But old habits were chains made of steel. She swiped accept.

"What?" she answered, her voice sharp.

"Where are you?" Chadwick's voice was tight, clipped. Not angry, but stressed.

"I'm working," Johnna said. "Something you probably didn't think I was capable of."

"I need to see you," he said, ignoring her jab. "Now."

"I'm not coming back to the apartment, Chadwick. Talk to my lawyer. Oh wait, I don't have one because I signed your damn papers."

"It's Grandmother," he said.

The name stopped Johnna cold. Grandmother Dyer. The matriarch. The woman who had taught Johnna which fork to use without making her feel small. The only person in that cold, marble mausoleum of a family who had ever squeezed Johnna's hand with genuine warmth.

"What happened?" Johnna asked, her voice dropping.

"Her heart," Chadwick said. "She's... asking for you. She's agitated. The doctors say we need to keep her calm."

Johnna closed her eyes. It was a trap. She knew it was a trap. But it was a trap baited with the one thing she couldn't walk away from.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm tracking your phone," he said. "I'm outside."

Johnna looked out the window. A black Maybach was idling at the curb, looking menacingly out of place against the graffitied brick of Chelsea.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know," he said.

Johnna hung up. She told Simon she had a family emergency and would be back in the morning. She walked out of the studio, stripping off her white gloves.

She opened the back door of the Maybach and slid in. The interior smelled of leather and Chadwick. He was sitting on the other side of the seat, looking immaculate and exhausted.

He looked at her clothes-the paint-stained trousers, the simple blouse. His brow furrowed.

"What kind of gallery lets you dress like that?" he asked.

"The kind that values the work, not the display," she retorted.

He didn't press. He reached down and picked up a velvet box from the seat between them. He held it out to her.

"What is this?"

"A gift. For Grandmother. Give it to her. Tell her it's from both of us."

Johnna opened the box. Inside sat a jade carving of a lotus flower. The green was deep, translucent, oily-Imperial Jade. She knew the market. This piece was worth more than her mother's house.

"You're trying to buy her happiness?" Johnna asked, snapping the box shut.

"I'm trying to give her peace," Chadwick said. "She thinks we're happy. She doesn't know about the filing. If she finds out while she's in this state..."

"So I'm here to lie," Johnna said.

"You're here to be kind," Chadwick corrected.

The car merged onto the highway, heading east toward the Hamptons. The drive was long. The silence in the back seat was thick enough to choke on. The space was confined, intimate.

Every time the car took a sharp turn, their knees brushed.

Johnna pulled her leg away as if burned. Chadwick didn't move. She saw his jaw muscle feather. He was tense.

"So," he said, breaking the silence after an hour. "You found a job fast. Reception?"

Johnna looked out the window at the passing trees. "Something like that."

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If he thought she was answering phones, let him. It made her real life feel safer, hidden away from his judgment.

"That's... good," he said awkwardly. "It's good to keep busy."

He sounded so patronizing. He sounded like he was talking to a child who had set up a lemonade stand.

The car slowed, turning through the massive iron gates of the Dyer estate. The gravel crunched under the tires. The main house loomed ahead, a sprawling stone mansion that looked more like a fortress than a home.

Johnna felt a familiar tightness in her chest. The Golden Cage. She had escaped it for three days. Now she was walking right back in.

The car stopped. The driver opened the door.

Johnna stepped out, clutching the velvet box. She took a deep breath, fixing a fake, serene smile on her face. It was time to perform.

---

"She's in the master suite," the butler murmured.

Chadwick placed a hand on the small of Johnna's back to guide her. The heat of his palm seared through her blouse. She flinched, stepping away from his touch. He dropped his hand, his expression hardening.

They walked up the sweeping staircase in silence.

Grandmother Dyer lay in the center of a massive four-poster bed. She looked tiny, swallowed by the heavy brocade comforters. Her skin was like parchment, translucent and fragile.

"Johnna," the old woman rasped.

Johnna rushed to the bedside, dropping to her knees. She took the old woman's hand. It was cold and dry.

"I'm here, Grandmother," she said softly.

Grandmother Dyer opened her eyes. They were milky with age, but beneath the haze, there was a spark. A sharp, assessing intelligence that Johnna had always admired.

"You left," Grandmother accused, her voice weak but stern. "You left my grandson."

"I..." Johnna stammered. She looked at Chadwick. He was standing at the foot of the bed, looking at the floor.

"We had a disagreement," Chadwick said. "It's resolved."

Grandmother coughed. It was a wet, rattling sound that went on too long. A doctor, standing in the shadows of the room, stepped forward to check her pulse.

"She needs rest," the doctor said, looking at Chadwick. "No stress. Her heart is operating at thirty percent capacity."

Grandmother gripped Johnna's hand with surprising strength. "Don't leave. Stay. Until I'm... better."

"I have to work, Grandmother," Johnna said gently.

"Work?" Grandmother scoffed, then wheezed. "Nonsense. Stay here. I want to see you. I want to see..." She looked at Johnna's stomach. "I want to see the future."

Johnna froze. The pressure for an heir. It had always been the subtext, now it was the text.

"We will stay," Chadwick said abruptly. "For the weekend. Until you're stable."

Johnna shot him a glare. He ignored her.

"Good," Grandmother sighed, closing her eyes. A small smile played on her lips. "Good."

