Chapter 2

The cabin was supposed to be a dark, grief-stricken mausoleum.

Instead, warm amber light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, cutting brightly through the coastal fog. A steady plume of woodsmoke drifted from the stone chimney.

Ethan's black SUV was parked crooked in the gravel driveway, steam still rising from the hood in the freezing rain.

I stepped out of the rideshare at the edge of the tree line, pressing a hand firmly against my aching lower abdomen.

The damp ocean wind bit through my coat, but my mind was entirely focused on the glowing house ahead.

I moved quietly along the perimeter, keeping low behind the overgrown rhododendron bushes.

Through the sheer curtains of the living room, there were no memorial candles. There was no framed portrait of a dead woman surrounded by white lilies.

A woman was sitting on the plush Italian leather sofa, laughing softly as she swirled red wine in a crystal glass.

She was wearing my emerald green silk robe. It was the custom anniversary piece I had ordered for tonight, the one that had mysteriously vanished from my dressing room two days ago.

When she turned her profile toward the light, the breath seized in my throat.

The delicate jawline. The arched brows. For one impossible second, she looked like Chloe Bennett.

Not Chloe. She couldn't be.

Chloe had drowned seven years ago. I had spent my entire twenties living beneath the shadow of a woman I had never met.

Yet this stranger sat before the roaring fire, healthy and glowing, wrapped in my emerald green silk robe as though she belonged there.

Ethan walked into the living room carrying a porcelain plate of sliced fruit. He sat beside her on the sofa, tucking a loose curl behind her ear with a gentle tenderness he had never once offered me.

"How much longer do I have to stay hidden in this woods, Ethan?" Her voice drifted through the slightly open patio vent, sharp and demanding. "I'm sick of living like a ghost."

"Just a little longer, baby," Ethan murmured, kissing her bare shoulder. "Grace had a miscarriage tonight. She's emotionally shattered. Once Grace agrees to let you into the house, I'll take care of everything else."

The woman pressed on:"And she won't suspect anything?"

"Grace has spent seven years proving she can endure anything for me. She'll call it compassion."

I didn't gasp. I didn't rush forward to bang on the glass.

My hands remained completely still as I raised my phone. I recorded the whole scene -- her face, his touch. The file uploaded instantly to my encrypted cloud storage.

I took two steps backward into the dark, preparing to slip away into the trees.

A wet pine branch snapped beneath my boot with a sharp, resonant crack.

Inside the living room, Ethan froze instantly.

His head whipped toward the dark window, the color draining from his face. "Did you hear that?"

Before I could reach the road, the patio floodlights flared on, blindingly bright.

Ethan lunged for the sliding glass door, throwing it open into the freezing storm.