I endured the stinging numbness spreading through both hands.
"Mrs. Whitney, this is my first time performing the ceremonial tea service for you. After this cup of tea, I'd like to have my prayer charm back—the one behind the plaque."
"How petty can you be? It's just some worthless trinket. The Whitney family has no use for it."
Jemima didn't notice the look of stunned surprise on her own son's face.
That prayer charm was the one I'd earned through a pilgrimage of prayer, climbing every step on my knees to the temple gates. I'd done it to pray for William's safety and good fortune.
But today, it finally hit me.
He didn't deserve it.
A servant had just taken down the prayer charm and was about to hand it to me when Martha suddenly raised her voice.
"Mother Whitney, my sister was supposed to be the Whitney family's bride. She may have passed, but even in death, she belongs to this family. Shouldn't Serena serve tea to her as well, according to tradition?"
"After all, the first wife is the wife. Anyone who comes after is just a concubine."
With that, a black-and-white memorial portrait was brought forward and placed on the chair like a throne.
Looking at Martha's face, a surge of fury rose inside me.
I shoved aside the scalding tea that had been placed in my hands again. The liquid splashed out and landed squarely on Martha's feet, turning the skin an angry red.
"Your sister had no title, and neither do you. At least a concubine is formally taken into the family. You're the only one who threw herself at the door uninvited."
I let out a cold laugh and turned to bark at the servant.
"Give me the prayer charm."
"Don't you dare!"
Martha stepped forward.
"Who do you think you are, insulting me and my sister? I bet you're the one who killed her. Why else would William have married you?!"
I fixed her with a glare.
"How your sister died—don't tell me you don't know."
Martha instinctively glanced back at Jemima. The older woman's composure cracked, panic bleeding into anger.
"You cheap little tramp, what kind of filth are you spewing?!"
In the chaos that followed, Martha suddenly lurched backward, one hand snatching my sleeve. Her weight dragged me forward, and together we sent the memorial portrait crashing to the floor.
Shards of glass sliced into my arm. The photograph Martha had screamed about losing earlier that day tumbled out and landed right at my feet.
Before I could react, Martha had already thrown herself into William's arms, sobbing hysterically.
"See?! I told you Serena stole my sister's photo! I've heard there are witches on the mainland—she was probably trying to curse her!"
"And now she's destroyed the portrait too! Everyone was right. Serena killed my sister, and now she wants to kill me and Mother Whitney too!"
I lifted my head and met William's eyes. They were dark. Bottomless.
He spoke one word at a time, each one deliberate.
"Make her kneel. Full ceremonial bow."
Two people seized me by the arms and forced me down, grinding both knees into the broken glass. Over and over, they pressed my forehead to the floor.
I didn't know how long it lasted.
Finally, I heard William's voice.
"Do you understand what you did wrong?"
I clenched my teeth and said nothing.
The yellowed prayer charm lay discarded on the ground. I groped for it blindly and closed my fingers around it.
I staggered to my feet.
"Where do you think you're going?"
William frowned.
"Home."
He assumed I meant his home. Relief softened his expression. For once in his life, it occurred to him that he was about to be a father.
"You have a prenatal checkup tomorrow. Don't forget. I'll come back early tonight."
Then, lowering his voice, he added, "Martha loved her sister very much. You really went too far this time."
I ignored his shifting moods—hot one moment, cold the next.
Step by step, I walked out of the Whitney estate.
I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the harbor.
William didn't come home that night. He sent someone over with a pot of herbal soup.
The next day, he took Martha to the hospital for her burn.
The day after that, they watched the sunset together.
The fourth day. The fifth.
William brought Martha to a nightclub for drinks. One of his buddies was flipping through an entertainment magazine on the table.
He took one look and broke into a sleazy grin.
"Whitney, your wife went back to the mainland to visit family? How'd she end up in a tabloid?"
William didn't pay much attention.
His friend grew impatient, spreading the magazine open and shoving it in front of him.
"Look for yourself if you don't believe me!"
William gave it a careless glance—and couldn't look away.
