The Stand-In Wife's Spectacular Comeback

Clarine pushed open the heavy oak door of the master bedroom. She took a deep breath, but the air in the Long Island estate always felt too thin. Her eyes scanned the empty, cavernous room. A bitter taste coated her tongue.

She walked to the vanity and stared at the mirror. The woman looking back wore a white silk nightgown. It was the exact style Evert demanded. The exact style Cora used to wear. Clarine's stomach churned with a sudden, violent wave of self-disgust.

Three years. For three years, she had let this marriage erase her. She was nothing but a ghost living in a dead woman's shadow.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the silk tie at her waist. She pulled it loose. The white fabric pooled at her feet. Underneath, she wore a black lace bra she had secretly custom-ordered. Tonight was their third anniversary. She needed to break the curse. She needed him to look at her-really look at her.

The low, guttural roar of an Aston Martin engine vibrated through the floorboards.

Clarine's heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath hitched. She dug her fingernails into her palms, using the sharp sting to ground herself. She quickly smoothed her hair.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed in the hallway. Each thud felt like a hammer striking her spine. The oxygen in the room vanished.

The door shoved open. Evert stepped inside. He brought the winter chill with him, mixed with the sharp scent of whiskey. His eyes were like shards of ice.

Clarine forced her legs to move. She walked toward him, reaching out to help him off with his suit jacket.

Evert shifted his weight, stepping sideways. Her hands grasped empty air.

His sharp gaze dropped to her chest. He saw the black lace. The muscle in his jaw feathered. A flash of pure disgust crossed his face.

"What is this?" His voice was a low, dangerous scrape. "You are a decoration, Clarine. A pacifier for my family. Do not attempt these pathetic seductions."

Tears burned the backs of Clarine's eyes. She blinked them away, her throat tight. "It's our third anniversary, Evert. I just wanted one normal night. One night as your actual wife."

"We have a prenuptial agreement." Evert cut her off. He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a folded document, and tossed it onto the bed. "That is all we have."

Before Clarine could speak, a soft, melodic ringtone broke the silence.

It was Evert's private phone. Clarine's face drained of all color. Her blood ran cold.

Evert answered it. Instantly, the hard lines of his face softened. "Cherie? What's wrong? Calm down, I'm here." His voice was a warm blanket, a tone he had never once used with Clarine.

He listened for a few seconds, then ended the call. He turned his back to Clarine, his hand already on the doorknob.

"Put the white gown back on," Evert ordered without looking at her. "Stop ruining Cora's image."

The door clicked shut.

Clarine's knees gave out. She collapsed onto the thick carpet. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as silent, humiliating tears burned tracks down her cheeks.

She needed air. The bedroom walls were crushing her.

Clarine grabbed a heavy wool coat and slipped it on. She walked out of the main house, her bare feet hitting the freezing stone path leading to the remote glass greenhouse. The biting winter chill seeped through her soles, sending sharp needles of pain up her legs, but it was nothing compared to the freezing void in her chest. She needed a place to breathe, no matter how far or how cold.

Thunder cracked overhead. Rain lashed against the glass panels. Clarine sat on a wooden bench, shivering.

Suddenly, the backup lights in the greenhouse flickered twice. Then, total darkness.

Clarine stood up. The hair on her arms stood on end. Over the roar of the rain, she heard a sharp, distinct sound.

Glass shattering.

Two massive silhouettes stepped through the broken panel at the far end of the greenhouse. The harsh, blinding beam of a flashlight swept across the exotic plants.

Clarine slapped both hands over her mouth to trap her scream. Her lungs burned. She dropped to her hands and knees, crawling frantically behind a massive tropical palm.

"Where's the damn security panel?" a gruff voice cursed in the dark.

Heavy boots crunched on broken glass. They were walking straight toward her.

Clarine's hands shook violently as she pulled her phone from her coat pocket. The screen lit up. It felt like a beacon in the pitch black. She frantically mashed the brightness down to zero.

She pressed Evert's speed dial. Her heart beat so fast it blurred into a continuous, painful flutter in her chest. Please. Please pick up.

The phone rang. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"What now?" Evert's voice came through, laced with heavy irritation. Soft jazz music played in the background. He was at his Manhattan penthouse.

"Evert," Clarine whispered, her voice cracking with a desperate sob. "There are men in the greenhouse. They broke in. Please call the police."

A cold, cruel laugh echoed through the speaker. "Are you out of your mind? You're making up a home invasion for attention?"

"Is the stand-in playing hard to get again?" Cherie's high-pitched, breathy voice floated clearly through the receiver.

"Stop these hysterical games, Clarine," Evert snapped. "Do not call me again tonight."

The line went dead.

Clarine stared at the black screen. The dial tone buzzed in her ear. The flashlight beam swept inches over her head. The panic in her chest suddenly evaporated, replaced by a freezing, hollow void. He left her to die.