They moved deeper into the ballroom, but the mood was shattered. The orchestra began to play a waltz, a light, airy tune that felt grotesque against the pounding of Kamden's heart.

He kept glancing back. Across the room, Cason was holding court. He was charming a group of investors, laughing, throwing his head back.

Kamden's internal monologue began to spiral.

He looks like me. But he's freer. He's happier.

He looked at Helena. She was walking beside him, but she felt miles away.

London.

The rumors he had ignored for years came rushing back. Helena Griffith, the piano prodigy, disappearing to the UK. Coming back broken.

Was it him? Kamden thought. Did she love him? Is that why she settled for me? Because I have his face?

The thought was a parasite. It burrowed into his brain and laid eggs.

"Am I just a replacement?" he muttered, unaware he had spoken aloud.

Helena stopped. She felt Kamden's grip on her arm tighten to the point of pain. She gently pulled away.

"I need some air," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "And food. With Penny..." She let the sentence hang, the demands of a new mother a convenient shield.

It was a lie. Or half a lie. She couldn't stand the way he was looking at her-like he was waiting for her to confess a sin she hadn't committed.

"Go," Kamden said stiffly. He let her go.

As she walked away, he felt abandoned. It reinforced every insecurity he had ever buried under his expensive suits.

Helena walked to the hors d'oeuvres station. Her hands were shaking. She picked up a canapé with her right hand. Her left hand throbbed. A phantom pain.

She leaned against a marble pillar, hidden from the main crowd. She closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

Flashback.

A hospital room. The smell of antiseptic. Cason standing at the foot of her bed, looking at her bandaged hand. "Was it worth it, Helena? Saving him? He doesn't even know."

She opened her eyes. The pain in her hand was real.

Back in the center of the room, a waiter passed Kamden with a tray. Kamden grabbed a glass. It was double scotch.

He downed it in one swallow. The alcohol burned his throat, hitting his empty stomach like gasoline.

He looked around. People were whispering. They were looking at him, then looking at Cason.

They know, Kamden thought. The paranoia set in. Everyone knows but me.

He needed to confront this. He couldn't just stand here and be the polite, ignorant husband.

Jasper found Kamden at the bar. Kamden was staring into his empty glass like it held the secrets of the universe.

Jasper signaled the bartender for a sparkling water. "He looks like you, Kam. It's uncanny. I'll give you that."

Kamden glared at his friend. "He doesn't just look like me, Jasper."

He turned on his stool, pointing a finger toward the center of the room where Cason was still laughing. "Look at him. The way he stands. The way he holds his drink. He acts like he owns the place. Like he owns... her."

Jasper sighed, trying to defuse the bomb. "A rival? For Helena? Please. You know Helena. She doesn't do drama."

"Helena chose you," Jasper affirmed, placing a hand on Kamden's shoulder.

Kamden slammed his glass down on the mahogany bar. The sound cracked like a gunshot. "Did she? Or did she settle for the copy?"

Jasper silenced. The raw insecurity in Kamden's voice was terrifying. This wasn't business jealousy. This was a man questioning his entire existence.

Across the room, Cason caught Kamden's eye. He raised his glass again. A silent, mocking toast.

Kamden felt a violent urge to cross the room and smash his fist into that mirror face. He wanted to break the reflection.

He realized he was losing control. His breathing was shallow.

"I need to step out," Kamden muttered.

"Kam, wait-"

"I said I need a minute!"

He walked toward the terrace doors, moving away from Helena, away from the crowd. He feared his jealousy would turn into an ugly scene in front of her. He couldn't let her see him like this. Weak. Broken.

Dana Zhu saw him leave. She nudged Jasper. "Go after him?"

Jasper shook his head. "Give him five minutes. He needs to cool off."

Kamden pushed open the heavy glass doors. The cold night air hit his face, shocking his system.

He walked to the stone railing. He gripped it until his knuckles turned white. Below him, Central Park was a dark void.

He pulled out his phone. His lock screen was a photo of Penny. Her tiny face, sleeping.

Is she even mine?

The intrusive thought struck him like lightning.

He hated himself for thinking it. It was vile. It was disgusting. But Cason's face... it was the same DNA.

"Damn it!"

Kamden punched the stone wall.

Skin split. Blood bloomed on his knuckles. The physical pain was sharp, grounding. It distracted him from the rot in his chest.

He breathed heavily, staring at the blood.

Behind him, footsteps crunched on the gravel.

He turned, hope flaring in his chest. Helena?

But the shadow was too large. Too broad.

Back inside, Helena was selecting a lemon tart from the buffet. She wasn't hungry, but she needed to do something with her hands.

She sensed a presence before she heard it. The air grew heavy with cloying perfume.

Morgana Vane slid up next to her, holding a glass of red wine dangerously close to Helena's dress.

"Eating your feelings, Helena?" Morgana sneered.

Helena didn't look up. She inspected the tart. "Fueling, Morgana. Some of us have responsibilities that don't involve clinging to men for relevance."

Morgana laughed. It was a brittle sound, like glass breaking. "Responsibilities? Like keeping your husband from finding out the truth?"

Helena froze mid-bite. She placed the tart back on the plate.

She turned slowly to face Morgana. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Morgana stepped closer, emboldened by the wine and Cason's earlier confidence. "Don't I? Cason told me everything. London. The accident. The sacrifice."

Helena's eyes turned to absolute ice. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her face remained stone.

"Cason lies," Helena said softly. "And you are a fool for listening."

Morgana sneered, her lips curling back. "You don't belong here, Helena. You act like royalty, but we all know." She dropped her gaze to Helena's left hand. "You aren't good stock. Broken goods."

The insult hung in the air. Broken goods. A direct attack on her injury, on her worth as a woman and a mother.

Helena placed her plate down on the table with deliberate calm. She straightened to her full height. She was an inch taller than Morgana, but in that moment, she looked ten feet tall.

"My 'stock' built this city, Morgana," Helena said, her voice carrying a lethal quietness. "Yours just rents space in it."

It was a devastating verbal slap. Simple. Accurate. Cruel.

Morgana's face flushed an ugly, blotchy red. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Guests nearby stopped talking. The silence spread. They sensed blood in the water.

Dana Zhu was rushing over, spotting the tension from across the room.

Morgana, losing control, raised her voice. "You think you're so superior!"

Helena turned to walk away. She was done with this.

This dismissal triggered Morgana's ultimate weapon. She couldn't win the battle of wits, so she decided to burn the building down.

Morgana inhaled to shout.

Helena sensed the escalation. She stopped and looked back, challenging her. Do it. Make a fool of yourself.