Chapter 2

Felicity's POV

"What conditions?" Raymond Carter spoke, his tone cold but deliberately measured.

"I want that plot of land in Skylake District. And after we're married, I need my freedom. I want to pick up my architectural drawings again. I want to get back to where I was always meant to be. I'm done being someone's accessory. I'm done being someone's stand-in."

I expected him to mock my greed, or question what leverage I even had.

But he just said quietly, "Of course. The land is yours, and you can do whatever you want. All I ask is that you hurry up and divorce Michael."

That almost indulgent tone caught me off guard.

Raymond was a man who never made a losing deal. He ran this city.

It wasn't until after I hung up that I heard myself ask out loud, "Why?"

No one answered, of course.

I laughed at myself.

Raymond had probably lost his mind. Or maybe he just wanted to use me to tear apart the Johnson family's carefully maintained facade once and for all.

The living room was so quiet I could hear the wall clock ticking. I got up to pour myself a glass of water, but the phone I'd tossed on the couch suddenly started buzzing like crazy.

The screen flashed "Michael."

The voice on the other end wasn't Michael's. It was something nauseating — rapid, high-pitched breathing.

"Michael… slower…"

Saskia.

She'd obviously called me from Michael's phone on purpose. In the background came the dull thud of something hitting a headboard, and Michael's muffled groans.

It was a cheap, childish way to show off. And yet, for three years, it had found its mark in my chest every single time.

I listened without expression. I even had the presence of mind to turn on the faucet and carefully wash the grime from between my fingers.

If this had happened before, I would have cried. I would have fallen apart. I would have stormed over and demanded answers. Now I just felt bored.

"Valencia…"

Michael's voice suddenly broke higher, raw with something that sounded almost like desperate longing.

The breathing stopped.

The call cut off. The dial tone echoed through the empty bathroom.

I stared at the dark screen and couldn't help laughing.

Saskia, you went through all that trouble to put me in my place. And what did you get? In Michael's eyes, you're just another body he can swap out whenever he feels like it.

Valencia Fuller. Saskia's dead twin sister.

The fire three years ago had burned through half of the Johnson Mansion and taken Michael's first love with it. After that, Michael had gone off the deep end.

He was convinced I'd started that fire to be with him. He hated me for it, and yet he'd kept me locked in the role of his wife just so he could punish me around the clock.

He brought in Saskia, who looked exactly like Valencia. They'd go at it in the study, in the car, anywhere I might see them — using sex as a weapon against me.

He kept Saskia around for one reason: her face.

That velvet collar. Saskia wore it willingly, happy to be Michael's obedient little pet.

The night air was cool when I walked out of the dinner.

I went back to that lifeless house, headed straight upstairs, and crawled into bed without even turning on a light.

I don't know how much time passed. Somewhere between sleep and waking, a sharp wave of whiskey hit me. The mattress dipped. Something hot and heavy pressed down on top of me.

Before I even opened my eyes, I felt rough pressure on my lips.

Michael's kiss was punishing. His tongue forced its way past my teeth, and the thick taste of alcohol exploded in my mouth.

His hand worked its way up under the hem of my nightgown. His fingers carried that cool, pampered smoothness, trembling slightly with want.

His mouth moved down my neck, dragging over the red mark the collar had left, pulling a shudder out of me.

I came fully awake. My stomach turned.

"You're up," Michael said, his voice rough, still heavy with desire.

I didn't fight him. I just stared at his outline in the dark.

"Get out."

"Felicity, have you forgotten who you are?" He braced himself on either side of me, his hair falling over his eyes, giving him that reckless, dangerous look.

"My mother called again today. She said the Johnson family needs an heir. Since you love clinging to the title of my wife so much, you might as well do your part."

He started pulling at my nightgown, rough and careless, like he was handling something already broken.

"You disgust me, Michael." I stared at the ceiling, my voice flat as still water.

"Disgusting?" He lifted his head, something vicious flickering in his eyes. "When you set that fire and burned Valencia alive just to be with me, did you feel disgusted then?"

"I won't confess to something I didn't do."

He let out a cold laugh and leaned back down. "You always wanted a child to secure your position, didn't you? I'm giving you what you want."

I put everything I had into the slap.

It landed hard. In the silence of the room, the sound was startling.

Michael's head snapped to the side. He didn't move for a long moment.

"Go have Saskia give you your heir," I said, sitting up and calmly straightening my torn collar.

"Or find Valencia in your dreams. After all, that's whose name you were calling out just now."

Michael went still.

"How do you know that?" He turned to look at me, something wary moving through his eyes.

I picked up my phone from the pillow, pulled up the call log, and held it out to him.

"Your mistress was very thoughtful. She called me herself so I could hear just how passionate you two were."

Michael looked at the screen. The color drained from his face.

"She… she went through my phone?" He said it through clenched teeth, anger flashing through his voice — but underneath it was the humiliation of being caught.

"Feeling sorry for her?" I looked at him with contempt.

"Go comfort her. A dog that obedient is hard to find. And while you're at it, tell her that next time she wants to show off, she should keep your mouth shut. Dead women's names have a way of killing the mood."

"Felicity!"

Michael grabbed my shoulders, his grip hard enough to feel like he was trying to crush bone.

"Don't look at me like that."

I held his gaze without flinching.

"You think you're capable of real love? You're just a coward who doesn't even know what he wants. You loved Valencia, and now you're using her own sister to fill the hole she left."

"I said shut up!"

He was like a cornered animal. The vein at his temple stood out.

"Let's get a divorce," I said quietly.

I'd finally said it.

Michael stared at me like I'd told him a joke. He let go and laughed — low, hollow, wrong.

"Divorce? Not a chance."

He stood up and looked down at me, the coldness back in full force.

"Felicity, you owe Valencia her life. You'll spend the rest of yours making it up to the Johnson family. You want a divorce? Over your dead body."

He walked to the door, one hand on the handle, and spoke without turning around.

"The charity auction tomorrow night — you're coming with me. Don't forget, your brother's surgery bills are still on my tab. If you don't show up, or if you breathe a word about divorce before then, you know what happens."