"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.

---

"Chad," Ansley wept, clutching his hand to her cheek. "I couldn't handle it. The thought of you with her..."

Chadwick stroked her hair, his face twisted in guilt. "Shh, Ansley. You're safe. I'm here."

"It's all my fault," Gussie sobbed from the doorway behind Johnna. "She's too sensitive for this cruel world."

Johnna walked to the foot of the bed. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum.

Chadwick looked up, startled. He saw the look on Johnna's face-a look of utter, terrifying blankness.

"Johnna," he warned. "Not now."

Johnna ignored him. She studied Ansley. She saw the faint smear of highlighter on Ansley's cheekbones-who puts on makeup before an overdose? She saw the rhythmic, easy rise and fall of her chest, devoid of the jagged gasps of someone fighting off respiratory failure.

"What did you take, Ansley?" Johnna asked. Her voice was calm, conversational.

Ansley's eyes darted to Johnna. For a second, the mask slipped. Pure malice flashed in her eyes.

"I... I don't remember," Ansley stammered. "Everything went black."

"Did they pump your stomach?" Johnna asked. "Because your lips aren't chapped from the tube, and your throat doesn't sound raw."

"Johnna!" Chadwick stood up, placing himself between the two women. "Stop it. She almost died."

"Did she?" Johnna stepped around him. She leaned down, bringing her face close to Ansley's.

"You're a terrible actress," Johnna whispered. "And an even worse human being."

"Get her out!" Gussie shrieked. "She's trying to kill my daughter!"

"That's enough!" Chadwick grabbed Johnna's arm. His grip was hard. "Leave. Go wait in the hall."

Johnna looked at his hand on her arm. Then she looked at his face. He was protecting the lie. He was choosing the lie.

"You're pathetic, Chadwick," she said. She didn't yell. She just stated it as a fact. "You're letting them play you like a violin."

She ripped her arm from his grasp.

She turned to Ansley. "You can have him. He's hollow anyway."

Johnna turned and walked out. She didn't stop in the hallway. She didn't look at Grandfather Dyer. She walked straight to the elevators, pressed the button, and descended.

She walked out of the hospital main entrance. The wind was biting. She didn't have her coat; she had left it in the helicopter. She wrapped her arms around herself and started walking down the street.

She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to be away from the sickness of that family.

"Johnna! Wait!"

She heard the footsteps behind her. Heavy, running strides.

She didn't turn.

A hand caught her shoulder, spinning her around.

Chadwick stood there, chest heaving. He had left Ansley. He had run after her.

But when Johnna looked into his eyes, she didn't see love. She saw panic. He was afraid of losing control, not losing her.

"You can't just walk away," he panted. "Grandfather will-"

"I don't care about your grandfather!" Johnna screamed. It was the first time she had raised her voice. "I don't care about the trust! I don't care about the merger!"

Chadwick flinched. He looked at her shivering in the cold.

"Johnna, please. Ansley is fragile right now. I have a duty..."

"A duty to your ex?" Johnna laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "What about your wife? Oh, right. I'm just the placeholder."

Chadwick looked stricken. "That's not true."

"It is true. I saw her, Chadwick. I saw how much she looks like me. Or how much I look like her."

He went silent. He couldn't deny it.

Johnna turned to leave again.

"Wait," he said. He reached into his wallet.

Johnna watched, incredulous, as he pulled out a black metal card. The Centurion Card.

"Take this," he said, shoving it into her frozen hand. "Go shopping. Get a coat. Get... whatever you want. Just blow off some steam. I have to go back in there until she's stable, but I'll meet you at the apartment tonight."

Johnna looked at the black card. It was heavy, cold metal. Infinite spending limit.

He was solving the problem the only way a Dyer knew how.

"You're buying my silence?" she asked.

"I'm trying to take care of you," he said, desperate.

Johnna gripped the card. A dark idea formed in her mind. If he wanted to pay, she would make him pay.

"What's the PIN?" she asked.

Chadwick paused. He looked at her, his eyes softening slightly, before a flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.

"It's just the default," he muttered, unable to meet her gaze. "I never changed it from what the bank set up. 0000."

Johnna felt a different kind of sting. It wasn't sentimental; it was impersonal. He hadn't even bothered to secure it. It was just another asset he didn't care enough to manage properly.

"Fine," she said. "Go back to your doll."

She turned and walked away, the black card burning a hole in her palm.

---