Aunt Eleanor's tea was warm, her gaze warmer. Which was exactly the problem.
Melisa didn't want to see that warmth extinguished. Not from the only woman in this family who had ever looked at her like a person, not a placeholder.
"I know this marriage wasn't ideal," she said, voice carefully neutral. "Leo and I agreed. We'll keep up appearances and part ways after two years."
There. Neat. Practical. Just like her life plan—right before it got hijacked by someone else's wedding invitation.
Aunt Eleanor's hand froze around her porcelain cup. She blinked, as if the words needed time to register. Then came the sigh, soft and complicated, like someone trying to iron out creases in silk.
"Melisa... are you sure this isn't worth trying? Sometimes what we resist the most—"
"—Is what we need the most," Melisa finished dully. She'd heard that one before. Usually right before someone handed her the short end of the stick and expected her to smile about it.
Aunt Eleanor's eyes searched hers. "You don't believe that?"
"I believe in practicality, not destiny," she murmured, looking away. If fate was real, then why did her dreams change the moment she made different choices? No, fate was just bad PR for poor decision-making.
Aunt Eleanor's fingers brushed hers. "Just... don't run from things before they begin."
Melisa didn't respond. Not because she didn't want to—but because she didn't know what counted as "beginning" anymore. The wedding? The deception? The years spent pretending Olivia's shadow wasn't blocking her light?
---
The next morning, sunlight spilled lazily through the villa window. Melisa lounged in the rocking chair like a cat who paid rent.
A knock. Then the door creaked open, and in came salvation on a tray—fresh cake, warm buns, even a little pot of honey like some kind of pastry-themed peace offering.
Melisa didn't even try to act reserved. She took the cake first. Because dignity was nice, but chocolate always won.
Then, halfway through her second bite, she paused. The freckled girl beside her looked familiar.
"You're Anna, right?" she asked, though she already knew. In her dreams, Anna had been the only one who didn't treat her like Olivia 2.0.
"Yes, Miss," Anna replied with a shy nod.
Melisa set her fork down. "Tell the head maid I need a guest room cleaned."
Anna blinked. "A guest is—"
"No," Melisa cut in. "For me."
The confusion on Anna's face didn't last long. Because someone else had already arrived—with all the grace of a thunderstorm slamming a glass door.
Bang.
Leonard stood there, the doorknob still trembling from impact, his suit pristine, his face anything but. He looked like someone had dared to rearrange the world without asking his permission.
Anna scurried out with the instincts of someone who knew how to survive the upper class.
Melisa, naturally, stayed seated.
"Leo," she said flatly, "are you in the habit of breaking doors or just mine?"
"Why do you want the guest room?" he asked, ignoring her question entirely.
Melisa leaned back, crossing her arms. "Why do you care?"
"You said you didn't want rumors."
"The staff here isn't suicidal. They won't talk."
"Then is it because you hate me that much?"
She almost laughed. "Oh, don't flatter yourself. I just sleep better alone."
Leonard stepped forward. She stood, the wall meeting her back a second too late. His shadow loomed, all sharp edges and unsaid accusations.
"You married me but wanted Tristan. Let's not pretend."
Melisa stared at him, the air shifting between them.
She could tell him the truth. That she'd never looked at Tristan that way. That the one time someone made her heart skip, it wasn't during a ballroom dance, but on a garden bench, when a certain awkward boy had handed her a crushed daisy and blurted out a confession.
But Olivia got sick that same day. And Melisa had forgotten to answer.
Apparently, he hadn't.
She looked away. "Believe what you want."
Silence. Heavy and tight.
Leonard's hand twitched, as if reaching for her, then dropped.
"We're still married, Melisa," he said, his voice strangely subdued. "Even for two years... I thought we could try."
Try?
She nearly asked, "Try what?" But the weight in his voice stopped her.
Instead, she gave him nothing.
Leonard left without another word.
---
She thought that would be the worst part of her day.
Until her parents arrived.
Uninvited, of course.
The Everharts never came with good intentions. In her dreams, they'd waited longer before playing the doting act. But now that their beloved Olivia's marriage plan had flopped spectacularly, they needed damage control.
A daughter sold off without return on investment? Unacceptable.
So here they were, all smiles, all guilt-laced embraces—pretending this visit was about love, not leverage.
Melisa didn't flinch. Not this time.
Because if life insisted on turning itself into a tragic comedy, she was done being the punchline.