HAZEL POV:

The world went silent. I stood frozen in the hallway, Carter's words echoing in the sudden quiet of my mind. A cover. They were going to steal my life, my name, for a child that wasn't mine, a symbol of their love that I would be forced to carry as my own shame.

A sour taste filled my mouth. The sounds from the study, the soft murmurs and stifled moans, became a physical torment. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. Through the blur, I saw a ghost of myself, the naive girl who had walked down the aisle three years ago, so full of hope.

I remembered all the times I had tried to bridge the gap between us. I'd worn the lingerie he'd once said he liked, only for him to turn away, blaming a headache. I'd initiated contact countless times, only to be met with a flinch and a gentle, "Not tonight, Hazel. I'm just not ready."

He was never ready for me. But for Jodie, he was more than ready. The proof was growing inside her.

The next morning, I walked down to the dining room like a ghost. Carter and Jodie were already there. He was placing a piece of cantaloupe on her plate, a small, intimate gesture that felt like a slap in the face.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Carter said, his smile not reaching his eyes.

I saw it then, under the table. His hand was resting on her thigh, his thumb drawing slow, possessive circles.

"Morning," I replied, my voice flat. I sat down, the chair scraping loudly against the polished floor.

Carter frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Is something wrong?"

Before I could answer, Jodie gagged, her hand flying to her mouth. She bolted from the table, and we could hear her retching in the nearby powder room.

Carter's body tensed. He half-rose from his chair, his instinct to go to her, but he caught my eye and froze. His gaze darted back and forth between me and the hallway, a man caught between his duty and his desire.

He stayed seated, but his attention was gone. He kept looking toward the powder room, his concern for Jodie a palpable thing in the air.

When Jodie returned, pale and shaken, Carter shot up from his seat.

"This food is unacceptable," he snapped at our private chef, who stood nervously by the kitchen door. "What is this? It's making Jodie sick."

The breakfast was smoked salmon and poached eggs. My favorite. He knew it. This wasn't about the food; it was about punishing someone for Jodie's discomfort.

My appetite vanished. I pushed my plate away.

"Where are you going?" Carter demanded, grabbing my wrist. His grip was surprisingly tight.

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't be difficult, Hazel," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I was thinking we could all go for a drive. Up to the cliffs. The fresh air will do Jodie good." He didn't wait for my response, turning to the maid. "Martha, pack a basket. Make sure to include the ginger ale Jodie likes, and a blanket. The soft cashmere one."

He listed off Jodie's favorite things, from the sparkling water she preferred to the specific brand of crackers she ate. I was an afterthought, a piece of luggage being brought along for the ride.

In the car, the passenger seat, my seat, had been adjusted. It was pushed far back, and a small, pink silk pillow was tucked against the headrest. Jodie's. I remembered asking Carter once if I could leave a book in the car, and he'd told me he hated clutter.

His car was a sanctuary, just not for me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Jodie, why don't you sit up front? You'll be more comfortable."

She gave me a grateful, sickly smile and switched places with me. I spent the entire drive in the back, watching them in the rearview mirror. They chatted and laughed, their heads close together. I felt like a stranger.

The picnic was a performance. Carter played the part of the doting husband for a few friends who met us there, but his eyes constantly strayed to Jodie. He knew exactly when to remind her not to drink her iced tea too fast. "You know it upsets your stomach, sweetheart."

He caught me watching and his hand shot back as if burned. He quickly turned to me, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Hazel, have some juice. I know you love cranberry."

I stared at the glass he offered. I hadn't been able to drink cranberry juice for two years. Not since a chronic stomach issue had developed.

He didn't know. Or he didn't care.

He then offered me a plate of shrimp. "Here, your favorite."

I'm allergic to shellfish. Jodie loves shrimp. My throat closed up.

Just then, the sky turned a dark, bruised purple. The wind picked up, and suddenly, rain was lashing down.

"We should go," I said, my voice tight. "The road will be dangerous."

"Don't be such a party pooper, Hazel," Jodie whined, pulling her blanket tighter. "I want to wait for the rainbow."

"Jodie's right," Carter said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're staying."

His eyes were cold, daring me to argue. I fell silent.

The rainbow never came. Instead, the ground began to shift. A low rumble grew into a roar, and a wave of mud and debris came surging down the hillside. A landslide.

Panic erupted. People screamed and ran. I scrambled to my feet, but my ankle twisted on the slick grass, and I went down with a cry of pain.

"Carter!" I screamed, reaching for him.

He was already moving, but not towards me. He swept Jodie into his arms and ran for the line of cars, leaving me behind in the mud and the rain.

I watched him go, his back turned to me, his only concern the woman in his arms. The sense of abandonment was so absolute, it was almost peaceful.

I managed to pull myself up, my ankle screaming in protest. I took one step, then another, before my foot slipped again. This time, there was nothing to stop me. I tumbled over the edge of the cliff, the world spinning into a chaos of pain and darkness.

