The Bride of Blackwood Manor

Eleanor's POV

Julian's voicemail came in at 9:43.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, phone pressed to my ear, watching the morning light cast a clean rectangular shadow across the hardwood floor. His voice was casual, effortless. "Something came up—lunch with an investor, can't get out of it. Have your assistant take you. Eleanor, don't worry."

I didn't hang up right away after he finished.

"Don't worry." As if a routine checkup were as ordinary as grabbing coffee. As if he hadn't promised me two weeks ago.

I considered calling back. My thumb hovered over his name. In the end, I didn't. The answer wouldn't change.

Then I put the phone in my pocket, picked up my sunglasses from the entryway table, and walked out alone.

The Uber ride to the eye center took eleven minutes.

Lucas took me through the usual round of basic tests as always. After they were done, I sat in the chair, waiting for the final results.

Lucas picked up his notepad, wrote some words, slid the final test results across the table to me.

Vision fully restored. Confirmed.

I stared at those words for a long time.

"Thank you for curing my eyes."I said to him excitedly.

"You're welcome. How do you feel now?"

"It feels good to see."

I looked up at the window. The San Francisco sky was the exact shade of blue I remembered. The bay basked in the afternoon light, refracting it into dappled patterns. Everything was so clear, so real, right in front of me.

My eyes stung. Not from sadness—but from something unbearably heavy, a fractured and grateful relief that the darkness was finally over.

I sat in the chair until the ache passed. Then I walked to the lobby, found a bench near the entrance, and took out my phone.

The first person I thought of was Julian. I wanted to tell him: "My vision is back. It actually worked. I can see again." I wanted to hear what he'd say. I pulled up his contact, my finger over the call button—

A notification slid down from the top of the screen.

A direct message. From someone I don't know. No caption. Just one photo.

A group of people were crowded around, cheering and egging them on, while in the middle, two people were locked in an embrace, kissing.

The man kissing in the middle was Julian.

His hand was on a woman's waist, and her hand was wrapped around the back of his neck. They were kissing. Not a quick peck—but the kind that looked completely natural, completely practiced, as if they'd done it a hundred times before.

From the photo, I recognized the place. The Shoreline Bar. Two years ago, Julian had held my hand at that very table and said, "I've never been this certain about anyone in my life."

I gripped my phone with both hands.

My thumb was still hovering over Julian's name on the screen. I'd been about to call him. I'd been happy—ready to share this with him. And now, staring at a photo of him with someone else, my mind went blank.

The first tear hit the screen before I could catch it, blurring the image. I bit down hard on my lower lip.

I cried for maybe three minutes. I don't know when it stopped.

I wanted to throw the phone, pretend I hadn't seen it. But I didn't. I stared at the bar in the photo.

I knew that address. I needed to see it for myself.

I called a car.

The ride felt endless. I stared out the window, but all I saw was that photo—his hand on her waist, her fingers on his neck. Burned into my eyes.

The car stopped. I got out and walked through the doors before I could change my mind.

The hostess at the Shoreline recognized me.

"Mr. Foster is in the private room. Shall I take you in?"

I followed the hostess to the private room where Julian was.

The hallway to the VIP booths was narrow and dim. I stopped at the carved wooden door—it wasn't fully closed. The sound of conversation drifted out from inside.

First, a woman's voice.

"…So, what's the plan with Eleanor, man? You just gonna keep her in the dark forever?Then what are we to each other?"

Julian laughed, low and easy. "This is fine the way it is. She doesn't know. And as for us—this works, doesn't it?"

A soft laugh from across the room. Cody's voice, lazy and amused. "You know, I've always wondered. Of all the women you could have had—why her?"

A beat of silence. Then Julian said, "She looks like Veronica."

Another pause. He kept going. "First time I saw her, Veronica'd just left town. I was at this gallery opening, couldn't even tell you who the artist was. And I saw her across the room—" He stopped there, as if the rest was obvious.

"So I'm the original," Veronica said, drawing it out like she was tasting the word. "And she's the copy."

No one spoke after that. Not that they needed to. They'd said everything.

I stood in the hallway, nails digging into my palms so hard I could feel the half-moons forming. My sunglasses were crushed in my other hand. I thought I'd already felt the full weight of it. I thought I'd hit bottom.

I was wrong.

Two years. Two years of my life, and I'd never been anything more than a stand-in. A replacement. A face that reminded him of someone else.

I took a slow, controlled breath, and pushed the door open.

The hinges gave a soft groan as the door swung inward. The moment I stepped inside, the room went silent. Julian shot to his feet.

"Eleanor. Hey. What are you doing here? I was just about to come find you."

I didn't answer him. My eyes went to Veronica beside him.

Veronica held her glass, lounging in the booth, watching me with something between amusement and condescension. She stood up as well.Then she reached over, used two fingers to straighten Julian's collar, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Her movements were bold and uninhibited. Because as far as she knew, I couldn't see a thing.

Julian stiffened for half a second. He didn't pull away.

He turned to me, took a few steps forward, reached for my arm the way he had the first time he took me to the hospital.

His fingers brushed my sleeve.

I looked him in the eyes, past all the pretense, and slapped him as hard as I could.

The sound cracked through the room. Julian stumbled back a step. The booth fell dead silent.

He turned his head slowly, jaw tight, something dark stirring behind his eyes.

"Eleanor. What the hell are you doing?"