Chapter 4

Vero furiously rubbed at the mole with her fingertips, until her skin turned red and nearly drew blood.

But it wouldn’t come off, just like the past three years of her life, like a mark carved into her bones and blood, impossible to erase.

But she could choose to end it.

She opened her closet and pulled out her most formal black dress. She carefully applied flawless makeup and painted her lips a vivid red. The woman staring back at her in the mirror was beautiful, so sharp, so desperate, it almost hurt to look.

At seven o'clock sharp, she showed up at the dining room.

The long dining table was covered with mouthwatering dishes, and the crystal chandelier scattered dazzling light everywhere. Andrew sat at the head of the table, Tamara at his right, the seat that used to be Vero's.

Tamara was dressed in a white knit gown, her long hair loosely pinned up, a gentle smile on her face as she turned to say something to Andrew. He bent his head slightly, listening with full attention, his gaze so tender it almost stung to watch.

They really were a pair made for each other.

Vero's arrival cut right through their quiet conversation. Everyone turned to stare, their expressions a mix of surprise, curiosity, sympathy, and some people even looked like they were enjoying the drama.

Andrew glanced up at her, his brow barely twitching, clearly not thrilled with how flashy she looked tonight.

Meanwhile, Tamara flashed her a flawless smile, like their little chat at the cafe earlier had never even happened.

"Vero, you're here! Come, sit down," she said, actually getting up to greet Vero with warmth. She pointed to Vero's old spot, the one she was sitting in now. "Take your seat, I'll give it back to you."

Tamara was really acting like the lady of the house.

Vero didn't move. She just kept her eyes on Andrew.

He avoided her gaze and told the servant, "Add a seat for Mrs. Cole."

Add a seat? It sounded like she was nothing more than an unwanted guest.

The servant hurried over and set up a chair at the very end of the table, as far away from the head as possible.

Vero walked over and sat down, her dress brushing silently across the floor.

The family dinner began. The Cole family chatted and laughed, talking about business, politics, and all the stories Tamara had brought back from her time abroad. They were all so close, so at ease, it was like Vero was the outsider who'd crashed their party.

She quietly ate the food on her plate, but it tasted like chewing wax, utterly flavorless.

Finally, Andrew's father cleared his throat and set down his wine glass.

"I called everyone here today to welcome Tamara back, and to share some wonderful news," he said, glancing at Andrew and Tamara with a satisfied smile. "Tamara's pregnant! We're welcoming a new member to the Cole family!"

A chorus of congratulations filled the room.

Tamara shyly lowered her head, her hand protectively over her stomach. Andrew pulled her close, his smile full of pride.

It was the picture of domestic bliss.

Andrew's father looked at Vero, his expression complicated. "Vero, you're Andrew's wife and part of the Cole family. Tamara's a bit frail, so please keep an eye on her from now on."

All their attention shifted to her.

She set down her fork and knife, making a crisp sound as the metal hit the plate.

The room fell silent in an instant.

She lifted her head, facing their stares, and slowly stood up.

"Dad," Vero said, keeping her voice steady and even letting a small smile slip through. "Of course I'll take care of Tamara. After all, I'm pregnant too."

Dead silence swept through the room.

Andrew's father's eyes went wide. Andrew's mother, the woman who always had it out for her, clapped a hand over her mouth. The rest of the family exchanged looks of pure shock.

Tamara's smile froze right where it was.

Andrew snapped his gaze to Vero, his eyes icy and venomous.

"What are you talking about, Vero?" His voice was low, a warning clear in every word.

"I'm not lying," Vero replied, pulling out her phone and projecting the hospital report onto the dining room TV. "Seven weeks pregnant, the baby is developing normally. Andrew, this is your child."

On the screen, the tiny gestational sac was clearly visible in the black-and-white ultrasound.

Andrew's expression darkened, storm clouds gathering in his eyes.

Tamara clung to his arm, her fingertips white, her voice quivering, on the verge of tears. "Andrew... what... what's going on?"

"It's fake," Andrew cut her off, his eyes locked onto Vero's, his words cold and deliberate. "Vero, do you really think forging medical records is amusing?"

Vero's heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, the pain so sharp she could barely breathe.

So that's what she was to him. Not just a stand-in, but a liar willing to do anything to win his favor.

"If you think it's fake, go ahead and check," Vero shot back, meeting his gaze without flinching. "The hospital has the records, the doctor can vouch for it. Andrew, you can turn your back on this baby, but you can't pretend it doesn't exist."

"Enough!" Andrew shot to his feet, the chair screeching across the floor. He strode over, his tall frame looming over her, the pressure in the room almost suffocating.

"Vero, I thought you at least had some sense of propriety," Andrew said, his voice icy cold. "Looks like I overestimated you. Tamara just got back, she's not well and needs rest. Are you trying to drive her to despair?"

Drive her to despair?