Elena's POV

I shut myself in the bedroom and tried to calm down. My head was full of static.

Every corner of this room held memories of him and me.

Our wedding night. A thousand-plus nights of marriage since, all of them spent here.

Yesterday he had still been holding me, soothing me to sleep.

Today, a woman with my face had walked through the door.

They'd been lovers ten years ago. James had never gotten over her death — in three years of dating and marriage, he'd never once taken me anywhere near the sea.

All of it, because of her.

He had only ever fallen for me, married me, because I reminded him of her.

I looked at my face in the vanity mirror, and something inside me broke. I dropped to the floor and gagged.

I didn't want to think any further. I couldn't stop.

They were downstairs right now. What were they saying? What were they doing? I didn't know.

I was the wife. I was the one with a ring. And I didn't even have any standing to call them out.

She'd been there first. It was that simple.

I was the stand-in. I was the one who didn't belong here.

I wrapped my hand around the pendant at my throat.

A blood-red gem, set in fine silverwork.

I could still picture the way James had looked when he went down on one knee in front of me, holding it out.

He'd told me he wanted me to be his vampire bride.

He'd said when the time was right, he would turn me, and we'd be together forever. Never apart.

Every word, still ringing in my ears.

Was none of it real?

Did none of it count anymore?

The tears came in a rush, and I sobbed into my hands.

He was right downstairs. He could hear every sound from up here.

He knew I was crying. He knew I was breaking.

He didn't come.

I sat on the floor, for I don't know how long.

The tears dried up. Only the tight ache in my throat was left.

The voices downstairs drifted up, on and off.

Soft, but I caught every word.

They were talking.

She was crying. He was comforting her.

That low, coaxing tone — I knew it too well.

He'd used it on me a thousand times in three years.

Now all that gentleness was for someone else.

It struck me as almost funny.

The things I'd thought were mine alone — they were just his habit, his default tenderness.

They had never been mine.

I got up slowly and walked to the door.

My hand was on the doorknob. I stopped.

I knew that the moment I opened this door and went down those stairs, I would see them.

I didn't have the courage for it.

I couldn't bear to see his face when he looked at her.

I couldn't bear to see how well they fit together.

I didn't want to remind myself, again, that I was the stand-in.

I still loved him. That was why this hurt so much. That was why I was such a coward.

I stepped back. I leaned against the wall, then slid down it slowly.

There was a weight on my chest that wouldn't shift. I couldn't breathe right.

I don't know how long I sat there. The sky was getting pale.

The voices outside finally went quiet.

Familiar footsteps came up the stairs, closer and closer to the bedroom door.

I froze.

I held my breath.

The door didn't open.

He was standing out there. Hesitating.

I could hear him raise his hand and lower it. Again. And again.

Finally, two soft knocks.

"…Elena."

His voice was low. Through the door, I couldn't read it. I had no idea what he'd decided.

I didn't answer. My throat had closed up. I couldn't have spoken if I'd wanted to.

He waited. When I didn't move, he tried again, gentler.

"Are you all right?"

The question pulled a bitter smile from me.

Was I all right.

Wasn't he the one who would know.

I sat on the floor, eyes fixed on the door.

I said nothing.

The silence got terrible — he must have felt it.

His voice cut off.

After a while, he tried again.

"Can I come in? Let's talk."

I still didn't answer. I curled tighter into the blankets, as if holding on to myself was the only way I could keep breathing.

It went quiet outside.

He stood there. He didn't knock again. He didn't leave.

"I'm sorry, Elena. I…"

He didn't know what to say. Maybe he didn't know how to face me either.

He heard me crying through the door, and he just stayed there. None of his usual soft words. None of the old certainty that a single kiss would stop my tears.

After a while, the footsteps moved away.

He was walking away from the room.

I closed my eyes and sat alone in the dark.

Something hollowed out in my chest.

Like something had been taken from me for good.

I knew what he had decided.

He didn't need the stand-in anymore.

Elena's POV

The next morning, I got up early, pretending nothing had happened.

I put on the pale blue robe James liked best and made breakfast, the way I always did.

I hadn't slept. The shadows under my eyes were awful.

But I didn't know any other way to face this.

The toaster popped. I plated everything and set two breakfasts on the table.

James came down a few minutes later than usual. Vicky was right behind him.

They hadn't come from the same room.

A small, stupid wave of relief went through me. Then I despised myself for it.

James looked uncomfortable.

He saw the shadows under my eyes. The guilt was right there in his face. He started to say something.

Vicky smiled and slid into the chair next to him.

"Thank you, Elena."

"James told me last night you cook beautifully."

"I appreciate the special treatment."

She'd taken my seat. She sat there easy, like she was the lady of the house.

I gripped the hem of my robe. I stared at James, willing him to say something.

