Chapter 8
Anna’s POV:
Before I could step away, the door swung open. Blake stood there, his blue eyes instantly hardening when he saw me. Behind him, Claire stood there, smiling at me.
“Anna, what are you doing?” Blake’s voice cut like ice. “Why didn’t you knock?”
Heat rushed to my face–embarrassment at being caught quickly morphing into anger.
“Sorry to interrupt your ‘private moment,”” I said, letting the sarcasm drip from every syllable. “Clearly I’m just in the way.”
I turned to leave, not waiting for his response. The image of them together burned in my
mind.
“Anna, wait!” Claire called, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she hurried after me. She grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face her. Her eyes were wide with practiced innocence.
“You’ve got it all wrong!” Her voice sweet as ever. “I just had an eyelash in my eye, and Blakey was helping me get it out. I was in so much pain, and he hadn’t even had time to put on his shirt when he came to my room.”
Claire’s fingers dug into my arm as she looked up at me with those big blue eyes. “You don’t seriously think… We’re siblings, Anna!”
I glanced back at Blake, still standing in the doorway. His face was a mask, offering no defense or explanation. The silence was damning.
“Of course,” I forced a tight smile. “I understand.”
Claire’s face relaxed. “Good! Because that would be, like, so weird to think.”
“Yes,” I agreed flatly. “Weird.”
Caroline appeared beside us, looking between us with concern. “Is everything alright?”
“Perfect!” Claire chirped. “Anna just had a misunderstanding, but we cleared it all up.”
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Chapter 8
Caroline smiled. “Well then, breakfast is ready downstairs.”
The dining room felt suffocating despite its size. William sat at the head of the table, blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding him.
“So, what’s everyone doing today?” he asked cheerfully, spreading jam on his toast.
“I have ballet rehearsal at two,” Claire announced. “We’re preparing for the showcase.” She turned to Blake, batting her eyelashes. “Blakey, could you drive me?”
Blake didn’t look up from his phone. “I’ll have a car waiting.”
“You could drive me yourself,” Claire suggested, her voice honey–sweet. “Like yesterday.”
I stabbed at my eggs, the fork scraping against the plate.
“What about you, Anna?” William asked kindly. “Any plans while you’re visiting?”
“I’ll be heading back to Seaside Manor today,” I said, avoiding Blake’s gaze. “I have things
to take care of.”
“So soon?” Caroline frowned. “We’ve hardly had time together.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay.” The lie came easily.
“Nonsense,” William said firmly. “Blake can drive you back later. You shouldn’t rush off.”
“I really need to-”
“Anna,” Blake cut in, finally looking up from his phone. “We’ll leave after lunch.”
His tone left no room for argument. The Wright family high–handedness on full display.
Claire pouted. “But what about my rehearsal?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Blake said, his voice softening for her in a way it never did for me.
I pushed my plate away, appetite gone. “Excuse me.”
As I stood, I caught Claire’s smug smile behind her coffee cup.
PADING AR
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Chapter 8
In the room, I threw my clothes into my overnight bag, not bothering to fold them. Four years of marriage to Blake, and what did I have to show for it? A beautiful house where I lived like a stranger. A husband who preferred his step–sister’s company to mine.
Was I just a convenient wife to parade at social functions while he carried on with Claire?
My hands shook as I zipped the bag closed. Maybe I’d been fooling myself all along, clinging to a teenage fantasy of what our marriage could be.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
“Come in,” I called, expecting Caroline.
Instead, Blake entered, closing the door behind him. His eyes swept over the packed bag.
“Running away again?” he asked coldly.
“Going home. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” He moved closer. “You’re always looking for an excuse to leave.”
I laughed bitterly. “And you’re always looking for an excuse to stay with Claire.”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t start this again.”
“Why not? Afraid William might discover what’s really going on?”
Blake grabbed my wrist, his fingers pressing into my skin. “Nothing is going on.‘ You’re being ridiculous.”
“Let go of me.” My voice was low, dangerous.
To my surprise, he did. Blake ran a hand through his hair, a rare sign of frustration breaking through his composure.
“Pack your things,” he said finally. “I’ll drive you back.”
“I’d rather take-”
“I’ll drive you.” Each word was clipped, final.
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Chapter 8
When I came downstairs with my bag, Claire was waiting at the bottom of the staircase.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked sweetly. “I was hoping we could have some girl time.”
“Another day perhaps,” I replied with equal fakeness.
Claire stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You know, Anna, you really should trust Blake
more. Jealousy isn’t a good look on anyone.”
Before I could respond, Blake appeared in the foyer.
“Ready?” he asked shortly.
Claire immediately brightened. “Blakey, are you sure you can’t stay for lunch? Mom made your favorite.”
“We need to go,” he said, taking my bag.
Claire’s expression fell dramatically. “But you promised to help with my rehearsal prep.”
“I’ll be back later,” Blake assured her.
Claire threw her arms around him in a hug that lasted too long to be merely sisterly. Over Blake’s shoulder, her eyes met mine with unmistakable triumph.
I walked outside without waiting for them to finish their goodbye.
Blake’s sleek black sports car sat in the circular driveway. I headed determinedly toward the garage where the family cars were kept.
“Where are you going?” Blake called after me.
“Home. I’ll ask Joseph to drive me.”
His footsteps quickened behind me, and suddenly he was gripping my elbow, steering me toward his car.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you.”
Before I could protest further, he’d opened the passenger door and practically pushed me
inside.
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Chapter 8
As I shifted in my seat to get comfortable, something hard jabbed into my thigh. I moved to avoid it.
“Open it,” Blake said, nodding toward whatever was wedged between the seat and center
console.
I reached down and found a small blue velvet box. My heart skipped as I slowly lifted the
lid.
Inside lay a diamond necklace, the stones catching the light in brilliant sparkles. It was elegant and understated yet clearly expensive–exactly my taste.
I looked up at Blake in shock. In four years, he’d never once selected jewelry for me himself. Money, credit cards, accounts at stores–those were his usual gifts, always with instructions to “buy whatever you want.” This personal selection was unprecedented.
“This is the first time you’ve given me a necklace,” I said, unable to hide my surprise.
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