In my life, I have been a rich man’s canary twice.

The first time, it was for a Miami nightclub tycoon. When I discovered I was nothing more than a beautiful plaything for him to show off, I flew the cage.

The second time, I was smarter. I married Julian Blackwood, a cold, ascetic titan of Wall Street. For three years, he showered me with such extravagance that I became a legend, the wild spirit everyone whispered he had finally tamed. I, too, believed I had won his singular, all-consuming love.

Until a late summer weekend, when I accompanied Julian to his family’s estate in the Hamptons. Standing on the terrace, I overheard his grandmother's voice drifting from the house. She spoke of his past—of a woman named Scarlett Montgomery who had scorned him, of a near-drowning, and of the vow he’d made to one day make her kneel.

"That Montgomery princess looked down on you for being an illegitimate son and left you for dead in the ocean. You swore back then you'd make her life a living hell. No one holds a grudge like you."

"And what came of it? This wife you have now—isn't she just a substitute you found? A stand-in for the real thing?"

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1

The man was silent for a long, weighted moment. "Grandmother, don't let Avalon hear this."

I stood on the other side of the glass doors, my fingertips digging into the cold stone of the balustrade.

"What are you doing out here in the cold? You'll catch a chill."

Julian's gentle voice wrapped around me from behind.

He draped a cashmere shawl over my shoulders and encircled my waist with his arms.

My entire body went rigid.

His grandmother's words echoed, a relentless poison in my mind.

Julian took my hand. "Avalon, why are your hands so cold?"

He lifted my fingers to his lips, kissing them softly.

I turned, subtly pulling my hand from his grasp.

"Julian, who am I?"

Staring into his deep, affectionate eyes, my mind replayed a highlight reel of the past three years.

He would carefully prepare a glass of warm milk for me every single night.

He once canceled a multi-billion-dollar merger just to stay home and soothe my cramps, his hands a warm, constant presence on my stomach all night.

...

So, all of this… it was for another woman?

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"What kind of question is that? You're Avalon. You're my wife. My only wife."

I opened my mouth to argue, but his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable.

"Avalon, something's come up. An urgent call I need to take in the study."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Go on to bed. You don't have to wait up for me."

I watched him walk away, a profound numbness spreading through me.

I returned to our bedroom alone.

On the bedside table, the screen of the laptop Julian used for work suddenly flickered to life.

An anonymous Instagram chat box materialized.

A single photo had been sent.

The background was one of New York City's most exclusive hotels, renowned for its discretion.

In the picture, a woman wore a deep purple silk nightdress, her gaze hazy, seductive.

Her features were stunning.

But I could still see it—the unmistakable resemblance in her profile. A resemblance to me.

The little princess of the Montgomery family, Scarlett.

Before I could fully process it, the photo and the chat history vanished, as if set to self-destruct after being read.

Less than a minute later, I heard the soft, deliberate retreat of footsteps down the hall.

Then, the distant sound of a car engine fading into the night.

My hands clenched the bedsheets, knuckles white.

After a moment, I took a deep, shuddering breath.

Following the hotel logo I’d glimpsed in the photo, I called a car and followed him into the city.

I didn't storm in. I didn't cause a scene.

It was a special kind of masochism, booking the room right next to theirs.

The room wasn't very soundproof.

Or perhaps they made no effort to be quiet.

The sounds from next door revealed a savage passion I had never known from him.

With me, he was always so gentle, so restrained.

Scarlett's voice, laced with a tearful pout, drifted through the wall.

"Julian, this constellation is mine, and so are you… When you got it tattooed, you said you would remember me forever."

Julian had a constellation tattooed on his lower abdomen. I had always thought he'd gotten it for me.

The moment she spoke, the sounds from their room grew even more frantic.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth.

Suppressing the urge to hammer on their door, I took out my phone and recorded everything.

A wave of nausea churned in my stomach.

I put my phone away and stumbled out of the hotel.

I wandered the streets alone, cold rain lashing my face and stinging my skin with the salt of the sea breeze.

My phone screen lit up. A message from Julian.

"Avalon, things are a bit complicated. I might be very late. Go to sleep, don't wait up."

I tilted my head back, fighting back tears as my vision blurred.

I thought I was the happiest woman in the world.

The truth was a brutal slap in the face.

Somehow, I found my way home.

I walked to the gallery in our living room.

It was filled with abstract sculptures.

For three years, I had believed these were monuments to his love for me.

I once had a fleeting interest in sculpting.

Julian had cleared his entire schedule to learn with me.

He would hold me from behind, his hand guiding mine as we carved, stroke by stroke.

He told me he wanted to capture every piece of me in stone.

I walked toward my favorite piece, an abstract form in the center of the room.

A dreadful suspicion took root in my mind. On a whim, I pushed the heavy sculpture aside.

A hidden compartment lay beneath it.

I opened it, my body trembling.

