Chapter 2

The next morning, Juliette practically dragged Julian into my dining parlor for breakfast. 

"Your brother is gone, and poor Eleanor is left all alone," Juliette sighed.

"It broke my heart. So, I insisted you come keep her company."

Julian didn't speak.

He focused entirely on Juliette's plate, carefully cutting the charred edges off her toast and picking out every single caper she disliked.

Then, he gently spooned warm oatmeal into her mouth, one bite at a time.

Juliette gave his arm a playful tap. "Oh, stop it, you silly man. Eleanor is watching! Her husband just died. You should show your sister-in-law some courtesy instead of babying me."

Julian stiffened for half a second. 

Without looking at me, he grabbed a clean fork, scooped the soggy capers and greasy gristle he had just rejected from Juliette's plate, and dumped them directly onto mine. 

I stared at the pile of food waste sitting in my bowl.

A wave of bitter nausea rolled through my stomach. 

Before I could say a word, Juliette gasped softly, arching her back with a tiny wince. 

Julian dropped his silverware at once.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, raw panic flashing across his face. "Juliette? What's wrong? Are you hurting?"

Juliette shot me a sly, knowing glance from beneath her eyelashes, her lips curling into a coy pout. 

"My lower back is killing me," she whispered, loud enough to fill the entire room. "It’s all your fault. You pushed me so hard last night... I kept begging you to stop, but you just wouldn't let me go. You're an absolute beast."

Julian glanced toward me nervously and cleared his throat. 

"All right, sweetheart," he murmured, his ears turning red. "Eleanor just lost her husband. Let’s not talk about bedroom matters in front of her."

"Oh, goodness, look at me!" Juliette giggled, pretending to be mortified. "I completely forgot! Eleanor is a widow now. She’ll never get to experience a man's touch again."

She tilted her head, her eyes dripping with fake benevolence. 

"If you ever get desperate, Eleanor, my family has a distant cousin back in the country. His wife passed away last winter. Sure, he’s forty-eight, has two unruly boys, and walks with a limp—but he knows how to keep a woman warm at night!"

"A widower for a widow! It's a match made in heaven. Honestly, if you weren’t my husband’s brother’s wife, I wouldn't dream of offering such a catch to you."

Julian immediately backed her up. "Eleanor, Juliette is only looking out for your future. But if you find her cousin beneath you, you can always honor my brother's final wish—and become my secret mistress."

Juliette frowned, letting out a sharp, dissatisfied hum. 

"A mistress is fine, but she must drink the barren draught every single week," Juliette declared coldly. "I won't allow a bastard in this house. And you can only visit her bed once a month."

Julian didn't hesitate. He nodded instantly, stroking Juliette's hair. "Of course. Whatever you want, my love. You're already showing immense grace by putting up with this."

When disrespect reaches a certain level, you don't cry. 

You laugh.

I hadn't said a single word, yet these two had already carved up my future—planning to turn me into a childless, hidden bed-warmer in my own home. 

Until this morning, a foolish part of me still wondered: When did Julian fall for Juliette? How could the man who once worshipped the ground I walked on turn into this?

Now, I finally had my answer. 

Rotten souls recognize each other.

Two selfish hypocrites were always bound to crawl into the same gutter. 

I looked up and let out a cold, razor-sharp laugh. 

"A widow?" I leaned forward, my knuckles resting on the edge of the table.

"It's a little early to say who the real widow is."

Julian’s face drained of color in an instant. 

His voice snapped. "Eleanor! I suggest you think very carefully before you open your mouth."

My smile widened. "Why? Don't you have the guts to look her in the eye and tell her who you really are?"

"Whose husband you actually are?"

Juliette's fingers tightened frantically into the fabric of Julian's coat. Tears immediately flooded her eyes. 

"What is she talking about?" Juliette choked out. "You aren't Julius? You're Julian? Did... did my fiancé die out there?"

Julian gathered her tightly into his arms, kissing her forehead with desperate urgency. "Hush, darling. Don't cry. It breaks my heart to see you like this."

"I am your husband. I am Julius Ashford."

He turned his head, glaring at me with raw, murderous hatred. "Eleanor, grief has clearly driven you insane."

"Insane?" 

I didn't back down.

I shot up from my seat and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. 

"If I'm so insane, why don't you prove it to her?" I dragged him down toward my eye level, sneering into his trembling face.

"When you begged my father for my hand, you swore your eternal loyalty by inking the Ashford heir's coronet crest right over your heart—a mark only the firstborn son is permitted to bear!"

"Do you dare rip your shirt open right now and show your beloved bride exactly who she's sleeping with?!"