Chapter 13
The estate glowed with preparations for the Christmas Eve party.
The house smelled of pine and mulled wine, every surface glittering with silver and candlelight.
Riley had changed into one of the designer dresses the personal shopper had provided, the fabric rich and heavy against her skin.
She hardly recognized herself in the mirror, polished hair, painted lips, no trace of the woman who usually lived in jeans and flannels.
She caught Elizabeth watching as she descended the staircase. That look, steady, unguarded for a heartbeat, made Riley’s stomach flip. It almost felt worth it. Almost.
But the fragile peace didn’t last.
The front doors opened with theatrical timing, and Sophia swept in like she’d been scripted. Tall, elegant, fur-lined coat sliding from her shoulders into a waiting footman’s arms, she was everything Riley wasn’t—effortless, assured, bred for rooms like this.
Sophia glided closer, a fresh glass of champagne in her hand, her smile gleaming like a knife polished for display. She didn’t bother to greet Riley. She just let her gaze skim over her, slow and deliberate, as though appraising a piece of furniture that didn’t quite belong in the room.
“My, my,” she said lightly, slipping her arm through Elizabeth’s. “You do keep her busy, don’t you? Fetching drinks, running errands, keeping you on schedule…” She tilted her head, lashes lowering in mock innocence. “And you even dressed her up so she can pretend she’s not just your assistant.”
A ripple of laughter stirred among the nearest guests, as though Sophia had made some clever little joke instead of drawing blood. Riley’s stomach turned, heat rising in her cheeks.
Elizabeth’s posture went rigid, the faintest tremor in the arm Sophia held. But when she spoke, her tone was cool, careful, perfectly neutral. “Sophia.”
That was all. Just her name. Not a rebuke. Not a defense. Just a warning wrapped so thinly that no one else would even hear it.
Sophia only smiled wider, sipping her champagne like she’d won something.
Another ripple of amusement from the crowd. Riley’s throat closed. She wanted to disappear into the floorboards, but her feet wouldn’t move.
Elizabeth’s hand twitched at her side. But she said nothing. Nothing at all.
The night blurred into a slow torture.
Sophia never raised her voice, never did anything anyone could call cruel. Instead, she needled Riley in ways only she and Elizabeth could understand.
At the champagne toast, Sophia leaned close, voice just loud enough for Riley to catch. “Do be careful with those glasses, dear. Crystal shatters in untrained hands.”
While complimenting Elizabeth’s father on the decorations, she tossed Riley a smile. “You must find all this terribly overwhelming, don’t you? Such a step up.”
And later, during a story about some holiday trip she and Elizabeth had once taken, she added, “Oh, but I’m sure Riley’s never been abroad. It must be fascinating hearing of other people’s adventures.”
Each jab landed soft to the room, disguised as humor, but sharp enough that Riley felt herself bleeding out by inches. She kept her smile pasted on, nodding when expected, but inside her chest something cracked and cracked again.
Elizabeth stayed composed, distant. Her mask never slipped. Sometimes her jaw tightened, sometimes her gaze flicked briefly toward Riley in warning, as if to say endure it. But she never stepped in. Never defended.
Later, near the tree, Riley drifted close enough to overhear. She hadn’t meant to, she’d only been reaching for another glass of wine, desperate for something to hold. But their voices carried.
Sophia, low and certain: “This isn’t real, and you know it.”
Elizabeth, quieter, brittle: “It doesn’t have to be more than what it is.”
Riley froze, the glass trembling in her hand. She wished she hadn’t heard. God, she wished she could shove the words back into the air, pretend they hadn’t landed.
But they had. And they shattered her.
Riley hovered near the edge of the crowd, clutching her glass a little too tightly, feeling like a spectator in someone else’s world. She caught Elizabeth trapped in conversation with her parents and froze.
“She’s lovely,” Mrs. Hale said, voice smooth and cutting, “but you’ve always liked strays. Strays can be charming for a season, but they don’t last.” Riley stiffened at the words. “It’s not about love, Elizabeth. It’s about legacy. You have responsibilities beyond your whims.”
