and insisted I walk with her somewhere quieter.

She pulled me along toward a deserted viewing deck at the bow.

“You’re limping,” she remarked suddenly, tilting her head, her smile all innocence. “Did you hurt yourself yesterday? Poor thing.”

I kept my expression neutral and stopped when she stopped.

“You know,” she said, her voice still sweet as sugar while her eyes turned cold and mocking, “people like you are the funniest. You really think—”

“That wearing a ring makes you the mistress of the house.” Her gaze swept over me with lazy contempt. “But the truth is… you’re just a secretary. One who can be replaced anytime.”

When I didn’t answer, she stepped closer, lowering her voice, her words honeyed with malice. “Alani, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away on your own. You’ll at least keep a shred of dignity. Wait until Gordon has to say it to your face, and that’s when it’ll get ugly.”

“Dignity?”

The corner of my mouth lifted, very faintly, in something almost like pity.

“Paula, you’re leaning on your ‘widow’ status to milk his guilt and favoritism, and at the same time you can’t resist using me to prove just how uncontrollably he ‘loves’ you…” I didn’t bother to soften my voice. “This act of wanting to be both the victim and the victor—that’s what’s really ugly.”

I ignored her face, gone suddenly stiff. “You want his love, but you don’t dare want it openly. If you’re not exhausted, I’m tired just from watching.”

“You—!” She clearly hadn’t expected me to strip her bare like that. The mask shattered in an instant, and raw jealousy and rage twisted her features.

“Bitch!” she screeched.

Madness flashed in her eyes. Then she suddenly shoved me—hard.

“No—”

I had no time to brace. My injured leg slipped, and I pitched backward. My spine slammed into the icy metal railing, and then I went up and over, plunging into the freezing sea.

There was a dull *thud* as the water swallowed me.

Salt water filled my nose and mouth, burning my lungs. I struggled to the surface with everything I had left and screamed, “Gordon! Hel—help!”

Gordon heard the commotion and rushed out from the cabin.

“Alani?”

He started to move—

But Paula let out a much more dramatic shriek and collapsed on the deck. “Ah! My ankle! Gordon, it hurts—”

She clutched at her ankle, where a small cut from the metal edge of the deck was bleeding. Her face had gone pale, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Gordon stopped dead.

In that moment, time stretched. His gaze flicked between us, back and forth, his expression torn. But the hesitation was so brief it might as well not have existed.

“Don’t be afraid.”

He scooped Paula into his arms, turned his back on me without another glance, and disappeared into the cabin at a run.

The cold ocean wrapped around me, dragging me downward.

And I could only think, darkly amused, how absurd it all was.