"She has an eye for these things. And frankly, Eliza, after the way you treated her last night, you owe her an apology."
I stared at him. "You want me to apologize to the woman who is sleeping with you?"
"I want you to apologize to my sister-in-law for physically assaulting her!" George snapped, his mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "If you can't do that, if you can't be civil, then maybe you really do belong in a psych ward."
He waited, challenging me. He expected me to fight. He expected the tears, the screaming, the "it's not fair."
But the Eliza who fought for fairness died in that hospital bed.
I took a deep breath. I forced the corners of my mouth up. It felt unnatural, like stretching plastic, but I held it.
"You’re right, George," I said softy.
He blinked, taken aback. "I am?"
"Yes. I was… out of my mind with grief. I shouldn't have pushed her. She’s family." I looked down, feigning shame. "I’d love to come. I want to make it right."
George studied me for a long moment, searching for the crack in my armor. When he didn't find one, he smiled—a smug, victorious smile.
"Good girl," he said, patting my head like a dog. "I knew you’d see reason."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone.
"Get dressed. We leave in an hour. And Eliza? Don't make me regret giving this back."
He tossed the phone onto the bed and walked out, leaving the door unlocked.
I waited until his footsteps faded before I grabbed the phone. My hands were trembling, not with fear, but with adrenaline.
I turned it on. Dozens of missed calls from my mother, from friends I no longer trusted. I ignored them all.
There was only one message that mattered.
It was from a number saved simply as Nico.
I opened the text.
I’ll see you soon, future wife. Be ready for me.
I stood in the shadows of a marble pillar, invisible in my red dress, while George and Donna paraded through the center of the room.
"Oh, George, look at this one!" Donna squealed, pointing a manicured finger at a sapphire necklace that cost more than my father’s house. "It matches my eyes perfectly."
"Then it’s yours," George said, his voice smooth as silk. He raised his paddle without even looking at the price.
I watched as the auctioneer slammed the gavel. Sold.