reduced to logic, to data, to the quiet hum of machinery. I threw myself into the work, spending sixteen, sometimes eighte

ent buried under the wreckage of my life. They gave me a small stipend, a tiny dorm

't have friends. I didn't talk about my past. I

nd on my arm, her voice in my ear. I used to think it was some twisted form of love, or at least affection. Now, with the distance of time

s when an old biotech magazine caught my eye. It was from two years ago. On the cover was Liam H

settled in my gut. He liked the same obscure brand of scotch Scarlett always made me drink. He played polo, a sport she fo

ad ever coached me to say... it was all part of her obsessive effort to recreate the man she couldn't have. I felt sick. Th

invitation to a Hayes family dinner. My first instinct was to burn it. But at the bottom, in her grand

one to approve my initial, unofficial "engagement" to Scarlett, believing it would stabilize her. He didn't know

were a few pairs of jeans and lab coats. I ended up buying a cheap sui

on the walls, the same thick carpets muffled my steps. Scarlett was there, standing by the firep

ant, handsome, and utterly at ease. He

r of something in them-surprise, maybe triumph. She tightened her

ock sweetness. "I'm so glad you could make i

ing on his lips. "So you're the one," he said, not

y. He had no idea of my role as his "replacement," but he clearly s

ch other, laughing at inside jokes. They were a united front, and I was the outsider. She would occasionally glance my way, a small, cruel smile on he

throat. The patriarch's voice

ze sweeping over the table before landing on Scarlett, and then o

I had a terrible feeling

gement photoshoot, the public appearances. I thought it

ill be in June. The arrangements are alr

Scarlett's face was a mask of shock and fury. And I was trapped, once again, in the crossha