Chapter 2

Anna POV

Eventually, Edward shifted, sliding off me with a quiet exhale. He didn't look at me as he moved, just rolled to the edge of the bed and stood, his back to me as he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

The moonlight snuck through a gap in the drapes, outlining his tall, lean frame, making him look more like a statue than a man. Distant. Untouchable. Like whatever just happened was already forgotten, filed away as another task completed.

I lay there for a moment longer, my body still humming with the aftershocks, but my mind was elsewhere, tangled in the mess of his words and my tears. Slowly, I forced myself to sit up, my legs shaky as I swung them over the side of the bed.

My silk nightgown lay crumpled on the floor, and I reached for it with unsteady hands, the fabric cool against my flushed skin. I tried to button it, but my fingers fumbled, clumsy and useless, each failed attempt a small stab of frustration. I felt empty, hollowed out, more by his indifference than by anything physical.

A quick glance at him showed nothing—just his profile, sharp and cold, as he stared out into the night. If he noticed my struggle, he didn't care.

He stared out the window for what felt like an eternity before finally turning away, his expression unreadable as he walked toward the en-suite bathroom without a word. The shower started moments later, the sound of running water filling the silence like white noise. A silent dismissal.

I sat there, half-dressed and uncertain, wondering if I should just leave. But something kept me rooted to the spot, some pathetic hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different.

Eventually, the water shut off. A few minutes later, Edward emerged from the private bathroom, a white towel slung low around his hips, water droplets clinging to the sharp lines of his torso, catching the light as he moved. His jet-black hair was still damp, slicked back from his forehead, highlighting those impossibly sharp cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw.

The shadows played across his face, accentuating those deep-set eyes that seemed to cut right through me. Even now, after everything, I couldn't deny how devastating he looked—like something carved from marble and brought to life, perfect and cold and completely out of reach.

His face, all hard angles and cold beauty, didn't soften at the sight of me still here. If anything, his brows twitched into a faint frown, like my lingering presence irritated him. Like I was trespassing in a space that was never meant to be mine.

"Tomorrow, Vera's back from Paris," he said suddenly, his voice low and clipped. "Your parents called earlier. They're still tied up with business in Boston and asked if she could stay with us for a while." A muscle in his jaw flexed. "Given our... history growing up together, I agreed."

I froze, my hands stalling on the last stubborn button.

Vera. My sister—not by blood, but by some twisted Parker family logic.

The golden child, adopted from some Upper East Side orphanage after I vanished at five years old during a family vacation out here on Long Island. My father, Richard, had searched everywhere for me, or so they say, but when they couldn't find me, they brought Vera in to fill the void. To keep my mother from breaking, supposedly.

By the time I was found at sixteen, Vera was the daughter they'd raised, the one they loved. She grew up with Edward, played the perfect little princess, and was set to marry him—until I showed up and ruined everything.

Edward's father's will was clear: he had to marry a Parker by blood to take control of Foster Group. That meant me, not her. Two years of this marriage, and I'm still the interloper in everyone's eyes. Including his.

I shook off the memories that always flood in with Vera's name, my throat tight but my voice steady.

"I got it," I said quietly, not bothering with the last button. I just pulled the nightgown closed over my chest, the silk cold against my skin.

Edward's eyes flickered over me briefly, lingering on the marks his mouth had left on my collarbone, visible where the nightgown gaped.

"You should get back to your room and clean up," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Goodnight, Anna." He turned his back on me then, walking back to the window to resume his vigil over the night

Grabbing my phone from the armchair by the bed, I pushed myself to stand, my legs threatening to buckle, but my resolve was firm. I didn't look at him as I headed for the door, my footsteps soft on the plush carpet.

The hallway outside stretched long and silent, leading to the guest room I've claimed as my own. Each step echoed in the stillness, a small act of defiance against the weight of this place.

At the door, I couldn't help it—I glanced back. Edward hadn't moved, still framed by the window, moonlight tracing the hard lines of his shoulders. He didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge me leaving. Just stood there, untouchable as ever. I turned away, the ache in my chest growing sharper, and let the door close behind me.

My room—my refuge—waited at the end of the hall, so different from the cavernous master suite. It was small by Frost Estate standards, but warm in ways the rest of this mansion could never be. Soft cream walls, a queen bed with a mountain of pillows, and bookshelves lined with novels and art supplies.

My collection of teddy bears from childhood sat in a neat row against the headboard, survivors from my life before everything changed. On the bedside table, several pages of my latest graphic novel project were spread out, character sketches and plot notes waiting for my return.

I went straight to the attached bathroom, dropping my nightgown to the floor. Under the harsh bathroom lights, I could see the evidence of Edward all over me—faint marks blooming like bruises on my skin, silent testaments to a passion that never reached his eyes. I stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand it, and began methodically washing away his touch. The tears came then, silent and hot, mixing with the water until I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in a fluffy robe, my skin was red and raw. I moved mechanically to my bed, pulled open the drawer of my nightstand, and took out the small pill case hidden beneath a stack of sketching paper.

I popped an emergency contraceptive pill into my palm and swallowed it with water from the glass on my nightstand. A bitter taste, but necessary. I wouldn't bring a child into this emptiness, wouldn't create another life to suffer without love.

I crawled into bed, pulled the comforter up to my chin, and stared at the ceiling, counting the hours until I'd have to face Vera—and another day of pretending this was the life I'd chosen.