Chapter 5: Claire POV
The Rolls-Royce hums through Manhattan, the city lights blurring past like a dream I can't wake from. Ethan's silent beside me, his jaw tight, staring out the window as if the skyline holds answers. My phone's still hot from Emily's call, her words, "You're going to get your heart broken", looping in my head. I clutch the bouquet I haven't had the chance to ditch, the petals wilting against my lap. Sophia's ring, too big for my finger, glints in the dim light. This is my wedding night, and it feels like a funeral.
The car pulls up to the Carter estate, its iron gates swinging open. Ethan steps out first, not offering his hand, and I follow, the train of Sophia's gown dragging on the gravel. Inside, the mansion is eerily quiet, the staff dismissed for the night. The grand foyer smells of lilies, leftovers from the wedding that never was.
"Dinner's probably waiting," I say, my voice too loud in the silence. "I can check with the kitchen, "
"I'm not hungry," Ethan cuts in, loosening his tie as he heads for the staircase. "You should eat, though."
I hesitate, then nod, kicking off my heels. They clatter on the marble, and I wince, feeling like an intruder. "Okay. I'll… see what's there."
He pauses, one hand on the banister, but doesn't look back. "Claire, thank you. For today."
The words are flat, but they hit me anyway. "Sure," I say, forcing a smile he doesn't see. He disappears upstairs, and I'm alone, still in this ridiculous dress, the weight of it pulling at my shoulders.
The dining room is set for two, a spread of roasted lamb, asparagus, and some fancy dessert I don't recognize. I sit, picking at the food, the clink of my fork deafening in the empty room. My phone buzzes, Daniel's name on the screen. I answer, grateful for the distraction.
"Claire, how are you surviving?" he asks, his voice light but cautious.
"Barely," I say, pushing a piece of lamb around my plate. "Where are you?"
"Mark and I are at the hotel bar, giving you lovebirds some space." He chuckles, but it's forced. "How's Ethan holding up?"
"He's… quiet," I say, glancing at the ceiling, imagining him pacing above me. "I don't know what to do, Daniel."
"You're doing enough," he says, softer now. "Just… don't let him push you away. He needs you, even if he's too stubborn to say it."
I swallow, my throat tight. "Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Deal. And Claire? You looked beautiful today."
I hang up, his words stinging more than they should. Beautiful, but not the bride Ethan wanted. I abandon the food and head to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. My reflection catches in the stainless steel fridge, a ghost in ivory lace, Sophia's gown clinging to me like a lie. I set the glass down, my hands shaking.
Upstairs, I find the guest suite I've been assigned. It's massive, with a four-poster bed and silk curtains, but it feels like a hotel room, impersonal and cold. I lock the door and face the full-length mirror, the gown glowing under the chandelier. "This isn't me," I whisper, my voice breaking. "But it's all I'll ever have."
The words hurt, but they're true. I'm Ethan's wife in name only, a placeholder for the woman he loves. I unzip the dress, letting it pool at my feet, and step out, pulling on a T-shirt and leggings from my bag. The ring stays on my finger, I don't know why.
A knock at the door startles me. "Claire?" Ethan's voice is low, hesitant.
I open the door, and he's there, still in his tux pants and shirt, sleeves rolled up. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he's been fighting tears. "Can we talk?" he asks.
"Of course," I say, stepping aside. He walks in, glancing at the gown on the floor but saying nothing.
"I think we should sleep in separate rooms," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Just… for now. It's been a lot."
My stomach twists, but I nod. "Sure. Whatever you need."
He looks at me, his gray eyes searching. "I don't know what I need, Claire. But I know I owe you. Anything you want, money, a promotion, a house, just say it."
"I don't want anything," I say, too quickly. "I just want to help."
He laughs, a bitter sound. "You're too good for this. For me."
I don't know how to respond, so I don't. He turns to leave, then pauses. "The press will be brutal tomorrow. Stay off your phone, okay?"
"I can handle it," I say, lifting my chin. "I'll draft a statement, get ahead of the story."
He nods, almost smiling. "You're always one step ahead. Goodnight, Claire."
"Goodnight," I echo, closing the door behind him. The click feels final, like a wall between us. I sink onto the bed, my mind spinning. I should be thrilled, I'm married to Ethan Carter. But all I feel is the ache of knowing he's grieving her.
I wander to the window, staring at the city lights. My phone buzzes again, and I ignore it, assuming it's Daniel checking in. But it keeps going, insistent. I grab it, seeing Emily's name. I can't deal with her anger now, so I silence it and toss it onto the bed.
I try to sleep, but the mansion's too quiet, every creak amplified. I pull the covers up, willing my mind to shut off, but Emily's warning, "He's using you", gnaws at me. She's right, but I can't walk away. Not yet.
A sound pulls me from my thoughts, footsteps, heavy and uneven, coming from the hall. I sit up, straining to listen. It's Ethan, pacing outside his room, the floorboards groaning under his weight. I slip out of bed, tiptoeing to the door, and crack it open. The hallway's dark, but I hear him, his voice low, broken.
"Sophia, where are you?" he says, and it's not a question, it's a plea, raw and desperate. A sob catches in his throat, and my chest tightens. He's not pacing now; he's stopped, maybe leaning against the wall, his grief spilling out in the dark.
I close the door silently, my heart pounding. I want to go to him, to hold him, but I can't. He's not mine, not really. I crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over my head, but his voice echoes in my mind, a reminder that I'm just the substitute, the one who stayed when she didn't.