The limousine smelled of leather and stale mints.

They were in a motorcade of black SUVs, winding their way toward the National Cathedral. Elise was stuck in the middle seat, sandwiched between Joyce and Cristine.

Joyce was staring out the window, muttering talking points to herself. Cristine was fixing her hair in a compact mirror, her elbow digging into Elise's ribs every few seconds.

Cristine capped a bottle of water. Her hand slipped.

Cold water splashed over Elise's lap, soaking the black silk of her dress. It looked like a dark stain spreading across her thighs.

"Oops," Cristine said. She didn't look sorry. Her eyes gleamed with malice. "Clumsy me."

Joyce didn't even turn her head. "Cover it with your purse, Elise. Don't look sloppy."

Elise gritted her teeth. She took a napkin and dabbed at the water. She wouldn't let them see her cry. Not over water. Not over anything.

The car stopped. The doors opened.

The flashbulbs were blinding. It was a wall of white light. The noise was deafening-shouting reporters, clicking shutters.

Elise stepped out. She held her head high, clutching her purse over the stain. She walked up the cathedral steps, her heels clicking on the stone.

Inside, the air was cool and heavy with incense. The elite of D.C. were there. Senators, generals, lobbyists. A sea of black suits.

Elise stood by the closed casket. It was draped in a flag. She didn't know if Jarret was actually inside, or if it was empty. The explosion reports had been... graphic.

A Senator approached them. He was a silver-haired man with a face like a bulldog. He took Joyce's hands.

"A tragedy for the nation, Joyce," he said. He nodded vaguely in Elise's direction.

Cristine stepped forward, cutting Elise off. She placed a hand on the Senator's arm.

"It's so hard," she murmured, batting her eyelashes. She was acting like the grieving widow.

Elise felt a surge of anger. It started in her toes and shot up to her throat.

She stepped around Cristine. She extended her hand to the Senator.

"Senator," Elise said, her voice firm. "My husband spoke highly of you."

It was a lie. Jarret had called him an old fool. But the Senator didn't know that.

He looked surprised, then charmed. He took Elise's hand. "You are very brave, Mrs. Barrett."

Cristine glared at Elise. Her nostrils flared.

They sat in the front pew. The service began. The organ music vibrated in Elise's chest.

Halfway through the eulogy, Cristine leaned over. Her breath smelled of peppermint and gin.

"Did you even know him, really?" she whispered.

Elise kept her eyes on the altar. "Better than you."

Cristine let out a small, sharp breath. "I wouldn't bet on that."

The words sent a chill down Elise's spine. It felt too specific. Too knowing.

The service ended. They moved to the reception hall.

The room was hot. Too many bodies. Too much noise.

A wave of dizziness hit Elise. The floor seemed to tilt to the left. She grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself, a sudden queasiness rising in her throat.

She needed water. She needed air.

Elise retreated to a quiet corner, near a large potted fern. She sipped a glass of water, trying to stop the room from spinning.

She looked across the crowded room.

There was a man standing near the exit. He was wearing a dark suit. He was watching her.

Elise's heart stopped.

It was Jarret. The posture. The tilt of the head.

She blinked. She rubbed her eyes.

When she looked again, the space was empty. Just a waiter carrying a tray of champagne.

"It's just grief," Elise whispered to herself. "Hallucinations."

But her hands were shaking so bad the water sloshed in the glass.

She needed to leave. She needed to secure her future.

Elise pulled out her phone. She dialed her bank's automated line. She needed to check her personal savings, the money she had before the marriage.

Access Denied.

She tried again.

Account Frozen. Please contact the branch.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the fog of grief. They had moved faster than she thought.

Elise spotted Nina across the room. Nina was holding a tray of appetizers, looking miserable.

Elise grabbed her arm as she passed.

"Go to the house," Elise whispered. "Get me a copy of the prenup from the safe. Now."

Nina looked at Elise's face. She saw the fear. She nodded once and disappeared into the crowd.

Elise stood there, surrounded by the most powerful people in the country, and realized she was completely broke. And completely trapped.

They were back at the estate.

Elise stood on the front porch. The wind was picking up, blowing dead leaves across the driveway.

A military escort pulled up. Two soldiers in dress blues got out. Then, the back door opened.

A cane hit the pavement first.

Then a man stepped out.

He was wearing civilian clothes-jeans and a sweater. He had a bandage around his head and his arm was in a sling. He leaned heavily on the cane.

It was Jayden.

Or rather, the man the world said was Jayden.

Joyce rushed down the steps. She stopped three feet away from him. Her face hardened.

"You made it back," she said. Her voice was devoid of maternal warmth. "And my son didn't."

The man looked down at the pavement. "I'm sorry, Mother."

Elise watched from the porch. His voice... it was low and raspy, as if strained by his injuries. It lacked the smooth polish of Jarret's public voice, but also the deep, velvety texture Elise remembered from her wedding night.

She shook her head. Grief was making her crazy. It was making her hear things.

Cristine ran past Joyce. She threw her arms around the man.

"Oh, thank god," she sobbed. She buried her face in his neck.

