Chapter 3

The last thing I wanted was to walk into a room full of people waiting to watch me fall apart. But two days later, Florence Ford's birthday party was happening whether I liked it or not, and skipping it wasn't an option.

The party was held at The Ford Estate.

Charles and I had barely stepped through the door when I spotted Vivian. She had her arm looped through Florence's and was leaning in close, whispering something that made the old woman throw her head back and laugh. Florence, who never smiled at anyone, was practically glowing.

They looked like family.

I watched them for a moment, then turned to look at Charles. His eyes were soft in a way I hadn't seen in a long time, and something about that quiet, tender look on his face made my chest ache.

He caught me staring and shifted uncomfortably.

"Vivian is Grandma's guest," he said. "I couldn't exactly tell her no. If you don't want to deal with this, we can drop off the gift and I'll take you upstairs."

I didn't say anything. But Charles was already steering me toward them. After the pleasantries, he gestured for the staff to bring forward the gift.

"Grandma, Susan spent six months making this for you by hand," he said. "She put everything into it, and she hopes you'll love it."

Florence pulled her attention away from Vivian and gave me a brief, indifferent glance.

"That was thoughtful of you," she said flatly, and looked away.

Florence's expression said everything, and I felt a bitter smile cross my face.

She had never liked me, not from the moment Charles and I first got married.

After the divorce went public and dragged the Ford family and Vivian onto the trending page, she liked me even less.

When Charles and I "reconciled," I wanted to make things easier for him and not put him in the middle, so I spent six months working with an artist on a custom oil portrait of Florence as her birthday gift. I wanted her to see that I was trying.

But I never got the chance to give it to her, because I found out the truth about the reconciliation before the party. I was already planning to leave.

I was still trying to pull myself together when Florence reached over and pulled the silk cloth off the gift.

A bouquet of white lilies sat inside the box, stark and unmistakable.

Florence's face went cold. She pressed down her anger and said, "This is what you spent six months putting together for me?"

My heart lurched.

Florence was old-fashioned, and white lilies at a birthday celebration were about as offensive as people could get. Everyone knew they were funeral flowers.

But my portrait. How had it ended up as this?

I looked over at Charles without thinking.

He was the only one who had touched my gift before the party.

I never got the chance to hear him explain, because Vivian's voice cut in, bright with barely concealed delight.

She said, "Susan, are you trying to send a message to Mrs. Ford? Mrs. Ford, please don't let her upset you. She's not worth it. Come look at what I brought you instead."

She clapped her hands, and someone carried in another box.

When it was opened, my oil portrait sat inside, every detail exactly as I had left it.

My stomach dropped.

There was nothing left to figure out.

Vivian had wanted to humiliate me, so she had gotten Charles to swap out my gift and let me walk into Florence's birthday looking like I had wished her dead.

I dug my nails into my palm and felt nothing but cold spreading through my chest.

I didn't go back to the party after that.

From across the room, I watched Vivian take her place at Charles' side and greet the guests with him, standing next to Florence like she had always belonged there. She looked every bit like his wife.

Bitterness settled in my chest.

The Ford family bracelet was on her wrist, so wasn't that exactly what she was?

I waited out the rest of the celebration and finally moved toward Charles to leave. But Florence had already sent the butler to stop me at the door.

The butler stepped forward with a whip in his hands and said, "Ms. Lane, Mrs. Florence Ford says she won't hold the lilies against you, but as Mr. Ford's wife, you need to learn your place. She wants to make sure this lesson sticks."

Charles stared at the whip, and the barbs along its length made him frown. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said, "It's only a few lashes, Susan. Bear with it and stop upsetting Grandma."

I had stopped expecting anything from Charles a long time ago, so I gave a small nod and said quietly, "Fine."

They led me to a back room, and the butler raised the whip and brought it down again and again.

Each stroke cut through the air and landed hard across my back, and when he pulled it back, the barbs tore into my skin and dragged away flesh.

By the ninth lash, I was covered in blood.

As the darkness pulled me under, I did the math. Two more days.