Chapter 2

Sabrina moved in the very next day, claiming her apartment was being renovated.

Orion didn't consult me. He simply installed her in the guest suite next to our bedroom.

I didn't argue. Arguments require the other person to care about your answer—and in this house, no one cared what I felt.

Less than twenty-four hours after moving in, she already acted like the lady of the estate.

Sunbathing by the pool in a silk camisole. Hosting the wives who always whispered behind my back for afternoon tea in the garden. Her laughter drifted through every open window—bright, brazen, like she was marking territory.

And whenever Orion and I were alone for more than three minutes, she would materialize out of thin air. A phone call, an "urgent" request—and every single time, he got up and left without a moment's hesitation.

The second afternoon, I passed through the east wing corridor and noticed my study door standing wide open.

The room had been gutted.

My desk was gone. My bookshelves had been hauled away. In their place stood a mahogany wardrobe and a gold-framed full-length mirror, with rows of designer gowns lining every wall. Sabrina's perfume hung so thick I could almost taste it—cloying, sticky, an unabashed declaration of conquest.

My fingers gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white. This room had once held everything.

That corner—Orion had pinned me against that wall. His lips came down hot with whiskey, kissing me so hard my head hit the plaster and he still didn't let go. That window seat—we'd started a thousand-piece puzzle of Iceland's northern lights together, half-finished, never completed.

All of it erased. As if I had never drawn breath in this room.

"Oh, there you are." Sabrina appeared behind me, arms full of shopping bags. "Isn't this space wonderful? The natural light is perfect for getting dressed."

My throat closed up.

Orion's footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. He stopped beside me, glanced at the transformed room, and showed no reaction whatsoever.

"Orion." My voice cracked. "This is my study."

"She needs more space." He didn't spare me a look. "The closet in the guest suite can't fit her clothes."

Sabrina smiled sweetly. "Don't mind it, darling. I had the staff box up your old things. They're tucked away somewhere in the basement."

The basement. Where we stored broken furniture waiting to be thrown out.

Seeing my expression, she bit her lower lip in a show of remorse and turned to Orion. "Was I too much? Maybe... we should change this room back for her."

Orion's face hardened. "No need. This room was designed exactly to your taste. No point in changing it again."

Sabrina's eyes lit up instantly. "I still remember you once said that when we grew up, you'd build me a dressing room just like this."

She paused, lashes lowering, her lips curving into a smile so tender it was cruel.

"I didn't think you actually remembered."

I stared blankly at the hardwood floor. How touching—decades of history between them. And here I stood, an outsider, counting the seconds until I could escape this heartwarming reunion.

I turned and walked away. Behind me came Sabrina's delighted laughter.

Over the next two days, her presence crept inch by inch across the entire estate.

The white peonies in the foyer were replaced with her calla lilies. My Tuscan dinnerware was swapped for her French porcelain. The linen curtains I'd chosen were torn down and replaced with her velvet drapes.

Every trace of me was being methodically erased.

In that moment, I understood with brutal clarity: what was being replaced wasn't just furniture, wasn't just my place in this house.

It was the weight of memories. The warmth of every promise he'd once whispered in the dark.

All of it, replaced by her.

I said nothing. Kept my head down. Counted the days.

On the third night, at two in the morning, I woke up thirsty.

The corridor was pitch black. Halfway down the stairs, I heard sounds—coming from the direction of the wine cellar. Low, intimate, like music played for only two.

The door stood half-open, amber light spilling onto the hallway floor.

I should have turned back.

But my feet carried me forward. My palm pressed against the cold doorframe as I leaned in.

Orion held Sabrina in his arms.

Her back rested against the wine rack, fingers clutching his collar. His forehead pressed to hers as they swayed slowly, dancing to a melody only they could hear.

"Do you remember?" Sabrina murmured. "That night the power went out... you held me just like this. You never let go. Not until dawn."

Orion didn't answer, but he didn't release her either. His palm lay flat against the small of her back, pulling her closer.

Those hands.

The hands that once cradled my face like something precious were now pressed against another woman's waist.

Something cracked open in my chest—swift and clean, like the sound of bone snapping.

I stumbled backward. My heel caught the edge of a step. I grabbed the railing just in time, but a choked sob escaped before I could swallow it down.

Before either of them could react, I had already fled to my room and locked the door.

In the vanity mirror, a woman stared back at me, face ashen, tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto her collarbone. The fresh sunflower tattoo gleamed under the light, covering a promise that no longer existed.

What a fool I was. While covering one old wound, I had carved a hundred new ones.

My laptop sat open on the desk. On the screen, the acceptance email from MIT's chemical engineering program still flickered—the only lifeline I'd grabbed months ago.

I opened the airline website. My fingers trembled so badly it took three tries to type the destination.

One-way ticket. Boston. Departing in seven days.

The cursor hovered over the confirm button.

Seven days. I just had to endure seven more days.

I clicked purchase.

The confirmation email arrived seconds later. I stared at the letters until they blurred into a smear of light.

Then I closed the laptop and curled into the darkness.