He didn't.

My eyes burned. The tears were coming any second.

But I had too much pride for that.

I gave that face — my face — a smile, and reached over and pulled her plate toward me.

"Don't mention it. This one wasn't for you."

I bit into the buttered toast. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James freeze.

Vicky bit her lip. She glared at me, and then made herself laugh, soft and forgiving.

"I understand, Elena. This is hard for anyone."

I pretended I hadn't heard. I pushed the butter toward James.

"Babe? You're not eating? I thought you loved my buttered toast."

"Is it because there's not enough butter today?"

I smiled at him, sweet, working hard to look normal.

He took the butter without thinking. The look in his eyes when he met mine was full of pity.

"Elena, we need to talk—"

I pretended I hadn't heard that either, and just kept going.

"That bread we used to get all the time — I think they changed the recipe. It isn't sweet anymore."

"Elena—"

He said my name. His red eyes shimmered.

He was still being a gentleman about it. He couldn't bring himself to tear off the mask I was holding up, even though my voice was shaking now.

"What do you think, babe? You don't like the new recipe either, right?"

"Let's go to the market together next time. The staff make things easy, but I'd rather—"

"Elena, I'm sorry."

He cut me off, finally.

I bowed my head and chewed the toast. I couldn't taste any of it.

"I'm sorry. The person I love has always been—"

"I'm tired today. Don't. Please."

My shoulders were shaking. My voice was small.

"We'll talk about it later. Okay?"

I lifted my head and tried to smile. The tears came down anyway.

A muscle moved in James's jaw. He looked away. His beautiful, sculpted face was full of struggle.

But he'd made up his mind.

"I can't keep dragging this out, Elena. It isn't fair to you."

He softened his voice deliberately, like he was trying to wake me up.

"The one I love has always been Vicky."

"I told you I didn't want to hear it!"

We spoke at the same time. The plate in front of me hit the floor and shattered.

Vicky cried out, theatrical. James's arm shot up to shield her from the shards.

"Ah — sorry, I—"

I came back to myself and crouched on instinct, starting to pick up the pieces. The tears blurred my vision.

Just like the plate.

No matter how hard I lied to myself, our marriage couldn't be put back together.

Just now, the first person James had reached for hadn't been me.

It had been Vicky.

That was all the answer I needed.

I stood up. I didn't notice I'd cut my finger on the porcelain.

James came toward me in a hurry. He took my hand on instinct. Then he caught himself, let go, stepped back.

"I'll get a doctor—"

I grabbed his hand before he could pull away. I was crying and laughing at once.

I'd wanted to look beautiful for this. I couldn't. My face was all tears.

"James, you said it yourself. You loved me. You were the one who proposed. You wanted me to marry you."

I closed my hand around the pendant at my throat. I looked up at him, begging.

"You swore. You swore you'd protect me my whole life. Love me my whole life."

I stepped closer as I spoke. He turned his face away in pain.

"None of it counts anymore. Does it?"

"I'm sorry."

Even now, all he had for me was sorry.

"Let's get a divorce, Elena."

He said it.

I gave a thin, mocking smile, and let go of his hand.

"James. I'll never agree to a divorce."

I wiped my eyes. I looked at this man I loved more than anything, who could be this cruel to me, and I dug my heels in.

"I promised I would be your wife for life."

"I keep my promises."

"You can wait as long as you want. I'll be dead before I sign those papers."

Elena's POV

I knew this would put James in a hard spot.

I knew, too, that the reason he'd asked for a divorce so quickly was that he wanted to spare me more pain.

But he should have remembered something about me. I keep my word.

A promise made stays made. I don't take it back.

I had sworn to walk through this life with him. I wasn't going to give that up overnight.

Three years dating. Three years married. None of those memories were fake.

I'd been with him long enough. I refused to believe there hadn't been a single moment when he'd actually loved me — me, not the resemblance.

I remembered every step he'd taken to win me over. Every night and day he'd treated me like I was something precious. How was I supposed to walk away from that?

Our marriage had been registered with the Council of Elders. As long as I refused to sign, James had no legal grounds to remove me.

I'd chosen the most foolish way to fight, just so he'd be forced to face what he really felt.

I wanted to keep believing he still loved me. The truth was unbearable.

But pretend as I might, the house had changed.

Vicky moved in. She didn't make a scene of it. She just slipped into the household, like she'd never left. The staff started checking her face before mine before they did anything. She spoke softly, and people did what she said.

I still slept in the master bedroom. I was still, in name, his wife. After she came, that word — wife — felt thin.

A few days later was the annual gala for the vampire nobility.

I dressed the way I always did. I stood in front of the mirror, and out of habit, I straightened the pendant at my throat.

It was the one James had given me when he proposed. I had once thought of it as the firmest promise he could make.

