"She passed away."
"I loved her. More than I've ever loved anyone. I thought we'd have a home together soon."
"But that year, something happened to her family. They lost everything overnight. Her parents divorced. She couldn't take the shock, got into a car accident, and her life ended forever in the summer she turned twenty-four."
Liar.
I swallowed the disgust rising in my throat. The smile on my face didn't waver — flawless, impenetrable — as I watched him.
Men were such vile, slippery creatures.
He was the one who betrayed me first, and yet here he was, performing grief like a widower at a funeral. All the sympathy, all the admiration for his so-called devotion — he'd collected every last drop.
And me? I got nothing. Just the word tragic stamped on my name, and then I was forgotten.
"What a shame."
I rose from my seat.
"Excuse me. I need to use the restroom."
The moment I turned to leave, a hand closed around my wrist.
"Wait."
Jackson's throat bobbed. His gaze softened as he looked at me.
"Mrs. Stephens, you and her... you really do look alike."
That look in his eyes — so familiar, so full of tender longing.
As if he were staring right through me, seeing someone else. I knew exactly who he was seeing.
Do I look like her?
I offered a cool smile.
"There are plenty of people in this world who resemble each other. Call it fate, I suppose."
I glanced down at his hand, still wrapped around my wrist.
Jackson noticed too. He released me in a hurry, as if he'd been burned.
The gala certainly was lively tonight.
Jackson had barely finished talking to me when Millicent appeared, right on cue.
"Mrs. Stephens, I just saw you chatting with my husband. What exactly were you two doing?"
Her expression was guarded, her eyes sharp.
"I know Jackson has always been impressive — handsome, successful. Plenty of women out there have their eyes on him."
"You're Arthur Stephens' wife, Mrs. Stephens. I'd strongly suggest you don't get any ideas you shouldn't be having."
Oh, I was well aware.
When Jackson had grabbed my wrist in that moment of impulse just now —
She'd seen me.
They say women who clawed their way up by stealing someone else's husband are always the most vicious when it comes to catching a mistress.
I touched up my makeup lazily, letting out a soft laugh.
"What do you think I could possibly be doing?"
"Mrs. Gilbert, are you really that insecure about your own appeal?"