My phone buzzed with a message that made my heart leap.

"Flying to NYC tomorrow. Business summit at the Plaza. I'm coming for you."

Ezra. My brother had always been my protector, even when I'd chosen to marry Reed against his better judgment.

I clutched the burner phone to my chest, tears of relief blurring my vision. The small device had become my lifeline in this gilded prison.

The bedroom door swung open. Reed stood there, his silhouette backlit by the hallway light.

"Get packed," he said, his voice cold and controlled. "We're going to the Hamptons."

"The Hamptons?" I echoed, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why?"

"The annual Charity Gala. Your presence is required." His eyes narrowed slightly. "And before you get any ideas about contacting your brother, remember what I said about mental health facilities."

My blood ran cold. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Reed stepped closer, his expensive cologne suffocating me. "After your little episode at dinner? The erratic behavior? The drinking?"

"I wasn't—"

"Save it, Elina." He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Be ready by noon. And wear something appropriate. The Ashworths will be there."

---

The Harper estate in the Hamptons sprawled across manicured lawns that rolled down to the Atlantic. White tents dotted the landscape like exotic mushrooms, housing New York's elite as they sipped champagne and wrote checks.

I stood alone near a fountain, feeling like an impostor in my navy silk dress. Reed had disappeared minutes after our arrival, leaving me to navigate the shark-infested waters of high society alone.

"Elina Bennett-Harper," Victoria Ashworth's voice cut through the ambient chatter. "What a... unique choice for tonight."

She approached with three other women, all dripping in diamonds and disdain. Victoria's eyes raked over my outfit, her lips curling into a smirk.

"I thought the charity was for children's education," she said loudly enough for nearby investors to hear. "Not livestock management."

The women tittered behind manicured hands.

"Perhaps Reed should have warned us you'd be bringing your cowgirl roots to the Hamptons," Victoria continued, examining her cocktail as if it held more interest than me.

I scanned the crowd desperately, searching for Reed. He stood across the lawn, but his attention was fixed on Camille as she charmed a circle of older men.

"Victoria," I began, struggling to keep my voice level, "I don't think—"

"Oh, we know you don't," she interrupted. "That's rather obvious."

More laughter. More eyes turning our way.

I felt something inside me crack—not in defeat, but in clarity. These people would never accept me. This world would never be mine.

---

I escaped to the gardens, following a stone path illuminated by subtle landscape lighting. The ocean breeze carried salt and the promise of freedom.

Voices drifted from behind a tall hedge. I froze, recognizing them instantly.

"You don't understand what I'm offering," Reed's voice was low, urgent. "We could leave all this behind."

"Behind?" Camille's laugh was like breaking glass. "Darling, there is no 'behind.' There's only what I have now."

"But I love you," Reed insisted, his voice cracking. "I've always loved you."

"And I've always loved the power you give me," Camille replied coldly. "The way you pant after me like a dog. It's... entertaining."

Silence stretched between them. I pressed myself against the hedge, heart pounding.

"Run away with me," Reed finally whispered. "We could start over."

"Start over?" Camille's voice hardened. "As what? A rancher's wife? Don't be pathetic, Reed. Go manage your little ranch girl and leave me to enjoy what your family name actually provides."

I backed away silently, my mind reeling. It wasn't just that Reed was unfaithful—it was that he was so utterly powerless. So pathetic.

---

Later that night, I sat on the edge of the guest house bed, staring at the door. Reed had stormed in an hour ago, slamming it behind him. The scent of expensive whiskey hung heavy in the air.

"Elina," he called from the bathroom, his voice slurred. "Come here."

I hesitated, then moved toward the sound of running water.

Reed stood at the sink, his tie loosened, hair disheveled. When he turned to face me, his eyes were red-rimmed and desperate.

"Camille," he said, the name falling from his lips like a prayer. "She doesn't want me."

"I know," I replied softly.

"She never has." He laughed bitterly, then suddenly reached for me, pulling me against his chest. His lips crashed down on mine in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and desperation.

"Save me," he whispered against my mouth. "Please, Elina. Save me from this."

