Chapter 3

Leah's POV

After breakfast, the car took us to one of the most exclusive private members' clubs in the city.

When we pushed open the door to the private room, it was already full.

Friends from Ethan's circle.

I had been to a few of these gatherings before. They were always polite enough to me, but there was always a faint undercurrent of distance. The kind that comes with looking down at someone from a height.

I had always assumed it was because my background was ordinary. That I just didn't fit into this world.

But today, I saw Clara Sutton sitting at the center of the group, and I finally understood.

Clara was dressed in a white couture gown, her makeup immaculate, her smile warm and composed.

People had gathered around her, talking over each other to get her attention.

"Clara, you're finally back! Ethan has missed you so much these past few years!"

"It really wasn't the same without you. Our get-togethers felt so flat."

The moment our door opened, the room went quiet.

Every pair of eyes turned toward Ethan and me. The atmosphere shifted into something sharp-edged.

Clara rose from her seat. Her gaze swept over me briefly, then landed on Ethan, full of warmth. "Ethan, you're here. And this must be Ms. Leah?"

Not Mrs. Faulkner.

Ms. Leah.

Ethan's friends exchanged small, knowing glances.

Ethan guided me over and we sat down on the couch.

"Yeah. This is Leah." A brief introduction. Nothing more.

I sat beside him, quiet, like someone watching from the outside as the rest of them laughed and talked.

Someone stirred the pot on purpose. "So Clara, I heard you're back to stay? Does that mean you and Ethan are going to-"

They dragged out the question, letting the implication hang in the air, their expression sly.

Ethan didn't shut it down. He just picked up his glass and took a slow sip, his expression unreadable.

Clara covered a laugh with her hand. "Don't be ridiculous. Ethan is a married man now. I came back for my art exhibition, that's all."

Then she turned to look at me, and there was something in her eyes. A flicker of challenge she almost managed to hide. "Ms. Leah, I heard you studied design? I'd love for you to come see my work sometime. Feel free to share your thoughts."

"She doesn't really know much about that."

I hadn't even opened my mouth. Ethan had already answered for me.

His tone was offhand. Casual.

But it landed like a slap across my face.

A few poorly-suppressed laughs filtered through the room.

Someone muttered, just loud enough to reach my ears: "She's just a stand-in. What would she know about art? Being a passable imitation is already a stretch."

My fingers curled hard. My nails pressed into my palm.

I turned to look at Ethan.

He was leaning back against the cushions, turning his lighter over in his fingers. Completely unbothered by what had just been said. Not even flinching.

Or maybe he just didn't care whether I was hurt or not.

I suddenly felt like none of this was worth my time anymore.

I let my hand relax and stood up. "I'll be right back. I just need to use the restroom."

Without acknowledging anyone's looks, I walked out of the room.

Leaning against the sink in the restroom, I stared at the pale face looking back at me from the mirror and laughed. Quietly, at myself.

Leah, what exactly are you still waiting for?

These fifteen days. Let them be one long, slow funeral for three years of foolish, one-sided love.