Elizabeth’s hand gripped her glass, knuckles white. She said nothing. Riley felt a pang, anger, fear, frustration, at the way her girlfriend just absorbed the criticism, silent and controlled.
Her father stepped closer, voice calm but final. “This kind of woman will ruin your name. Your career. Your image. Do you understand?”
Riley’s chest tightened. She wanted to step forward, to protest, to tell them they were wrong, that Elizabeth wasn’t defined by anyone’s idea of perfection, but she didn’t.
She stayed at the edge of the room, glass trembling slightly in her hand, watching Elizabeth’s jaw tighten.
Silence stretched between Elizabeth and her parents, and Riley realized how completely alone Elizabeth was in that moment, even as the rest of the room laughed and shimmered around them.
She saw Elizabeth standing there, elegant and poised, saying nothing while her parents dismantled her with the same cutting efficiency Sophia had wielded hours before. Except this time, the knife twisted deeper because Elizabeth let it happen.
From Riley’s vantage, it looked like agreement. Like collusion. Like proof.
Sophia caught Riley’s eye across the room, her smile curling knowingly, cruel and satisfied.
Riley’s breath hitched. The ache in her chest sharpened until it felt like it might split her in half.
Elizabeth’s silence wasn’t neutrality. It was abandonment.
And Riley, foolish, hopeful, already half in love, was left standing alone, watching the last fragile illusion shatter into pieces.
The music swelled. Laughter sparkled. Champagne flutes clinked. And somewhere in the Hale estate, amid all the glitter and legacy and pressure, two women who could have had everything stood on opposite sides of the room, breaking apart.
It wasn’t just Sophia’s cruelty anymore. It was Elizabeth’s voice, calm, final, like Riley really was just part of the performance. Like the stolen moments, the heat, the passion meant nothing outside this charade.
The warmth Riley had been clinging to all week crumbled into ash.
The party carried on around her; music, glasses clinking, laughter threading through the glittering air. Riley’s body moved on autopilot: smile, nod, sip, repeat. But her insides were molten, a mix of humiliation and heartbreak that threatened to spill out if she opened her mouth.
Finally, she couldn’t stand another second. She set her glass down too hard on a passing tray and slipped from the room, ignoring the curious glances, ignoring the fact that she was supposed to perform.
Her heels clicked sharp against the stairs as she climbed, pulse hammering in her ears. By the time she shoved into the sanctuary of their shared bedroom, her hands were shaking.
Elizabeth followed minutes later, pristine as always. The Hale mask was back in place, expression smooth, voice measured. She shut the door softly, as if that could undo the violence of everything Sophia had just said, and everything she herself hadn’t.
“Riley—”
“No.” Riley’s voice cracked sharp through the room. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare stand there and act like nothing happened.”
Elizabeth’s jaw flexed. She set her clutch on the dresser with surgical precision, control in every movement. “We can talk about this in the morning.”
“No. Now.” Riley’s throat burned, but the words tore free anyway. “What am I to you, Elizabeth? A game piece? A prop to get you through this circus? Or maybe just a convenient warm body while you parade me around like… like some kind of accessory?”
Elizabeth’s mask wavered, but only slightly. Her arms folded, posture defensive. “I told you not to get attached.”
The words hit harder than Sophia’s jabs. Riley’s chest hollowed out, but she stood her ground.
“You knew what this was,” Elizabeth pressed, her voice low, clinical.
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Riley’s voice cracked, raw. “You don’t wake up next to someone, touch their body, taste them, look at them like—” She stopped, throat closing around what she couldn’t bring herself to say. “You don’t get to play both sides.”
Elizabeth exhaled, sharp, as if the very air hurt. “You don’t belong in this world, Riley. Not long-term.”
The words sliced so cleanly Riley had to clap her hand over her mouth, as if she could physically stop herself from breaking apart in front of her.
Elizabeth’s face shifted instantly, horror flickering through the cracks of her control. She hadn’t meant it, not like that. But she’d said it. And she couldn’t unsay it.
