Chapter 3

The next morning, I started to pack.

My mother had already found us a place in London. The flight was booked for three days from now.

I didn't have much to take. My room was a mausoleum of Alessandro's ghosts—the gifts, the photographs, the memories. I wanted none of it.

I was zipping up the suitcase when Alessandro walked in.

He carried a small, elegant paper bag. He saw the suitcase and his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

I moved to block his view. "Seasonal cleaning. Donating some old clothes."

He didn't press. He set the bag on the entryway table. "Lilian's morning sickness is acting up. I got her some tiramisu from Cipriani—it’s the only thing she can keep down. I brought you some, too."

His tone was so casual, as if last night had never happened.

Just then, my mother came downstairs. Seeing Alessandro, she offered a polite smile.

She still didn't know.

In her eyes, Alessandro was just the boy I grew up with, the respectable heir to the Moretti family. A good man.

"Alessandro, good to see you this early," my mother said, taking the dessert. "You always take such wonderful care of Margaret and Lilian. When Margaret finally settles down, I can only hope she finds a man half as thoughtful as you."

My hand clenched into a fist at my side.

Alessandro just smiled, his expression warm and utterly false. "Auntie, Margaret and I grew up together. She's like a sister to me. When she starts dating, I'll be sure to vet the guy properly for her."

Like a sister.

I stared at his perfectly composed face, and the world tilted on its axis.

I remembered my birthday two years ago, when he’d walked away from a ten-million-dollar arms deal just to have dinner with me.

I remembered him renting out the entire estate gardens to light up the sky with fireworks, just for me.

I remembered the nights he had me pinned beneath him, groaning my name like a prayer, like he wanted to devour me whole, to meld me into his very bones.

And now, he said I was like a sister.

A violent wave of nausea surged through me.

I clapped a hand over my mouth and bolted for the bathroom.

The sound of me heaving echoed in the small space. I gripped the sink, pressing my forehead against the cool mirror, listening to my mother's anxious voice. "Margaret? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just drank too much last night."

I stayed behind the closed door, taking deep breaths, praying he would be gone when I came out.

He wasn't. He was blocking the doorway.

My mother was in the living room on the phone. We were alone in the hall.

He looked down at me, his dark eyes devoid of any warmth. He stated it like a fact. "You're pregnant."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to answer.

Alessandro sighed. Then, flatly, he said, "Get rid of it."

I looked up, meeting his gaze head-on. "By what right?"

"Lilian is pregnant, too, and she's extremely fragile right now," he said, his voice a monotone. "If she finds out you're pregnant, she'll have a breakdown. I won't have anything jeopardize her or the baby."

Lilian. Always, always Lilian.

It wasn't the first time.

Three years ago, I'd wanted an emerald necklace at an auction. Lilian mentioned she liked it, so he bought it for her without a second thought. His excuse to me? "You're my wife, you'll have everything. Let your sister have this."

Two Christmases ago, I was burning up with a fever, but he spent the entire night by Lilian's side, coddling her through an anxiety attack. When he came back the next day and found me delirious, all he said was, "Why didn't you call for a doctor?"

Every time I confronted him, the excuse was the same.

"She’s the weaker one, Margaret. You’re strong."

"She's your sister. I look out for her because she's important to you."

"You shouldn't be so petty."

I used to believe him. I thought I was the problem, that I was just jealous of a fragile sister who needed more care.

But now I saw it clearly. Every excuse was another link in the chain he used to bind me, to make my sacrifices feel normal so he could lavish all his affection on her.

His heart had left me a long, long time ago.

Alessandro reached out to touch my shoulder—the first time he'd tried to touch me since the party. He was so close I could smell the sickly sweet scent of Lilian's perfume clinging to his suit.

I recoiled, shoving him away with all my strength.

He stumbled back a step, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes.

"What gives you the right to demand anything of me?" I asked, my lips twisting into a sneer. "As what? My brother-in-law?"