Melisa's fingers curled at her sides, nails grazing against her palm like she was grounding herself. A single breath passed through her lips—quiet, steady, just loud enough to feel like rebellion.
She raised her head.
Leonard's gaze met hers, unreadable as ever. The kind of silence that didn't comfort—it dissected. Like he was watching her under glass, trying to label a new species. And failing.
So she turned to Uncle George instead. If she was going to make a pitch, better to aim for the businessman, not the statue.
"Uncle," she said, voice even, expression calm—too calm. "I know this marriage wasn't a choice for either of us, but dissolving it now would be... impractical."
She let the word hang, like a polite curse.
"Stocks would dip. Rumors would spread. It would taint both family names. I propose we wait a year or two before proceeding with a divorce."
A silence followed—dense, almost theatrical.
Then a low scoff broke through. Not from Uncle George. Of course not.
Leonard.
He didn't speak. Just that irritating half-sound, that sharp exhale of disbelief, like she was being ridiculous for applying logic to the situation. His lips curled, not into a smile, but something far more dismissive, before he turned his face away entirely.
Message received.
Uncle George didn't look amused either. But there was something else in his eyes—not approval, not affection. Calculation, maybe. A spark of surprise.
"Alright," he finally said, glancing at his son. "But two years is a long time, Melisa. A lot can happen."
Yes, like the Everharts remembering she existed.
Before she could respond with a carefully prepared, emotionally detached retort, Uncle George stood up, as if ending a business meeting. Leonard followed immediately, not even pretending to be civil.
She didn't bother watching them leave. What was the point?
Melisa remained seated for a few seconds longer, like that might reset something inside her. It didn't.
She knew about Leonard's little crush years ago. It was obvious even then. But he'd been seventeen, moody, and allergic to feelings. She'd never gotten the chance to respond. Olivia had conveniently collapsed with a fever the same night.
And honestly? She'd always assumed he forgot. Or worse—outgrew it.
It wasn't like it mattered anymore. Not when the current version of Leonard seemed to think she was some scheming accessory glued to the wrong sister.
She left the study in silence.
Their shared bedroom was empty. No surprise. Leonard had probably gone off somewhere to breathe dramatically.
Melisa stripped off her dress and stepped into the shower, letting the water run hot until her skin prickled. When she returned to bed, the sheets were cold and untouched.
She made a note to have the guest room prepped tomorrow. They didn't need to pretend.
But sleep came quickly—so did the dreams. And in none of them was she ever anyone's first choice.
What she didn't see?
The door opening.
Leonard stepping in, expression shuttered, jaw tight. He stood by the bed for a while, staring. But if he was hoping for some great revelation to dawn while watching her sleep, he was going to be disappointed.
Eventually, he sank onto the sofa without a word.
The next morning arrived in soft grey light. Winter sun still dragging itself up the sky.
Melisa woke alone, half expecting it. But then her eyes flicked toward the sofa.
Neatly folded blanket.
So he had stayed.
Or at least made it look like he did.
She washed up quickly and headed downstairs. Breakfast had already been served.
Of course.
Uncle George sat at the head of the table with a paper in hand, the perfect portrait of patriarchal indifference.
"Good morning, Uncle George," she greeted as she sat down.
He hummed in acknowledgment, not even lowering the newspaper. Leonard sat opposite her, silent and stone-faced. His eyes flickered in her direction once, then returned to his plate like she was background noise.
Good. She wasn't in the mood for performance art anyway.
Melisa picked up her utensils and began eating, pretending the table wasn't colder than the winter air outside. She briefly considered asking the maid about the guest room, but Uncle George's presence put that plan on pause.
Just as she finished her tea, Aunt Eleanor walked in, the warmth of her presence enough to defrost the table's mood by five degrees.
"Good morning," Melisa said, genuinely softer.
Aunt Eleanor smiled and returned the greeting, her eyes flicking between her niece and her husband. George stood up to leave, brushing imaginary lint off his suit.
"I'll be off now," he said, turning toward Leonard. "Handle today's meeting properly."
Leonard gave a stiff nod.
Melisa couldn't help but watch the brief exchange between Aunt Eleanor and Uncle George at the door—her fixing his tie, his murmured words.
It wasn't passionate, but it was real.
And rare.
"Melisa, dear, you're up so early," Aunt Eleanor said as she returned, her voice laced with concern. "You can rest longer in the mornings."
"I'm used to waking up early," Melisa replied. It wasn't a lie. Olivia was always the one who got to sleep in.
Aunt Eleanor gave a soft sigh and took Melisa's hand gently. "Since you're already up, will you come with me to the garden?"
Melisa hesitated. She could say no. But something in her aunt's eyes—uncertain warmth, a flicker of guilt—made her nod.
The garden was well-manicured. Not a petal out of place. It smelled of money and meticulous design. She sat across from Aunt Eleanor on an iron bench, fingers lightly grazing the edge of her bangle.
"Melisa," Aunt Eleanor began gently. "You wanted to speak to me yesterday, didn't you? I'm sorry I was too tired last night."
Melisa looked down.
Why was it easier to speak in front of Leonard and Uncle George than with this woman? Maybe because Aunt Eleanor had always been kind—and kindness made her wary.
"I just wanted to ask… do you think I made a mistake agreeing to this marriage?"
Aunt Eleanor's expression twisted ever so slightly. "I think... the mistake was made long before you had a say."
Melisa blinked.
"I knew the Everharts were indifferent, but I didn't think they'd actually replace Olivia at the last second," she continued, voice soft. "And yet, when I saw you at the ceremony... I didn't stop it."
"You didn't know?" Melisa asked, eyes searching.
"I suspected," Aunt Eleanor admitted, looking away. "But I hoped I was wrong. And part of me… part of me always thought you'd be better for Leonard."
Melisa let the words sit between them, heavy and dangerous.
"I don't want to be anyone's second choice," she whispered.
Aunt Eleanor looked at her then—really looked. "Then make sure you don't stay that way."