The morning passed in a blur of polite conversation and porcelain clinks. I sat at the breakfast table, surrounded by the same people who once orchestrated my downfall. My mother chatted about the upcoming charity gala, my father nodded along, and Fiona laughed too loudly at something Ethan whispered in her ear.
I stirred my tea slowly, watching them. Watching everything.
Ethan sat across from me, his smile easy, his charm intact. He looked at me occasionally, but not with affection, more like curiosity. Like he was trying to figure out what had changed. Fiona, on the other hand, barely looked at me at all. She was too busy playing the perfect hostess, her hand brushing Ethan's arm every now and then, her eyes flicking toward me to gauge my reaction.
I gave her none.
"Isa," my mother said, "you've hardly touched your food."
"I'm not very hungry," I replied, offering a soft smile. "Still adjusting."
"You've been through a lot," she said gently. "But you're home now. Everything will be fine."
I nodded, though we both knew that was a lie.
After breakfast, I wandered the halls alone. The house was just as I remembered it grand, cold, and full of ghosts. I passed the music room, the library, the sunroom where I used to sit and write letters I never sent. Every corner held a memory, and every memory was a warning.
I paused outside the study. The door was slightly ajar, and voices drifted through.
"She's not herself," Fiona was saying. "She's… different."
"She's quieter," Ethan replied. "More distant. Fuck! We should have layed low for now no extravagant incidents just her coffee for now"
"She's probably still embarrassed," Fiona said. "You know how she gets. Always so sensitive. She probably thinks you're still upset about the necklace and we will stick with only the coffee for now."
"She should be grateful I jumped in after her," Ethan muttered.
I stepped away before they noticed me, my expression unreadable. So it was another plan of theirs to have me jumped into the lake for Fiona's necklace, and Ethan had saved me. How convenient. How noble, and what coffee are they going on about"
I made my way to the garden, thinking about their conversation.The roses were in bloom, their scent sharp and sweet. I sat on the stone bench beneath the magnolia tree, the same one Kane and I used to sit under when we were younger. He'd read while I braided flowers, both of us pretending we weren't falling in love.
I wondered if he remembered.
"Madam," Clare's voice called softly from the path. "Your mother asked me to remind you about the gala this weekend. She says you'll need a new dress."
I nodded. "Thank you, Clare."
She hesitated. "Will you be attending?"
"I wouldn't miss it," I said. "It's time I started showing my face again."
She smiled, then turned to leave.
I stayed there a while longer, letting the breeze tangle in my hair before getting up. The gala would be the perfect stage. Everyone would be there, the families, the press, the dumb socialites. It's not going to be easy tolerating them all evening.
Clare was in the foyer, arranging flowers in a tall vase. She looked up, startled. "Madam?"
"I'm going out," I said, already reaching for my coat.
"Should I call the driver?"
"No. I'll walk."
She hesitated. "But—"
"I won't be long."
I stepped outside before she could argue. The air was crisp, the sky a pale blue streaked with soft clouds. The estate grounds stretched wide and green before me, but I didn't want to be anywhere near them. I needed distance. I needed to remember who I was before all of this.
I walked through the gates and down the winding path that led toward the edge of town. The streets were quiet, the world moving on as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn't died once already.
The town was exactly the same. The same bakery with its crooked sign. The same bookstore with its dusty windows. The same café where I used to sit and write in my journal, dreaming of a future that never came.
I crossed the street and slipped into the café, the bell above the door chiming softly. The scent of coffee and cinnamon wrapped around me like a blanket. A few heads turned, but no one said anything. To them, I was just Isadora Hayes the quiet girl from the big house on the hill.
I chose a table by the window and sat down, letting the sunlight warm my skin. A waitress approached, smiling politely.
"Good morning. What can I get you?"
"Chamomile tea," I said. "And a slice of lemon cake."
She nodded and walked away.
I stared out the window, watching the world pass by. A mother pushed a stroller down the sidewalk. A boy chased a dog across the street. Life, simple and unbothered, moved on.
I envied them.
My tea arrived, steaming and fragrant. I took a sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest. For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe. To exist without the weight of vengeance pressing on my shoulders.
But it didn't last.
I pulled a napkin from the holder and reached into my bag for a pen. I began to write not a letter, not a plan, just thoughts. Names. Dates. Memories. I wrote until the napkin was full, then folded it and slipped it into my coat pocket.
This was the beginning.
I wouldn't confront them yet. Not until I had everything in place. But I would start small. Quiet. Strategic. I would remind them who I was, and who I wasn't anymore.
The bell above the door rang again. I didn't look up until I heard the footsteps stop beside my table.
"You're far from home."
I glanced up.
Kane.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable. He looked tired. Or maybe just guarded.
"I needed air," I said.
He nodded. "I figured."
I gestured to the seat across from me. "Sit, if you want."
He hesitated, then pulled out the chair and sat. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy either.
He hesitated, then pulled out the chair and sat. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy either.
"I didn't expect to see you here," I said, watching him over the rim of my cup.
"I was passing by," he replied. "Saw you through the window."
I nodded, unsure if I believed him. Not that it mattered.
We sat there, two people with too much history and too many unsaid things between us. The last time we'd been alone like this, I was still clinging to a fantasy. Now, I was building a war.
"You look…" he began, then stopped.
"Different?" I offered.
He gave a small shrug. "Alive."
I smiled faintly. "That's new."
He looked down at his coffee, fingers tightening around the cup. "You're not going to tell them, are you?"
I tilted my head. "Tell them what?"
"That you agreed."
I shook my head. "Not yet. Let them think what they want."
He nodded, but his jaw clenched. "They think you're still in love with him."
"I know."
"And you're letting them."
"I'm letting them underestimate me," I said. "There's a difference."
He looked at me then, really looked. "You're not the same."
"No," I said. "I'm not."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me like I was a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to solve. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I didn't start it," I said. "But I'm going to finish it."
He didn't argue. He just sat there, silent, as if weighing whether to stand beside me or stay out of the fire.
The waitress returned with the bill, and I reached for it, but Kane was faster. He placed a few notes on the tray and stood.
"I'll walk you back," he said.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."
We stepped out into the afternoon light, the breeze cooler now, the sky beginning to shift. We walked side by side, not touching, not speaking. Just moving forward.
As we neared the estate gates, I slowed.
"Thank you," I said.
"For what?"
"For not asking questions you already know the answers to."
He gave a short nod. "Four months."
"I remember."
He looked at me one last time, then turned and walked away, his figure disappearing down the path.
I watched him go, then turned toward the house. The gates loomed ahead, tall and ornate, just like everything else in my life beautiful, but built to keep people out.
I stepped through them anyway.
Because this time, I wasn't the one on the outside.