Dinner was a silent affair in the dining room that could seat thirty. Grandfather Dyer sat at the head of the table, cutting his steak with surgical precision.

"The trust stipulates marital cohabitation for full disbursement of the quarterly allowance," Grandfather said, not looking up. "I'm glad you two came to your senses. Divorce is expensive. And vulgar."

Johnna pushed a pea around her plate. They weren't people to him. They were assets.

Later, the butler led them to their room.

"I prepared the East Suite," the butler said.

"We need separate rooms," Johnna said quickly.

The butler cleared his throat, his eyes darting toward Grandmother's door. "Madam was quite insistent, sir. She demanded the East Suite for you both because it shares a connecting door with her room. She wants to be able to... call out if she needs you. She specifically forbade us from preparing any other guest rooms."

Chadwick sighed, loosening his tie. "Fine. It's just for a few nights."

He walked into the room. It was the room they had used on their honeymoon. The bed was enormous.

Johnna stood by the door, hugging her arms. "I'm not sleeping with you."

"I'll take the sofa," Chadwick said, grabbing a pillow from the bed. He tossed it onto the chaise lounge by the window. "I'm not an animal, Johnna."

He took off his jacket and shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his back. Johnna looked away, her mouth dry.

She changed in the bathroom and climbed into the massive bed, staying on the far edge.

The lights went out.

The room was quiet, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall. Johnna lay awake, staring into the dark. She could hear Chadwick shifting on the too-small sofa. She could hear his breathing-slow, rhythmic.

She felt trapped. The luxury was suffocating. She was a prisoner in a castle, guarded by a dying queen and a husband who wanted to replace her.

"Johnna?" Chadwick's voice came from the dark.

"Go to sleep, Chadwick."

"I didn't want it to be like this," he whispered.

"Like what?"

"Like a war."

Johnna closed her eyes tight. "You started it when you printed those papers."

He didn't answer. The silence stretched, heavy and unresolved, until sleep finally dragged her under.

---

Chadwick scrambled off the sofa, knocking over a lamp in his haste. He grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

Johnna sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She watched the blood drain from Chadwick's face. He looked like he had been punched in the gut.

"I'm coming," he said. "I'm coming right now."

He hung up and looked at Johnna. His eyes were wild.

"It's Ansley," he said. "Gussie says she took pills. She's... she's unresponsive."

Johnna felt a cold knot form in her stomach. Suicide attempt.

Chadwick was already pulling on his pants. "I have to go."

The door to their room opened. Grandfather Dyer stood there, leaning on his cane, fully dressed in a three-piece suit. He must have been listening. Or maybe he had spies everywhere.

"You are not going alone," Grandfather said. His voice was like grinding stones.

"Grandfather, this is an emergency," Chadwick snapped.

"It is a potential scandal," Grandfather corrected. "If you run to your ex-girlfriend's bedside alone while your wife is in the house, the press will eat us alive. Stock prices will wobble." He pointed his cane at Johnna. "She goes with you. You present a united front. You are supporting an 'old family friend'."

Chadwick looked at Johnna, pleading.

Johnna felt bile rise in her throat. This was sick. "I'm not going."

"You will go," Grandfather said, his eyes narrowing. "Or I will have my security team pay a visit to that little restoration studio you slipped into yesterday. I have people looking into the building's ownership as we speak. I can have the place condemned by noon."

Johnna stared at the old man. He was a monster. He didn't know everything yet, but he knew enough to destroy her sanctuary.

"Fine," she spat.

Ten minutes later, they were in the family helicopter, cutting through the grey morning sky toward Manhattan.

They landed on the roof of a private hospital on the Upper East Side. They rushed down the stairs to the VIP wing.

The hallway was crowded with Heath family members and private security. Gussie Heath, Ansley's mother, saw Chadwick and launched herself at him, wailing theatrically.

"She just wants to be loved!" Gussie screamed, glaring at Johnna over Chadwick's shoulder.

Johnna stepped back, pressing herself against the wall. She felt like an intruder in a soap opera.

Through the glass window of the private room, she could see the bed.

Ansley lay there. She was hooked up to monitors, but she looked... peaceful. Perfectly arranged. Her blonde hair was fanned out on the pillow. She was wearing a silk nightgown that looked suspiciously like one Johnna owned.

Johnna squinted.

The profile. The slope of the nose. The way the hair was cut.

It wasn't just that Ansley was beautiful. It was that she looked like Johnna. Or rather, Johnna looked like her.

A memory flashed in Johnna's mind. Chadwick, three years ago, seeing Johnna for the first time at a gallery opening. The look on his face hadn't been lust. It had been recognition. Shock.

He hadn't fallen for Johnna. He had fallen for a ghost. He had married her because she looked like the girl he couldn't have.

The realization hit her so hard she grabbed the handrail to keep from falling. She wasn't the protagonist of this story. She was the understudy. The cheap replica.

Chadwick pulled away from Gussie and rushed into the room. He knelt by the bed, taking Ansley's hand.

Ansley's eyelids fluttered open. A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek.

"Chad," she whispered.

Johnna watched through the glass. She felt her heart turn to ice. It wasn't pain anymore. It was absolute, freezing clarity.

Grandfather Dyer appeared beside her. "Focus," he muttered. "Look concerned."

Johnna looked at him, then back at the pathetic scene in the room.

"No," she said.

She pushed past the old man and opened the door to the room.

---