The house smelled like death.
It was a sickly sweet smell, a mixture of thousands of lilies and the expensive perfume of people who came to gawk at their tragedy. The staff moved like ghosts, silent and terrified of making a sound.
Elise sat in the parlor. Her dress was black. Her stockings were black. Even her thoughts felt black.
She felt like a prop. A doll placed on a sofa to complete the scene of "Grieving Family."
Her mind drifted. It was a defense mechanism. She went back to a dinner, six months ago.
Flashback.
The dining room table was long enough to land a plane on. Joyce sat at the head. Jarret was to her right. Jayden was to her left.
They were identical physically. Same dark hair, same sharp jawline. But everything else was different. Jarret sprawled in his chair, taking up space. Jayden sat with a military stillness, his spine not touching the back of the chair.
"The speech was brilliant, Jarret," Joyce said, cutting her steak. "The polls are up three points."
"I know," Jarret said. He swirled his wine. He looked across the table at his brother. "Maybe Jayden can learn something. If he ever decides to get a real job."
Jayden didn't look up from his plate. He was wearing his dress uniform. "I'm deployed next week, Jarret."
"Playing soldier," Jarret scoffed. Under the table, Elise saw Jarret's polished shoe kick Jayden's shin. Hard.
Jayden didn't flinch. He just took a sip of water. His eyes met Elise's for a second. They were sad. Resigned.
End Flashback.
"Tragic."
The voice snapped Elise back to the present.
Cristine Velazquez stood in the doorway of the parlor. She was Elise's cousin, technically. A distant relation on her mother's side who had somehow latched onto the Barrett social circle like a barnacle.
She wasn't wearing black. She was wearing a navy blue dress that was too tight across the chest and definitely too short for a house of mourning.
She walked past Elise without looking at her. She went straight to the mirror above the fireplace and checked her lipstick.
"But he died a hero," Cristine said to her reflection. She smacked her lips. "That's good for the brand."
Elise stared at her. Cristine's eyes were bright. She didn't look like she had been crying. She looked... energized. Like she had just drunk a double espresso.
Joyce entered the room. She looked haggard, her skin grey, but her hair was perfect.
Joyce walked right past Elise. She went to Cristine and hugged her. It was a warm, genuine embrace.
"We must be strong for the cameras," Joyce said, pulling back and smoothing Cristine's hair.
"I'm ready, Aunt Joyce," Cristine said. She wasn't actually her aunt.
"Joyce," Elise said. Her voice sounded rusty. "When is the funeral? I haven't been told the arrangements."
Joyce turned to Elise slowly. Her eyes were cold stones.
"Jayden will handle the body transfer," she said. She spat the name Jayden like it was a curse word. "He is the survivor."
"I should be there," Elise said. "I am his wife."
Cristine pulled her phone out. She scrolled through something, a small smile playing on her lips.
Elise caught the reflection of Cristine's screen in the mirror. It was a text message. There was a giant red heart emoji.
At a time like this?
"Good news, Cristine?" Elise asked, sharpness leaking into her tone.
Cristine locked her phone instantly. "Just condolences, Elise. People love me. Unlike some."
The heavy oak doors opened. Mr. Henderson, the family lawyer, walked in. He was carrying a briefcase that looked heavy enough to contain bricks.
"Joyce," Mr. Henderson nodded. He ignored Elise.
"Family business, Elise," Joyce said, waving a hand at Elise like she was a fly. "Go rest. You look terrible."
"I am family," Elise said, standing up.
Cristine laughed softly. It was a mean, tinkling sound. "For two months. Hardly a matriarch, sweetie."
Joyce caught the eye of the security guard standing in the hall. He took a step forward. A silent threat.
Elise looked at them. The mother, the cousin, the lawyer. A wall of ice.
She turned and walked out. She went up the grand staircase, her legs heavy. But she stopped at the landing. The acoustics in this house were strange; if one stood in the right spot, the sound from the parlor funneled up.
Elise leaned over the banister, hidden by the shadows.
Cristine was pouring herself a drink from the crystal decanter. She looked like she had won the lottery.
"We need to secure the trust before the will is read," Joyce was saying to the lawyer. Her voice was urgent. "If she finds out about the clauses..."
"We need her signature," the lawyer murmured.
Elise stepped back from the banister. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She wasn't just a widow. She was a liability. And they were plotting to cut her out before Jarret's body was even back on American soil.
Elise needed to find her copy of the prenup. Now.
