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.

Elise locked her bedroom door. She dragged a heavy armchair in front of it.

She went to the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cold water. She pressed it to her cheek. The throbbing was a steady drumbeat in her head.

Elise pulled out the burner phone she had hidden in her shoe-a precaution from her single days. She dialed her lawyer, Sarah. Sarah was a college friend, the only person she trusted.

"I need to file for a restraining order," Elise said. "And an annulment."

Sarah's voice was tight. "Elise, the Barretts own the judges in that district. A restraining order will be denied before the ink is dry."

"Then I need to leave the state," Elise said. "I'm packing."

"Do you have money?" Sarah asked.

"No. They froze everything."

Elise hung up. She grabbed a duffel bag. Essentials only. Passport. ID.

There was a knock on the door. Three quick taps. The secret knock.

Elise moved the chair and opened the door. It was Nina.

Nina saw Elise's face. She gasped. "Oh my god, Elise."

"I need to get out," Elise said.

"I can smuggle you out in the laundry van," Nina whispered.

"Too risky. If they catch you, they'll fire you. I need to walk out the front door."

"But you need cash," Nina said.

Elise looked at the wall safe behind the painting of the ship. Jarret kept emergency cash there.

"I don't have the code," Elise said. "He changed it last month."

Elise walked over to it. She moved the painting.

She tried Jarret's birthday. Error.

She tried their wedding date. Error.

She even tried Joyce's birthday, her fingers trembling with frustration. Error.

Elise paused. She thought about the text message Cristine received. The heart emoji. The possessiveness. A sick, desperate idea took root. She wouldn't. She couldn't. But what other choice did she have? Her fingers hovered over the keypad.

She typed in Cristine's birthday.

Beep. Click.

The green light flashed. The door swung open.

Elise felt like she was going to vomit. He used his mistress's birthday. It was the ultimate insult.

Inside, there were stacks of hundred-dollar bills. But beneath them, Elise saw something else: a small, black USB drive with no label. She grabbed the cash and the drive, shoving them deep into her bag.

Elise went downstairs, her suitcase rolling on the marble.

Joyce was in the foyer. She was talking to a group of people in suits-her PR team.

Joyce stopped talking when she saw Elise.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

"To my parents," Elise lied. "I need space."

"You leave this house, you leave the family protection," Joyce said. Her voice was low, threatening.

"Your protection leaves a bruise," Elise said, pointing to her cheek.

The PR people shifted uncomfortably. They looked at their shoes.

Joyce signaled to the two large men standing by the door. Private security.

"Escort Mrs. Barrett back to her room," Joyce said loudly. "She is hysterical with grief. She doesn't know what she's doing."

The guards stepped in front of Elise. They were walls of muscle.

"I am not hysterical," Elise said. "I am leaving."

One guard placed a hand on Elise's suitcase. "Please, ma'am. Don't make a scene."

Elise looked at the PR people. They were writing in their notebooks. Widow hysterical.

She realized she wasn't a guest. She was a prisoner.

Elise let go of the suitcase. She turned and walked back up the stairs. She didn't run. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

But inside, she was screaming.