Chapter 8

Anna POV

I followed Elara up the grand staircase, feeling Vera's eyes burning into my back. The polished oak steps creaked slightly beneath our feet, each sound echoing in the vast hallway. Unlike Margaret, who seemed to float on waves of perfume and prejudice, Elara moved with purpose—every step deliberate, every gesture precise.

Her sitting room was nothing like I'd expected. While the rest of the Frost mansion was all old money ostentation—dark woods and heavy fabrics—Elara's private space was surprisingly modern. Clean lines, neutral tones, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured gardens created a sanctuary of calm amid the family chaos.

"Sit," she said, gesturing to a cream-colored armchair. I perched on the edge, watching as she settled across from me, her posture perfect.

"You look tired," she observed, her blue eyes—so like Edward's—scanning my face. "Are you sleeping well?"

"Well enough," I answered, wondering where this was heading.

Elara nodded, then reached into a drawer of the side table. She pulled out a small white business card and slid it across the coffee table between us.

"Dr. Caroline Bennett," she said. "One of the top reproductive specialists in New York. I think you should see her."

I stared at the card but didn't touch it. "I'm not sure what you're suggesting."

"I'm not suggesting anything, Anna. I'm being direct." Her voice remained level, matter-of-fact. "You've been married to my son for two years now. After your..." she paused, searching for the right word, "unfortunate loss, I think it would be wise to seek professional help for conceiving again."

My fingers clenched in my lap. "Edward and I are—"

"Are your intimate relations satisfactory?" she cut in, watching me with clinical detachment.

Heat rushed to my face. "Excuse me?"

"It's a simple question. Sometimes fertility issues stem from both partners. Edward works too much, drinks too much coffee. These things affect male fertility."

I couldn't believe we were having this conversation. "Our... intimate life is fine," I said stiffly. "We're both trying."

Something in her expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Good. That's good to hear."

She leaned back slightly, studying me. "I've noticed how attentive Vera is being to Margaret. Rather tiresome, isn't it? All that fawning."

The sudden shift in topic caught me off guard. "I... I don't—"

"Don't worry about it," Elara waved her hand dismissively. "Margaret always did have a soft spot for theatrics. Vera plays her role well, but I see through it. You shouldn't take it to heart."

I blinked, surprised at what sounded suspiciously like support.

"About the... accident," she continued, her voice dropping slightly. "I know it's difficult, but you're young. You have time. Don't let one setback keep you from trying again."

My body betrayed me—a slight tremor running through my hands, a phantom pain in my abdomen. Accident. Such a clean, simple word for what happened. My throat tightened as the memories flooded back.

Vera's sweet voice calling me to see something at the top of the grand staircase. The freshly polished marble steps. The puddle of water so small I hadn't noticed it. The sudden loss of balance. The sickening sensation of falling. The sharp, unbearable pain that followed. And then, the worst pain of all—the doctor's face when he told me I'd lost the baby.

That had been no accident.

"Thank you for your concern," I managed to say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I appreciate the recommendation."

Elara nodded, seemingly satisfied. "We should join the others. Edward should be arriving soon."

---

By the time we returned downstairs, Edward had indeed arrived. The transformation in Margaret was immediate—her earlier frost melting into warm sunshine as she greeted her grandson. Vera hovered nearby, her expression beatific.

"Edward!" Margaret exclaimed. "You're working too hard. Look how thin you've become!"

Edward bent to kiss her cheek, his tailored suit hiding any supposed weight loss. "I'm fine, Grandma."

Margaret turned accusatory eyes on me. "Anna isn't feeding you properly. All those late nights at the office—"

"Actually," Vera chimed in with a sympathetic smile that didn't reach her eyes, "My sister's been so busy with her little drawing hobby. She's quite dedicated to her... what do you call them? Graphic novels?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood.

Margaret's face pinched with disapproval. "Drawing picture books? At your age? Really, Anna, that's hardly a proper occupation for a Frost."

"It's not like Edward needs the money," Vera added helpfully. "But I suppose everyone needs a hobby."

Edward's jaw tightened. "That's enough," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "Anna's work is important to her, and I support it. I don't need anyone to 'feed me properly'—I can take care of myself."

The room fell silent. I watched Vera's practiced smile falter, her eyes darkening momentarily before she recovered.

"Of course, Eddie," she said softly. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Elara stepped in smoothly. "Speaking of taking care of people," she said, her gaze sliding to Vera, "I've been thinking. Since Vera is so attentive to Margaret, perhaps she should stay here for a while. It would be good company for you, wouldn't it, Margaret?"

Margaret looked startled. "Well, I—"

"And I know several promising young men in finance who would be delighted to meet you, Vera," Elara continued. "Since you've just returned from Paris, it would be the perfect time to introduce you around."

Vera's smile froze on her face, and I noticed her hands tightening around the fabric of her dress. "That's very kind of you, Elara," she responded, her voice strained, "but I'm not really looking for—"

"I wouldn't want to impose, Elara," Margaret interrupted, coming to Vera's rescue. "but Vera is still young. She should enjoy herself, not look after an old woman."

"I'm not old," Elara corrected mildly, "And marriage isn't a prison sentence. It's simply practical to consider one's options early."

Vera's composure was visibly cracking. Her breathing quickened, and a flush crept up her neck.

"I don't want to!" Vera finally burst out, her voice rising with genuine distress. The room went still at her uncharacteristic display of emotion.

She quickly collected herself and turned to Edward, her eyes wide and pleading. "Eddie, please. Tell them I don't have to. I'm not ready for... for all that."

Edward regarded her coolly and said to Elara, "Mom, Grandma is right. Vera is still young. These decisions should ultimately be made by her parents."

Vera stared at him before lunging forward, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate hug. "I know you're best, Eddie," she whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Edward stood rigidly in her embrace before gently but firmly disengaging. "It's nothing," he said, stepping back. "Just common sense."

As dinner concluded and we prepared to leave, Vera caught my eye across the room. Her lips curved into a smile that sent a chill down my spine—not the practiced, perfect smile she showed the world, but something darker, more genuine, and infinitely more dangerous.

In that moment, warning bells clanged in my mind. Whatever game Vera was playing, she believed she was winning.