The last thing I remembered was the crushing weight of my own body hitting the rocks below.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Carter was sitting beside me, his face a mask of guilt.

"Hazel," he said softly. "You're awake."

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. My entire body ached.

"The doctors said you're lucky," he continued, avoiding my eyes. "Just a few broken ribs and a bad concussion. Jodie... Jodie's face was cut up pretty badly by some flying debris. The doctors said she needs a skin graft to avoid permanent scarring."

He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading. "They need a donor, Hazel. From your leg. They said you're the best match."

HAZEL POV:

"A skin graft?" My voice was a raw, disbelieving croak. "You want them to take skin from my leg... for her?"

Carter had the decency to look away. "It's just a small piece, Hazel. They said it would heal quickly. It's for the best."

For the best. The words were a mockery. I had understood when he couldn't touch me. I had understood when he preferred her company to mine. I had understood being abandoned on a mountainside. But this? This was a new level of cruelty. He wanted to mutilate my body for the woman carrying his child.

A surge of rage, hot and powerful, flooded through me. "Get out," I screamed, my voice cracking. "GET OUT!"

I swiped my arm across the bedside table, sending a water pitcher crashing to the floor.

Carter flinched, his jaw tightening. "Hazel—"

"Mr. Hancock," a nurse called from the doorway. "Your grandfather is on the line."

He shot me one last look, a mixture of frustration and impatience, before turning and walking out.

I looked down at my left hand. The wedding ring felt heavy, foreign. It had always been a little too big. A stand-in ring for a stand-in wife. With a bitter laugh that turned into a sob, I pulled it off my finger and threw it with all my might. It hit the window with a soft clink and disappeared into the bushes below.

I spent two days in that hospital. Carter visited twice, brief, perfunctory visits filled with empty apologies about being busy with "company business."

The nurses whispered in the hallway. I heard my name, followed by Jodie's.

"Can you believe it? He leaves his wife, who has broken ribs, to sit with the sister-in-law who just has some scratches."

"I heard the sister-in-law is pregnant. They say Mr. Hancock is the father."

"Poor Mrs. Hancock. What a terrible marriage."

I closed my eyes, the words a fresh wave of humiliation.

When I was discharged, Carter was waiting by the main entrance. He took my bag, his touch making my skin crawl.

"I'm sorry I wasn't around more," he said, his voice unnaturally gentle. "Things have been crazy at the office."

I didn't answer. I walked past him and got into the back seat of the car.

Back at the Hancock estate, Bertrand Hancock, the family patriarch, was waiting. He was a formidable man, his face etched with the lines of power and tradition. He rushed forward, his eyes filled with concern as he took my hands.

"My dear Hazel, you've suffered," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He turned to Carter. "Carter was reckless. But he was worried about Jodie, you know how it is. Don't hold it against him."

He was making excuses for him. Even him.

He gestured to the staff, who brought forward boxes of expensive gifts. It was a payment for my silence, for my pain.

Then, he took a small, velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a magnificent diamond necklace, a famous piece known as "The Hancock Star." It was the family heirloom, passed down to the wife of each generation.

He clasped it around my neck. "You are the only Mrs. Hancock I will ever recognize," he said, his voice firm. He glanced pointedly over my shoulder towards the hallway, where Jodie had just appeared. He was making a statement.

Jodie's face went white. She mumbled an excuse about feeling unwell and fled up the stairs.

Carter started to follow her, but a sharp look from his grandfather stopped him in his tracks.

I looked down at the cool, heavy diamonds on my skin. It felt like a gilded cage. I knew what I had to do. Later that evening, I went to the study to return it.

As I approached the study door, I heard their voices again, raised in anger.

"Why would you give her the Star?" Carter demanded. "It belongs to the matriarch! It should be for Jodie!"

"I will say this one last time," Bertrand's voice was like stone. "I only recognize Hazel as your wife. That... woman will never have that title."

"It doesn't matter what you recognize!" Carter's voice was strained, desperate. "My marriage certificate with Hazel is a fake! I'm already legally married to Jodie!"

The world stopped. A fake. The piece of paper I had cherished was a forgery.

My body trembled violently. I turned and ran, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Back in my room, I tore through my safe until I found it. The marriage certificate. My hands shook as I unfolded it. And there it was. A glaring typo in the city clerk's name. A detail I had been too blissfully happy to ever notice.

I was not his wife. I was his mistress, unknowingly.

I laughed, a broken, hysterical sound that turned into weeping.

The next thing I knew, a maid was shaking me awake, pulling me from the bed.

"Mrs. Finley! Come quickly!"

She dragged me downstairs to the living room. On the floor, the Hancock Star lay, its chain broken, diamonds scattered. Bertrand stood over it, his face a mask of thunder.

The maid pointed a trembling finger at me. "It was her! I saw her come down and smash it!" she cried. "I've worked for this family for twenty years! I would never lie!"

Bertrand's cold eyes fixed on me. "Hazel, did you do this?"