It was too intimate. The hug lasted five seconds too long.

The man winced. He pulled away from her, his eyes darting to Elise.

He limped up the stairs. He stopped in front of Elise.

"Elise," he said. "I... I was with him at the end."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a watch. Jarret's watch. The glass was cracked. He held it out, his gaze steady and assessing, as if weighing Elise's reaction.

Elise took it. The metal was cold against her palm.

She looked into his eyes. They were blue. They were Jarret's eyes. But they were also Jayden's eyes. They were identical twins.

"Did he suffer?" Elise asked. Her voice trembled.

"No," he said softly. "It was quick."

"Enough," Joyce snapped from the driveway. "Get inside. We have to discuss the press statement."

They moved into the dining room. Dinner was served in silence.

The man sat in the chair at the head of the table. Jarret's chair.

Joyce slammed her silverware down.

"That is Jarret's chair," she hissed.

The man paused. He looked at Joyce. For a second, just a split second, a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. It wasn't the look of a submissive younger brother. It was a look of entitlement.

He stood up slowly, feigning a wince of pain, and moved to the side chair.

Elise watched him. Why would the "beta" twin feel entitled to the "alpha" seat?

Cristine was sitting next to him. She kept touching his arm. "Are you okay? Do you need water? Wine?"

Elise felt the nausea rise in her throat again. She pushed her plate away. The smell of the roast beef was making her stomach turn.

Joyce glared at Elise. "Eat, Elise. You look gaunt. It's bad for the press photos."

"I'm not hungry," Elise said.

"Eat," Joyce commanded.

"Leave her alone, Mother."

The voice cut through the room like a whip.

They all froze. The man-Jayden-was staring at Joyce. His tone was commanding. Authoritative.

Joyce looked shocked. "Excuse me?"

"She's grieving," he said, his voice dropping back to a softer register, but the edge remained. "Let her be. The press would have a field day with a grieving widow collapsing at her first family dinner."

Elise looked at him. He was staring at his plate, gripping his fork so hard his knuckles were white.

Why was he defending her? Jarret never defended her. Jayden barely knew her.

Something was wrong. The air in the room felt charged, like a storm was about to break.

The next morning, the summons came.

"Mrs. Barrett wants to see you in the study," the maid said. She wouldn't look Elise in the eye.

Elise walked into the study. The curtains were drawn. The room smelled of old paper and Joyce's slim cigarettes.

Joyce sat behind the massive mahogany desk. Mr. Henderson stood beside her.

Mr. Henderson slid a thick document across the desk.

"Power of Attorney," Elise read the title upside down. "Transferring management of the Garcia-Barrett Trust to... Jayden Barrett."

Elise looked up. "What is this?"

Joyce lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around her fingers. "Jarret is dead. You don't know how to run the portfolio, Elise. It's complex. International assets."

"Jayden is a soldier," Elise said. "Not a businessman. Why would he run it?"

"He is a Barrett," Joyce said. "You are a Garcia."

The insult was plain. Elise wasn't blood. She wasn't capable.

Elise pushed the paper back. "No. The prenup gives me control of my share of the assets in the event of Jarret's death. I know the law."

Joyce's eyes narrowed. Smoke blew from her nostrils. "We can make your life very difficult, Elise. Legal battles take years. You have no access to funds right now."

"My lawyer will be in touch," Elise said. She stood up. Her legs were shaking, but she kept her back straight.

Elise walked out of the study. She needed to get to her room. She needed to breathe.

She walked into the living room.

Cristine was waiting there. She was blocking the path to the stairs.

"You greedy little climber," she hissed.

Elise stopped. "Get out of my way, Cristine."

"Sign the papers," she demanded. She took a step toward Elise. "It belongs to the family. Not to some charity case Jarret married for votes."

"I am the family," Elise said calmly.

Cristine snapped. Her face twisted into an ugly mask of rage.

She lunged.

Her hand connected with Elise's cheek. Crack.

It was a sharp, stinging sound that echoed in the high ceilings.

Elise stumbled back, clutching her face. Her skin burned. She stared at Cristine in shock. Cristine had actually slapped her.

The study door opened behind Elise. Joyce walked out. She saw Elise holding her cheek. She saw Cristine panting, hand raised.

Elise waited for Joyce to yell. To tell Cristine to leave.

Joyce looked at Elise coldly. "You provoked her."

Elise's jaw dropped. "She hit me!"

"Cristine is grieving," Joyce said smoothly. "You are antagonizing us with your greed."

Elise realized then. There was no justice here. They were gaslighting her. They were a pack of wolves.

Elise looked up at the stairs.

The man-Jayden-was standing at the top landing. He was watching.

He saw Elise's red cheek. He saw Cristine's smirk.

He gripped the wooden banister. His knuckles turned white. His body tensed, like he was about to leap over the rail.

"Help me," Elise mouthed.

He looked at her. His eyes were tortured.

Then, he turned away. He walked back into the shadows of the hallway.

Elise's heart hardened into a lump of coal.

No one was coming. The gentle man from the wedding night was dead. This man was a coward.

Elise touched her cheek. It was hot.

This ends now, Elise thought.