Chapter 3

Lillian's words sounded almost ironic coming from her.

Zoe glanced at her twisted left hand. "Okay."

Lillian clapped her hands. "I'll take care of everything. I'll invite a few friends to make it lively. Oh, and—"

She tilted her head, her voice even softer. "Let's invite Marty. He and Stanley are such good friends. It wouldn't feel right not to include him, would it?"

The air inside the car seemed to freeze.

Stanley's fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

He watched Zoe's face in the rearview mirror.

He was waiting for her to break, to scream, to lose control, just like she had a year ago.

Zoe let out a faint, bitter smile. Her chapped lips split, and a bead of blood seeped out. "Sure. Invite him."

She was going to die anyway. There was nothing left to lose.

Something just felt off to Stanley, but he couldn't say exactly what.

It was like something was stuck in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Without warning, he slammed his foot on the gas.

The car surged forward, and Zoe's body was thrown hard against the door handle.

The front door opened. Zoe stepped inside, then froze.

The vase in the hall, the one she'd bought at an auction, was gone. In its place sat a crystal vase filled with white roses. The whole house carried the scent of Lillian's favorite perfume.

She slipped on her slippers and stepped inside, her eyes moving slowly over the room. The sofa was new. So was the coffee table. Even the curtains had been changed.

Their wedding photo was no longer on the wall. Instead, there was a painting of Lillian in a white dress, a cat in her arms, her smile soft and gentle.

Zoe stood in front of the painting for a moment, then turned and headed upstairs, pushing open the door to the master bedroom.

Pink floral sheets covered the bed. Rows of makeup lined the vanity. The closet was packed with clothes that weren't hers. The air was heavy with a sweet, cloying perfume.

There was nothing left of her in that room. Her face stayed blank as she closed the door.

Now, her place was the guest room at the end of the hall. It faced north, and the small window barely let in any light. Mold crept along the corners of the walls.

The mattress on the narrow bed was so thin that she could feel the hard springs underneath when she pressed down on it.

Zoe reached into her pocket and took out a rusty razor blade. She grabbed a tissue, wiped the blood off it, then slipped it under the pillow.

She sat on the edge of the bed. The springs creaked softly beneath her weight as the room slowly sank into darkness.

A steady three knocks broke the dead silence.

Zoe got up and opened the door. Lillian was standing outside, holding a bowl.

It was filled with hot peanut soup, the rich smell rising straight into Zoe's nose.

Lillian smiled. "Zoe, you've been through so much this past year. I made you some peanut soup to warm you up. You should eat it while it's hot."

Zoe stared at the bowl, her throat tightening.

She was allergic to peanuts. Even touching them would leave her with a rash. If she ate them, her throat would swell shut. She could go into shock and die.

Everyone in the Thornton family knew that. Three years ago, when she first came to this house, Stanley's mother had told the kitchen staff never to use peanuts in any form.

Lillian had been sitting right there at the table that day. She'd heard every word.

And now she stood in the doorway, holding a bowl of something that could kill Zoe, smiling like nothing was wrong.

Zoe slowly lifted her gaze to meet Lillian's eyes. In the dim light of the hallway, she saw it clearly—excitement. Lillian looked like she was waiting for a show to begin.

"I spent all afternoon making this just for you," Lillian said, nudging the bowl a little closer.

Her voice softened, tinged with hurt. "I even looked up the recipe. Peanuts are good for you. You were at Tranquil Grace Academy for so long. You need to build your strength back up. Zoe, you won't even try a bite?"

Her eyes reddened on cue, her lower lip trembling. "Are you still upset with me? Do you think I took your place?"

Just then, steady footsteps came from the stairs behind, and Stanley appeared at the corner of the hallway.

His eyes went from the bowl in Lillian's hands to Zoe standing stiff in the doorway, and he frowned. "What's going on?"

Lillian turned to him, her voice already choked with tears. "Stanley, I was just trying to be nice and make Zoe something to eat, but it seems like she doesn't want it."

Stanley's already cold expression darkened. He walked over and stopped in front of Zoe. "Lillian isn't feeling well, and she still spent all afternoon cooking for you. Who do you think you are, giving her that kind of look?"

Zoe's throat felt dry. She opened her mouth. "I—"

"You what?" Stanley cut in, his voice sharp with irritation.