Before I could deny it, my gaze fell on Jodie, standing in the corner. In her hand, she was holding a photograph. A picture of my frail, elderly parents, smiling, completely vulnerable. It was a threat.

My mouth went dry. My voice was a whisper. "Yes. I broke it."

Bertrand's face was a stone wall of disappointment. "I'm very disappointed in you, Hazel. You will stay in your room until you understand your mistake."

HAZEL POV:

I was a prisoner in my own room. The next day, Jodie appeared in the doorway, a vision of false sympathy. "Hazel, I'm so sorry," she began, her voice soft and cloying. "This is all my fault. Grandpa Bertrand loves you so much, he must be heartbroken."

Her words were carefully chosen daggers. I glanced up, my eyes meeting hers, and I let the mask of politeness fall away for just a second. I let her see the ice in my gaze.

"You should never have used my parents to threaten me, Jodie."

Her victim act kicked in instantly. Her eyes welled with tears, her lip trembled. "How could you say that?" she whimpered.

Right on cue, Carter stormed in. "What are you doing to her?" he snarled, rushing to Jodie's side and pulling her behind him as if protecting her from a monster.

"Carter, it's not Hazel's fault," Jodie sobbed into his chest. "I just wanted to apologize."

"She's always been like this!" Carter said, glaring at me. "Aggressive and cruel."

I looked at their intertwined hands and a bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips.

Carter had the grace to look guilty. He dropped Jodie's hand. "I'm just trying to look out for you, Hazel," he said, the lie tasting like ash in the air.

Suddenly, a fire alarm blared through the house. Smoke began to pour from under the door of the west wing library.

"Fire!" Jodie gasped.

I jumped up, running for the hallway. Carter grabbed Jodie and ran in the opposite direction, toward the main exit. He didn't even glance back.

I raced towards the library. I knew my brother Gary's old journals were in there, the only things I had left of him. The smoke was thick, choking me. I found the journals, clutching them to my chest, and ran for the door.

It was locked from the outside.

My blood ran cold. Carter and Jodie were the only ones who had gone that way. They had locked me in. They were trying to kill me.

Panic seized me, but I fought it down. I remembered a small service door in the back. I ran, my lungs burning, and threw my shoulder against it. It burst open, and I stumbled out into the night, collapsing on the grass, gasping for air.

It took me half an hour to make my way back to the front of the house. Bertrand was standing there, his face grim, watching the fire consume the library.

"Carter told me you went in to get something and knocked over a lamp," he said, his voice laced with suspicion.

I looked past him. Carter was there, his arm wrapped protectively around Jodie, his eyes fixed on her.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and just shook my head, too weary to fight anymore.

Just then, two police cars screamed up the driveway. Officers rushed out and came straight for me.

Before I could process what was happening, one of them snapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. "Hazel Finley, you're under arrest for using your art gallery business for money laundering and wire fraud."

My face went pale. Money laundering? I remembered Jodie asking to "borrow" my gallery's online payment portal months ago, to sell a few pieces for a "friend." Carter had been there. He had smiled and said, "Let her, Hazel. It's for a good cause."

I had let her. Another act of trust, another betrayal.

"It wasn't me!" I screamed, my eyes locking on Carter. "It was her!"

But no one was listening. All eyes were on Bertrand, who had clutched his chest, his face turning a deathly gray as he collapsed from the shock.

I was dragged away. I spent a day and a night in a cold interrogation room. When they finally let me go, I stumbled out of the police station into a nightmare.

A mob of reporters swarmed me, their cameras flashing like lightning, their questions like blows.

"Mrs. Hancock, is it true you've been selling forgeries?"

"How could you bring such shame to the Hancock name?"

Then, someone threw a milkshake. It splattered against my face, cold and sticky. The crowd laughed. I tried to speak, to defend myself, but only a choked, gagging sound came out.

I felt my knees buckle. Just as I was about to fall, a black car pulled up and Carter emerged, flanked by bodyguards. He pushed through the crowd, his face a perfect mask of concern. He gently wiped the filth from my face with a silk handkerchief.

"I'm so sorry, Hazel," he whispered, his voice full of fake remorse. "I came as soon as I heard."

I knew he was lying. I had seen his car parked across the street the whole time. He had watched. He wanted me broken, humiliated, so I would be easier to control.

The legal troubles disappeared, but my reputation was destroyed. That night, I walked past the study. The door was ajar. I looked.

Carter was kissing Jodie, his hands tangled in her hair.

"I only love you," he was whispering against her lips. "Being with her is just a task. An obligation. Do you know how much I hate it? After I touch her, I have to shower three times to wash the feeling of her off my skin."

Jodie made a soft, whimpering sound of pleasure.

A bitter acid rose in my throat. I stumbled back, my hand knocking a vase off a pedestal. It shattered on the floor.

The sounds inside the study stopped instantly.

"Who's there?" Carter's voice was sharp, cold as ice.