Chapter 4

Leah's POV

On my way out of the restroom, I ran into Clara in the hallway.

She had clearly been waiting there for me.

Clara was leaning against the wall, a slim cigarette held loosely between her fingers, her whole posture exuding an easy kind of arrogance.

When she saw me, she exhaled a slow curl of smoke and smiled. "Feel like talking, Ms. Leah?"

I stopped. I looked at her, my expression calm. "I can't think of anything we'd have to talk about."

"No?" Clara pushed off the wall and walked toward me, her eyes moving over me without any attempt to disguise it. "You really do look like me. Just enough. No wonder Ethan kept you around for three years."

She stepped closer, dropping her voice, her tone thick with the satisfaction of someone who had already won.

"Tell me.In those three years, how many times did he actually touch you? When he looked at you, was it your name he was saying in his head or mine?"

Something sharp hit me right in the chest.

The truth was, even though Ethan and I were married, the physical side of our marriage had been nearly nonexistent.

The few times anything happened. When he'd been drinking, or when he was in a dark place.

It felt less like intimacy and more like him losing control of something he was fighting to hold back.

Those times, he'd bury his face in the curve of my neck, and say something, over and over, barely a murmur.

I had never been able to make out the words. I had told myself he was saying my name.

Now I knew better.

He had been saying Clara.

She watched the color leave my face and smiled, satisfied.

"Leah." Her voice was cold and silky. "Know your place. A stand-in is a stand-in. When the real one comes back, the copy steps aside. What are you holding onto by keeping the Faulkner name? You're only humiliating yourself."

I looked at Clara's triumphant face and felt something unexpected rise inside me.

Amusement.

I actually laughed.

"You've got one thing wrong." My voice was cool and even, without a single tremor. "That title? If you want it, it's yours to take. All you need is for Ethan to offer it."

Before she could find her footing again, I walked past her and back into the room.

The energy inside was still buzzing.

I walked in, picked up my bag from the couch, and turned to Ethan. "I'm not feeling great. I'm going to head home."

Ethan's brow furrowed. "You were fine a minute ago. What's going on?"

He started to stand, about to say he'd take me himself, when Clara walked back in through the door.

"Oh!"

She had barely made it to the coffee table when she let out a startled cry. The wine glass slipped from her fingers without warning.

Deep red wine splashed across me. Soaking straight through my white dress, the stain blooming wide and vivid.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. I twisted my ankle, I just..." Clara's voice broke immediately, her eyes going red, her whole face crumpling into something devastatingly helpless.

Ethan's expression changed in an instant. He crossed the room in three quick strides.

I thought he was coming to help me.

He shoved past me and caught Clara by the arm.

"Are you hurt? Is your ankle okay?" His voice was full of urgency, full of worry.

The force of it knocked me off balance. My lower back slammed into the corner of the coffee table.

The pain was immediate and searing. I sucked in a sharp breath.

No one noticed.

Every eye in the room was on Clara.

"Clara, are you alright?"

"Someone get ice, now!"

After Ethan had checked that Clara was uninjured, he finally turned back to me. His gaze was cold.

"Leah, why were you standing so close? Didn't you see Clara coming? Apologize to her."

I stood there with one hand pressed to my lower back, staring at him.

Clara had thrown wine on me.

I was the one who was hurt.

And he was telling me to apologize.