The boy who promised to marry me the day we graduated from college proposed to someone else at my graduation ceremony: the family changeling, Annabel Lee. And then Adrian Thorne—known in our circle as the Saint of Manhattan's elite for his quiet, contemplative nature—made a spectacle of declaring his love for me right after her engagement party. For five years of marriage, he was the perfect husband: gentle, attentive, doting on my every whim. Until I overheard a conversation between him and a friend. "Adrian, Annabel is a famous artist now. Are you going to keep up this act with Kaia?" "It doesn't matter anymore. I can't have Annabel anyway. Besides, as long as I'm with her, Kaia can't interfere with Annabel's happiness." Then I found his private book of meditations. Every single page was a prayer for Annabel Lee. May Annabel be freed from her obsessions. May she find peace in mind and body. May Annabel achieve all she desires, and may her heart know no sorrow. ... Annabel, we were not meant for each other in this life. I only pray that in the next, I can hold your hand. A five-year fantasy, shattered in an instant. I arranged for a new identity and staged a drowning. From now on, for all of eternity, we would never have to see each other again. 1 After confirming the final arrangements for my "death," I hung up the phone. In two days, I would grant them their wish and disappear forever. A faint scent of sandalwood, the same scent as his prayer beads, drifted in from the doorway. I looked up instinctively. It was Adrian. He wrapped his arms around me, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. "Who was on the phone?" "No one important, just some business with the gallery," I said, forcing a smile, trying to keep my voice from trembling. He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. "You've been so busy lately. I'll make you something light for dinner tonight, something easy on your stomach." For five years, Adrian had been the epitome of a devoted husband. Everyone said that when a man like him, a man seen as above worldly desires, finally falls in love, it's for an eternity. I used to believe I had found that kind of happiness. But now I understood. This marriage wasn't my salvation; it was his way of protecting Annabel. Adrian's hand gently massaged my shoulder. "By the way," he said, "the Lees are throwing a party tomorrow. Annabel is pregnant, and they're also celebrating her acceptance into the International Art Exhibition. You don't have to go. I'll drop off a gift and come right back to be with you." "What about the exhibition? I was also going to—" He cut me off, his tone gentle but firm. "You should sit this one out. You've been saying you want a child, haven't you? This is the perfect time to rest and take care of yourself." I lowered my gaze, hiding the storm of emotions swirling within me. We'd been married for years with no children. I'd thought it was just a matter of timing, but now I suspected he never wanted one with me at all. He wasn't telling me to rest for my sake; he was clearing the path for Annabel. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, seemingly oblivious to the fact that my heart had just plunged into a bottomless abyss. "Your birthday is the day after tomorrow. I've already prepared a surprise for you. Wishing you a year of peace and joy." A year of peace and joy for Annabel. The name echoed in his blessing. I repeated the words under my breath, the sound suddenly grating. For years, every blessing, every good wish he'd ever offered me, had contained some subtle, hidden nod to her name. Only now did I understand. None of those blessings were ever meant for me. "That sounds wonderful," I said, looking up and forcing another bright smile. "I've planned a little something for my birthday, too. Make sure you clear your schedule to be with me." He nodded. "Of course. Whatever my Kaia wants." My Kaia. The hypocrisy was suffocating. That night, I couldn't sleep. I carefully slid Adrian's arm off my waist, but in doing so, I knocked the sandalwood prayer beads he always kept with him off the nightstand. As I picked them up, I felt a strange texture on the surface of the beads. Leaning into the sliver of moonlight from the window, I looked closer. Tiny letters were intricately carved into each and every bead. ANNA. In that moment, the last flickering ember of hope in my heart went out. 2 The next morning, I told Adrian, "Let's go to the Lees' together." His expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into his usual calm. "Alright," he said lightly. "But we'll leave right after we drop off the gift." I knew he didn't want me there. He was afraid I'd upset Annabel. But I just wanted one last look at my family. After all, by the next day, I'd be gone for good. The Lee manor was packed. Guests swarmed around Annabel, celebrating her pregnancy and her spot in the prestigious exhibition. They fawned over her, predicting her entry would surely win the grand prize. They mentioned that the piece even featured an inscription by the mysterious, sought-after artist known only as 'A.N.N.', calling it a perfect marriage of painting and prose. When Annabel saw me walk in, her face fell, but she quickly composed herself. Her smile was polite, but her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Well, look who it is. Don't you have anything better to do, sister?" I ignored her, my eyes fixing on the painting displayed prominently in the center of the room. It was a piece so familiar it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. It was one of my own paintings, a deeply personal work I had finished years ago and kept hidden away in my private collection, never shown to anyone. How was my painting here? How had it become her competition entry? Annabel watched me, a smirk playing on her lips. She leaned in close, her voice a soft, venomous whisper. "You like it, sister?" I shot her a cold look. Just as I was about to speak, she let out a sharp cry. "No—!" Before I could even process what was happening, she threw herself backward, stumbling and clutching her stomach, her face contorted in a mask of pain. The room erupted. "What happened?!" "Annabel's pregnant! Who pushed her?" "Someone call a doctor!" Through the chaos, one voice cut through the noise, sharp with a panic that was all too real. "Annabel!" Others might not have recognized it, but I did. It was Adrian. The raw, unguarded anguish in his eyes shattered my last illusion. He saw me looking, and his expression instantly reverted to one of calm control. He turned to me, his voice gentle but laced with reproach. "Kaia, regardless of anything else, she's carrying a child. You shouldn't have pushed her." Just then, someone rushed in with news. The painting had not only been accepted but was now a finalist, with a strong chance of winning the gold medal. A wave of undisguised joy washed over his face, a look I hadn't seen in five long years. "That painting," I asked in a low voice, "why does it look exactly like mine?" He tensed but quickly feigned ignorance. "Perhaps it's just a coincidence. Her style has always been similar to yours..." I let out a cold, bitter laugh and said no more. That painting was stored in my private gallery. Only a handful of people had a key. And the inscription... though signed with a pseudonym, the elegant script was identical to the handwriting in the countless meditations Adrian had copied out by hand. It was painfully obvious how the painting got here, and who was behind it. I had painted it as a gift for him, for our fifth anniversary. Now, I realized, even the anniversary itself was a lie. The painting was meaningless. I smiled, my voice so flat it was impossible to read any emotion in it. Adrian seemed to sense something was wrong. "Why don't we leave now?" he offered, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "We can go somewhere to relax." I looked up at him, the corners of my lips turning up in a slight, chilling curve. "Let's take the yacht out. A night cruise. We can watch the sunrise tomorrow." 3 Once we were in the car, he started talking about my birthday. "I have everything planned. And once things settle down, we can start seriously planning for a baby, okay?" I listened in silence, my gaze fixed on the city lights blurring past the window. The car had barely pulled away from the curb when his phone rang. He answered, his brow furrowing with a familiar, troubled expression. I turned to him, my voice calm. "If you have something to do, you should go." He hesitated. "Kaia, I—" "It's fine. I'll wait for you on the yacht." I didn't see the caller ID, but I knew. There was only one person who could make him look like that. After boarding the yacht alone, I pulled out my phone and opened Annabel's social media. A new photo had just been posted. The caption read: So wonderful to have someone by my side to celebrate my success. He brought me a late-night snack and stayed just to talk. Thank you for always taking care of me. The comments were a flood of praise. "Your husband is the best!" "Now that's a man who worships his wife!" My eyes, however, were glued to the hand in the photo, the one resting near the takeout container. On the wrist was a string of sandalwood prayer beads. Adrian's prayer beads.
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