Riley’s hand fell away, trembling. Her voice came out small, fractured. “Wow. Okay. There it is.”
Elizabeth took a step forward, then stopped. The air between them felt like a live wire, ready to snap.
“Riley…”
“Don’t.” Riley backed toward the window, toward the snow-laced glass. “Just, don’t.”
For the first time since Riley had known her, Elizabeth Hale had nothing left to say.
Riley watched her walk out and return to the life Riley would never know.
That was the end, wasn’t it?
Her suitcase was still by the wardrobe, half-unpacked from when she’d tried to convince herself she belonged here.
She pulled it onto the bed, unzipped it, and began folding her clothes with mechanical precision.
Socks, sweaters, the book she never got around to reading.
Each item tucked away carefully, as if neatness could hold her together when everything else was breaking.
Her hands trembled when she reached the lingerie Elizabeth had bought. She pressed the silk against her palm for a heartbeat before shoving it deep into the bag, out of sight. She couldn’t bear to look at it. Not now.
When she finished packing, the room looked too perfect, too untouched, as if she’d never been there at all.
Riley sat at the desk for a moment, staring at the blank notecard she’d pulled from the stationery set. Her pen hovered, hesitated, then finally moved.
I loved pretending. Because it didn’t feel like pretending to me.
She laid the note on Elizabeth’s pillow, smoothing it down with her palm. The words looked small, fragile, not nearly enough to hold everything inside her. But it was all she could give.
Riley stood in the doorway one last time. The bed, the heavy curtains, the faint scent of Elizabeth’s perfume clinging to the air; it all felt like a memory already. She wanted to look back, to leave some piece of herself in this room, but the ache in her chest demanded otherwise.
So she turned the knob, slipped out quietly, and didn’t look back.
The staff car waited in the driveway, engine purring softly against the stillness of the night.
Snow drifted from the sky, slow and delicate, settling over the Hale estate like a picture-perfect holiday card.
It should have been beautiful. It should have felt magical. But to Riley, it felt like a funeral.
She pulled her coat tighter, suitcase wheels crunching softly over the shoveled path. The air was sharp in her lungs, the cold biting her cheeks, but she welcomed it. Pain she could feel on the outside was easier than the kind tearing her apart inside.
The driver, a kind-faced man who’d greeted her when she arrived, took her bag without a word. He seemed to sense she didn’t want conversation.
As Riley reached for the car door handle, something made her pause. A prickle on the back of her neck, a weight in the air. She turned slightly and saw her.
Elizabeth stood at the edge of the steps, arms wrapped around herself, snow dusting her hair and the shoulders of her dark coat. She looked impossibly regal and heartbreakingly fragile all at once, like a statue on the verge of crumbling.
Their eyes met across the white stretch of driveway. For a moment, time stalled. Riley’s breath caught in her chest.
All she wanted was for Elizabeth to say something. Anything. Stay. I’m sorry. Don’t go. The words hovered in the frozen air, so close she could almost hear them.
But Elizabeth didn’t move. She just stood there, silent, watching.
Riley’s throat burned. The ache in her chest swelled until she thought it might swallow her whole. She gripped the car door tighter, grounding herself against the urge to run back up those steps.
Because she would, if Elizabeth asked. Even now, even after everything. And Elizabeth knew it.
But she didn’t ask.
Riley opened the door, slid into the backseat, and kept her eyes forward. The leather was cold against her legs. The driver shut the trunk, then the door, sealing her inside.
As the car eased down the long, winding drive, Riley’s gaze flickered to the window despite herself. Elizabeth was still there, dark against the snow, motionless as a shadow.
Riley forced herself to turn away.
She didn’t look back again.
The silence between them was louder than any shouting, sharper than any fight. It was final, absolute. The kind of silence that meant the bridge had burned, and all that was left was ash.
Riley leaned her head against the window, eyes stinging. The estate grew smaller behind her, swallowed by the trees and the falling snow.
In that silence, she understood: it wasn’t the pretending that had hurt. It was realizing Elizabeth had never been pretending at all and still chose to let her go.