For one breathless moment, I thought he was choosing me—seeing me. My hands moved to his shoulders, feeling the tension beneath his shirt.

Then he jerked away as if burned, his expression morphing from desire to disgust.

"Get out," he snarled, pointing to the door. "Get out of my sight."

I stood frozen, watching as he crumpled to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself as if trying to hold the pieces together.

"Reed—"

"I said GET OUT!" His roar echoed off the walls.

I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest. In that moment, I realized the truth: Reed Harper wasn't just lost to me—he was lost to himself.

Morning light streamed through the terrace windows as I arranged the breakfast settings. The Hamptons estate was peaceful at this hour, the ocean breeze carrying the scent of salt and expensive flowers. I'd risen early, unable to sleep after last night's confrontation with Reed.

"Elina, darling, you're up early."

I turned to find Camille gliding into the breakfast room, her silk robe flowing behind her like a cape. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Just making some herbal tea," I replied, gesturing to the kettle. "It helps with morning sickness."

Camille's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "How... thoughtful."

The door swung open again, and the eldest Harper brother strode in—followed by a woman I didn't recognize. She was young, probably in her early twenties, with auburn hair and a delicate features. Her hand rested protectively over her slightly rounded belly.

"This is Melissa," he announced without preamble. "She'll be joining us for breakfast."

The room fell silent. Camille's face froze, her knuckles whitening around her coffee cup.

"How lovely to meet you," I said, breaking the awkward silence. "Please, sit down."

Melissa smiled gratefully, her eyes darting nervously between Camille and me.

"I brought something that might help," I told her, retrieving a small tin from my bag. "It's a special blend of ginger and mint. My mother used it when she was expecting."

"Thank you," Melissa whispered, accepting the tin with trembling fingers.

Camille watched our exchange with calculating eyes, her smile never wavering though her gaze had turned glacial.

---

Later that morning, I headed to the shower, leaving my bag on the bathroom counter. The steam had barely filled the room when I heard the bathroom door open and close softly.

I shut off the water, listening. The bathroom was silent, but I could swear I'd heard footsteps.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I peeked out to find everything as I'd left it—except my tea tin was slightly out of alignment.

---

"Would you mind brewing me another cup?" Melissa asked as we gathered on the terrace for afternoon tea. "That morning blend was wonderful."

"Of course," I said, taking the tin from my bag.

The terrace overlooked the ocean, white chairs arranged in a semicircle around a low table. Reed sat at the far end, his attention fixed on his phone. Camille hovered nearby, watching me with predatory interest.

I prepared the tea carefully, measuring the leaves into the infuser. "This is a special blend for pregnancy," I explained to Melissa. "It has raspberry leaf and nettle—good for iron."

"Elina is quite the herbalist," Camille remarked, her voice honey-sweet. "Always brewing something."

I handed Melissa the cup, our fingers brushing briefly. "It might be a bit strong at first, but it should settle your stomach."

She took a sip, then another. "This is delicious."

The conversation flowed around us—investments, summer homes, the latest gallery opening. I watched Melissa's face, expecting to see relief as the tea took effect.

Instead, her expression contorted suddenly. She clutched her stomach, the teacup shattering on the flagstones as she doubled over.

"Help!" she gasped, her face draining of color. "Something's wrong!"

I rushed to her side, but Camille was faster.

"She poisoned her!" Camille screamed, pointing at me with a manicured finger. "I saw her putting something in the cup!"

Melissa collapsed onto the terrace tiles, her body convulsing. Blood seeped through her white dress where her hands pressed against her abdomen.

The eldest Harper brother knelt beside her, his face contorted with rage. "If anything happens to my child," he snarled at me, "I'll kill you."

Reed stood frozen, his eyes darting between me and Camille.

"I didn't—" I started, but Camille was already rummaging through my bag.

"Look!" she cried triumphantly, holding up a small vial filled with clear liquid. "She had this hidden with her tea leaves!"

The vial hadn't been there before. I would have sworn to it.

"That's not mine," I protested, but my voice was drowned out by the chaos.

The family doctor rushed onto the terrace, kneeling beside Melissa. "We need to get her to the hospital now!"

