The morning light seeped through the heavy velvet curtains of Avery's bedroom in Ezra Johnson's estate, casting pale gold patterns across the polished floor. She lay still in the oversized bed, the unfamiliar room swallowing her in silence. Ezra's voice—his murmured "Evelyn"—still echoed in her ears, a ghostly refrain that refused to let her rest.
A sharp knock shattered the fragile quiet.
"Miss Avery," came the clipped voice of Margaret, the housekeeper. "Mrs. Stone requests your presence in the drawing room. Immediately."
Avery sat up, her heart sinking. Nothing good ever came from an immediate summons by Vivian Stone.
After dressing in a soft cream blouse and a tailored skirt, Avery made her way through the vast, unfamiliar hallways of Ezra's estate. Everything here felt imposing—the grand architecture, the heavy artwork staring down at her, and the faint scent of polished wood lingering in the air.
The drawing room was drenched in Ezra's wealth and cold precision: sleek leather furniture, a marble fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking sprawling gardens. Vivian sat near one of those windows, her back perfectly straight, her hands wrapped around an untouched cup of tea.
"You called for me, Mother?" Avery said softly, hovering just inside the doorway.
Vivian didn't look at her right away. Instead, she stared out at the gardens below, her lips pursed as though holding back words sharp enough to draw blood.
"Sit," she said finally, her voice low and icy.
Avery complied, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
"I spoke with Ezra this morning," Vivian began, her gaze finally turning to Avery. Her sharp, assessing eyes—ones Avery had inherited—cut into her like glass. "It seems the two of you are still… struggling to fulfill the responsibilities of your union."
Avery's throat tightened. "I'm doing my best, Mother."
"Your best isn't good enough," Vivian said curtly. "This arrangement—this marriage—is hanging by a thread. Do you have any idea how fragile our position is? The whispers, the stares… This house may not be ours, Avery, but your actions still reflect on me. And Ezra…" She sighed, her composure briefly faltering. "Ezra is slipping further away."
Avery flinched. The truth of those words cut deep. Ezra had always been distant, but lately, it felt as though an entire ocean had opened up between them.
"Mother, I—"
"No excuses, Avery." Vivian's voice was sharp, a whip cracking in the still air. "You will fix this. You will do whatever it takes to make Ezra see you—not as an obligation, not as a placeholder, but as his wife. Do you understand me?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. Avery nodded once, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Mother."
Vivian stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirt before turning her back to Avery. "You may go."
Avery rose, her head bowed, and exited the drawing room with trembling hands.
She found Ezra in the sunroom later that afternoon, staring out at the sprawling estate gardens. The glass walls flooded the space with sunlight, making the shadows under his eyes even more pronounced.
"Ezra," she said hesitantly, stepping closer.
He turned slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with that same unreadable expression he always wore around her. "Avery."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of everything unspoken—of Evelyn's absence, of their hollow marriage—hung heavy in the air.
"Are you—" Avery began, but Ezra cut her off.
"Don't," he said, his voice tight. "Don't pretend to care about how I feel, Avery. We both know why we're here."
The words stung, but Avery didn't flinch. Instead, she took a step closer. "Ezra, I know you still think about her. About Evelyn."
His eyes flashed with something—anger, guilt, grief. "Don't say her name."
"But she's still here, isn't she?" Avery pressed, her voice trembling. "In every corner of this house, in every glance you throw my way. I'll never be her, Ezra. I'll never replace her."
For a moment, Ezra looked as though he might say something—something real, something raw. But whatever flicker of vulnerability had appeared vanished in an instant.
"This conversation is over," he said coldly, turning his back on her.
Avery stood frozen in place, watching him walk away, her chest tight with unshed tears.
That night, unable to sleep, Avery wandered the halls of Ezra's estate. The grand house, though elegant, felt cavernous and hollow.
That night, unable to sleep, Avery wandered the halls of Ezra's estate. The grand house, though elegant, felt cavernous and hollow.
The faint ticking of a distant clock echoed through the corridors, each second stretching into eternity. Portraits of Ezra's ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes following her every move.
She paused by a window overlooking the gardens, the pale moonlight bathing the manicured hedges in silver. Somewhere out there, the weight of the past lingered—secrets buried in shadows, waiting to resurface.
Avery hugged her arms around herself, the silence pressing heavily against her chest.
With a weary sigh, she turned away from the window and made her way back to her room. The door closed behind her with a soft click, locking her away from the world outside.
She leaned against the door for a moment, her eyes closing as she exhaled a shaky breath. In the stillness of her borrowed room, she felt more alone than ever.