Inside was a small velvet box.

And nestled within the box was a faded old Polaroid.

The girl in the photo wore an arrogant, flamboyant smile, her eyes holding a look of particular petulance.

It was a young Scarlett.

I held the photo, comparing it to the sculpture before me.

The contours, the expression—it wasn't me. It had never been me.

I was just a living model, a stand-in he used to sculpt a memory of Scarlett.

Just then, the soft click of the front door's fingerprint lock echoed through the house.

Julian was back.

"Why are you still up? Scared to be alone without me?"

He walked toward me, habitually reaching out to stroke my hair.

I couldn't hold it back any longer.

I flinched away from his touch and threw the photo at his chest.

"So it was all a lie? Everything you supposedly built for me over the past three years?"

"You were just looking at her, through me?"

Julian glanced down, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

He bent to pick up the photo, gently wiping an imaginary speck of dust from its surface.

There was no panic, not a shred of guilt at being caught.

"Avalon, the position of Mrs. Blackwood will always be yours."

"Scarlett is just an obsession from my past. I need a little time to handle it."

I scoffed. "Handle it? By 'handling' it in her bed?"

Julian's gaze snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "You followed me?"

He crossed his legs, leaning back casually.

"She has severe borderline personality disorder. I can't just stand by and watch someone die, can I?"

"I'm sure you can understand. You're so compassionate, even with stray animals. This is a human life."

Just then, his phone, which he'd placed on the table, lit up.

A voice message from Scarlett.

Julian didn't hesitate. He played it out loud.

The woman's voice was languid and sated.

"Thank you for remembering I like Cartier. Oh, and I like strawberry macarons. Don't bring the wrong ones next time."

The pink diamond bracelet he had bid a fortune for at the Sotheby's auction last year.

That was for Scarlett, too.

He extended a placating hand toward me.

"The craftsmanship on that bracelet was subpar. I'll have my assistant commission a superior piece for you tomorrow as compensation."

I stood up, my voice shaking with rage.

"Julian, I want a divorce."

Hearing those words, he shot to his feet and grabbed my wrist.

He didn't use much force, but his eyes had turned to ice.

"Avalon, stop. This isn't you."

"Let go. Where I go is none of your business." I stared coldly at the hand shackling mine.

Julian's gaze darkened, but after a long moment, he slowly loosened his grip.

He took a deep breath, his expression one of weary tolerance.

"Avalon, don't be like this. I promise, I'll cut back on seeing her."

Just then, the exclusive ringtone of his private phone trilled from his pocket.

It was the number he had set up just for me, for emergencies.

Julian's brow furrowed as he answered.

Scarlett's voice was choked with sobs.

"Julian, I'm so scared."

Julian's voice instantly tensed.

"What? You cut your hand?!"

He turned without hesitation.

"I have to go. You get some rest."

"Julian," I gasped, a sharp, cramping pain suddenly seizing my lower abdomen.

I clutched my stomach, my other hand reaching out to grab the corner of his coat.

He glanced down, his features tightening with impatience.

"Avalon, don't play the victim right now."

"Her situation is critical. I have to go."

He pried my fingers off his coat, one by one.

Without a backward glance, he strode out the door.

I sank to the floor, cold sweat drenching my back.

I called 911 and went to New York-Presbyterian Hospital. Alone.

Lying in the sterile hospital bed.

I held the thin ultrasound report, my hand stroking my still-flat belly.

My baby... I'm so sorry. You came at the worst possible time.

I clenched my fists.

But you're here now. And I will protect you. I will get us out of here.

I called my lawyer, sent the evidence I had, and began to make my plans.

Just as I was leaving my room, I saw Julian carefully supporting Scarlett as they walked out of the VIP clinic down the hall.

Scarlett had a childish cartoon band-aid on her index finger.

He was whispering something to her, his expression impossibly gentle.

Scarlett looked up, and her gaze locked with mine.

She stopped, tugging on Julian's sleeve.

He followed her gaze, and his face shifted.

Scarlett broke free from his arm and walked straight toward me.

She stared at my face, a slow, cruel smile spreading across her lips.

"Some things are destined to return to their rightful owner. I'd almost forgotten what I used to look like."

Her words were light as a feather, yet they struck me like a physical blow.

She raised her hand, as if to touch my cheek.

I flinched away. "Don't touch me. I'm nothing like you."

Seeing my rejection, she shoved me hard.

I stumbled back, and my hand flew up to strike her.

Julian rushed over, shielding Scarlett with his body.

"Avalon, she's a patient. Don't stoop to her level."

I slapped him. Hard. Across the face.

He didn't even flinch. His gaze fell to the paper clutched in my hand.

He snatched the ultrasound report and scanned the results.

A deep line formed between his brows.

"Avalon, we can't have this child right now."

"Scarlett is pregnant, too. She has severe borderline personality disorder and can't handle any kind of shock."