As they carried Melissa away, the eldest Harper brother turned to me, his eyes cold with fury. "If I lose my heir because of you," he said quietly, "there won't be enough left of you to bury."

The wail of sirens pierced the air as police cars and black SUVs with tinted windows swarmed the Harper estate. I stood frozen on the terrace, watching as uniformed officers and men in dark suits flooded the manicured lawns. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat echoing the chant forming in my mind: *This isn't happening. This isn't happening.*

"Mrs. Harper." A woman's voice cut through my panic. "I'm Detective Rodriguez. We need to ask you some questions about what happened to Melissa Donovan."

I turned to face her, my mouth dry as sandpaper. "I didn't do anything. The tea was just herbal—"

"Ma'am, please keep your hands where I can see them." Detective Rodriguez's eyes were hard, her hand hovering near her holster.

Behind her, paramedics loaded Melissa into an ambulance. Even from this distance, I could see the blood staining her white dress. The sight made me sick.

"Reed!" I called out desperately, scanning the crowd for my husband.

He stood near the fountain, his face a mask of cold calculation. Our eyes met across the lawn, and for one wild moment, I thought he would come to my defense.

"Mr. Harper," Detective Rodriguez called, beckoning him over. "We found this vial in your wife's bag. Can you identify it?"

Reed approached slowly, his gaze flicking to the small glass container in the detective's gloved hand. I watched his face, searching for any sign of the man who had once defended me against Victoria Ashworth's barbs.

"It's not mine," I said, my voice breaking. "Someone planted it—"

"Reed," Camille's voice cut through my protest like a blade. She appeared at his side, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears that looked so genuine I almost believed them myself. "Tell them what you know."

She pressed against him, her hand clutching his arm. The diamond bracelet I'd seen in her jewelry box—the one that matched the necklace she'd worn to dinner—glinted in the sunlight.

Reed's jaw tightened. His eyes darted between Camille and me, calculating, weighing.

"Reed," I pleaded, taking a step toward him. "You know I would never—"

"Mr. Harper," Detective Rodriguez interrupted, "can you vouch for the contents of your wife's bag?"

The question hung in the air between us. I watched Reed's face, waiting for him to remember the three years we'd shared, the quiet moments when he'd almost seemed to care.

"My wife has been unstable lately," he said finally, his voice devoid of emotion. "She was jealous."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I staggered backward, my legs threatening to give out beneath me.

"Jealous?" I whispered.

"She knew about Melissa's condition," Reed continued, his eyes never leaving Camille's face. "She's been... erratic. Making accusations."

Camille's tears flowed freely now, her shoulders shaking with sobs that seemed to pierce Reed's heart. He pulled her closer, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, Reed, please—"

"Mrs. Harper," Detective Rodriguez said, her voice suddenly softer, almost apologetic. "We're going to need you to come with us."

Two officers moved toward me, their faces grim. I backed away, looking frantically around the garden for any escape.

"Reed!" I screamed as they grabbed my arms. "Don't do this!"

But he had already turned away, cradling Camille against his chest as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Get her out of here," I heard him murmur to someone. "I can't look at her right now."

Cold metal closed around my wrists as the officers snapped handcuffs into place. The metal bit into my skin, drawing a gasp from my throat.

"Reed!" I called out one last time, my voice breaking. "You're making a mistake!"

He didn't turn around. Didn't even flinch.

The officers began dragging me toward a waiting police car, its lights flashing blue and red against the pristine white of the Harper estate.

"Ma'am, stop resisting," one of them warned as I struggled against their grip.

"I didn't do it!" I screamed, twisting in their grasp. "Reed! Tell them the truth!"

But Reed was already walking away, his arm still around Camille, who had stopped crying and was watching me with a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of her lips.

The officers shoved me into the back of the police car. As they slammed the door shut, I caught one last glimpse of the Harper estate—the manicured gardens, the white tents billowing in the breeze, and Reed's retreating figure with Camille clinging to his side.

The car pulled away, carrying me from the life I'd thought I wanted into a nightmare I couldn't yet comprehend.