Chapter 4 The ride to hell

The morning was a dry, suffocating gray. I stepped onto the porch, my black heels clicking against it. I’d chosen a matte silk dress with long sleeves, high neck, no lace. My simple goal: be elegant, be invisible, and survive the next twenty-nine days.

Even in grief, the Belmonts required a performance.

As I made my way to the garage, I caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows. It was Lucien.

Of course.

He was dressed in black, a custom suit that hugged his frame. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to expose the hollow of his throat, his jacket casually draped over one shoulder. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a high-end funeral advertisement.

“Good morning, sister-in-law,” he said, his voice smooth yet laced with an edge. “Oh right… just one more month of that, isn’t it?”

I kept walking. “Not in the mood, Lucien.”

“Tragic. Here I was hoping to see your sparkling charm.” He fell into step beside me. “My car isn’t here. Mind giving me a ride?”

I stopped, blinking. “You live like hours away. How are you even here?”

“A flight, Violet. A flight and also, a friend dropped me off yesterday,” he lied effortlessly. “Long night of wine and poker. Can I hitch a ride, or should I climb into the trunk?”

“I’m not driving you anywhere.”

“Fair point,” he countered, quickening his pace to keep up with mine. “But think of the headlines: Mrs. Belmont leaves her brother-in-law to hitchhike to the Patriarch’s memorial. Not a good look for the brand, Vi.”

I stared at him, then clicked the garage remote. “Get in. Don’t touch anything.”

He touched everything.

He fiddled with the AC, scrolled through my music presets, and rummaged through the glove compartment.

“Lucien!” I slammed the brakes, jerking him forward. “One more move, and you’re walking.”

“Cold,” he said, leaning back as I pulled onto the main road.

Then he reached into the cup holder, where a forgotten lipstick tube was nestled next to a tiny photograph.

Though the edges were worn and faded, the image was unmistakable: a younger me, perhaps seven or eight years old, grinning on the beach next to my mother. She encircled me with her arm as if I were everything.

Lucien raised it and oriented it in the direction of the sun. “You look cute here.”

I snatched it from his hand. “Put that down.”

He smirked as he leaned back comfortably. “What happened to her?”

“She grew up.”

He looked at me for a beat longer than I liked, then said, “Yeah. Now you’re like a tiger who doesn’t know how to bite.”

My jaw locked. My hands curled around the wheel so tight I could feel my pulse in my fingers.

As the Belmont estate came into view, I felt my shoulders becoming heavy. Every gaze shifted toward my car as we drove up the long driveway.

I was the wife of the heir. The woman they never fully accepted. And in twenty-nine days, I wouldn’t have to care anymore.

“Ready for the circus?” Lucien ask

ed.

I wasn’t, but I stepped out of the car anyway.