Now, looking at the red stone in the mirror, all I could see was that it was the wrong color, on the wrong face — a face she also wore.

The ballroom was lit up bright. When James and I walked in together, the crowd parted for us, the way they always did. But the looks were different this time.

They weren't admiring our love story. They were watching the three of us, whispering.

Some lowered their voices. Some openly stared. One person mistook Vicky for me, then realized her mistake and asked me, awkwardly, why I hadn't been turned yet.

There was curiosity in their voices, and the bright edge of people watching a scandal unfold up close.

I pretended I hadn't heard, and kept walking with my arm in his. He didn't pull away. But his hand was colder than it had ever been.

Vicky wore a deep red gown. She looked like the night itself. Standing next to me, we were like light and shadow side by side. Someone gasped. Others looked back and forth between us, comparing. I had never hated my own face this much.

We made polite conversation. James introduced Vicky, and in front of everyone he still called me his wife, carefully protecting my dignity.

It only made me ache worse.

While my mind drifted, Vicky was already at ease, chatting with a cluster of vampires, telling the story of her death and return.

I was about to slip away quietly when she called my name.

"Elena. Thank you for taking care of James these past few years."

She said it softly, even gratefully. But she said it loud enough, in a setting like this, for everyone to hear.

The room went still. People glanced over, waiting to see what I'd do.

I looked at that face that was the same as mine, and something pressed hard on my chest. I made myself smile.

"It was nothing. He's my husband."

The strain in my own voice was obvious to me. I had no choice but to keep up appearances.

The Elders had noticed the moment too. They walked over without hurrying. Their eyes lingered on Vicky and me, then settled on me.

"Elena," one of them said. The tone was kind, but the weight in it couldn't be ignored. "We've heard your turning ceremony was interrupted. That's rare among the noble families."

He took his time. There was no way around it. "As your union is officially registered, we need to know whether this is going to affect the marriage."

The room went silent. Every eye came back to me.

I stood very straight. I didn't dare let my breathing show.

"It was just an interruption. It's nothing."

My voice was steadier than I'd expected from myself.

I paused, and added, "James and I are fine."

The moment I said it, I caught Vicky's small smile. She didn't say anything. She lifted her hand and slid it through James's arm, easy, like she'd been doing it for years.

He didn't pull away. He just looked at me. Worried.

The gala dragged on. I made it through on instinct. I smiled, I raised my glass, I said the right things at the right times. No one could have called me anything but composed.

Only I knew my hands hadn't stopped shaking.

When it was over, I didn't go back to the main hall. I went out onto the terrace alone.

The night air was cold. I stood there and drank, glass after glass, trying to dull the pain.

After a long time, I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't turn around.

"Where's Vicky?" I asked, mild.

"I sent her home." James came up beside me. His voice was low. "I wanted to talk to you."

I gave a small laugh and swirled the wine in my glass. "What's left to talk about?"

He was quiet. He seemed to be choosing his words.

"I don't want it to be like this," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

I didn't answer. I kept drinking.

"I loved her for years. When she died, I almost didn't survive it. I couldn't function for a long time."

He stopped, like he was weighing the next part.

"And then I met you."

The wind off the terrace was cold. He took off his coat and put it around my shoulders.

It was the same gesture he'd done a thousand times. I reached up to take it without thinking. I almost leaned against him. He stepped to the side.

For a second, I felt myself nudged away — gently, but definitely. The ache it set off cleared my head completely.

"So now you have to keep your distance — for her sake?" I said.

He frowned. He didn't answer.

I lowered my head and breathed in his coat. "There's a women's perfume on you. It's strong. I don't like it."

His face darkened. "Elena. Don't talk about her like that."

I nodded, smiling without warmth. "Right. I don't have the standing." I looked up at him, calm. "I'm only the stand-in, after all."

His voice got quieter. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I shook my head. I didn't argue.

"Do you remember the first time we met? It was a gala too. A terrace, like this one. I was sitting alone in a corner. You were the one who came over to me."

I looked at him. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

He paused. "I was afraid you'd refuse me."

I laughed. My eyes were burning.

"If you'd told me earlier — that I only looked like her, that that's why you wanted me — I wouldn't have been so stupid. I wouldn't have loved you all these years."

He looked rattled. The words rushed out of him.

"Elena. I can make this right. I can still turn you—"

"Enough."

I cut him off. Quiet. Final.

"I only agreed to be turned because I wanted to spend forever with the man I loved."

He went still.

I handed his coat back. I gave him a small, easy smile, like nothing had happened.

"None of that matters now. You don't have to force yourself."

I turned to leave. The wind off the terrace was cold, but I didn't look back.

"As for the divorce," I said over my shoulder, "I won't agree to it."