Chapter 3

For a moment, Jonathan seemed surprised by the genuineness of my refusal. Impatience quickly replaced his surprise. “Stop kicking up a fuss, Elise,” he said, his tone grating on me as always. Even the face I had secretly admired for years was losing its charm. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? I was hospitalized for attempting suicide, and you showed no concern. And now you’re speaking to me this way? What right do you have to treat me like this, Jonathan Ford?”

My anger ignited his. He gripped my wrist tightly, his voice cold. “You brought this on yourself.” His grip was painfully tight, directly over my wound. I winced, fighting back tears. In his gaze, I saw my pathetic state. He suddenly released me, pulling me into a hug from behind. His voice remained frigid. “I’ll let it go this time. But never fake a suicide to manipulate me again.” I struggled, but his hold was too strong. After futile attempts to free myself, I gave up.

The next morning, Jonathan was gone. I dressed and went downstairs, finding him already at breakfast. Hugh Stark, the butler, greeted me. “Good morning, Ms. Sawyer.” Jonathan didn't look up. “Come and have breakfast.”

The extravagant spread stunned me. I wondered if all wealthy families breakfasted like this. Hugh served me oatmeal. The scent of mango made me frown. “Why is there mango in this?”

“Ms. Alicia sent them,” Hugh replied. “Mangoes are her favorite; they were flown in from Eulariop…”

My appetite vanished. “I’m not eating.”

The clinking of silverware continued. Jonathan finally looked up. “Don’t push it, Elise.”

Anger flared. “Does it bother you that I’m not eating the mangoes?”

“You’re not eating them because they’re from Alicia, aren’t you?” His expression was frosty. “When will you stop being so jealous, Elise?”

Jealous of Alicia? Perhaps at twenty-five, he saw me as petty and pathetic. But I was still his wife. How could he not know I was allergic to mangoes?

Before I could speak, Hugh announced, “Ms. Alicia is here, sir!”

A gentle voice followed. “Am I intruding, Jon?”

A slender figure entered. The staff's familiarity with her revealed her frequent presence. It took only a glance to identify Alicia Zimmer. I also noticed Hugh’s differing address: “Ms. Sawyer” for me, his legal wife, and “Ms. Alicia” for her. His favoritism was evident. No wonder I felt such animosity toward Alicia at twenty-five. I was Jonathan's wife, yet he openly favored another woman—under the guise of a childhood friendship. Anyone would be devastated.

Alicia regarded me with feigned concern. “Ms. Sawyer, I heard you… cut yourself. Are you alright?”

I scoffed, offering no reply.