Chapter 3

Anna POV

I woke to pale spring sunlight filtering through the gauze curtains of my room, the kind of soft morning light that would have been perfect for painting if I'd had the luxury of staying in bed. But I didn't. Today was the day Vera came back from Paris, and somehow, that fact had wormed its way into my consciousness even before I fully opened my eyes.

The guest room I'd claimed as my sanctuary was quiet, almost peaceful in the early hour. My collection of childhood teddy bears sat in their usual row against the headboard, silent witnesses to another night spent alone. The sketch pages I'd been working on last afternoon were still scattered across my nightstand.

I pushed myself up, feeling the familiar ache in my body from last night—Edward's touch lingered in ways his presence never did.

I went through the motions of my morning routine mechanically, standing under the shower longer than necessary, letting the hot water wash away the ghost of his hands on my skin. When I finally stepped out and faced the mirror, steam clouding the edges, I looked the same as always—blue eyes that revealed too much if I wasn't careful, pale skin that showed every mark, every sleepless night. I wrapped myself in a robe and padded back to my closet, considering what armor to wear today.

The clothes I chose were simple, practical—a light cashmere sweater in soft gray, dark jeans that actually fit my frame, and comfortable ankle boots. Spring in New York meant unpredictable weather, and I'd learned to dress for function over fashion. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, applied the bare minimum of makeup, and studied my reflection one more time.

The walk down the grand staircase felt longer than usual this morning, each step echoing in the cavernous foyer with its vaulted ceilings and that obscene crystal chandelie. I'd never gotten used to the scale of the house, the way it made me feel small and temporary, like a guest who'd overstayed her welcome. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the fresh flowers Mrs. Thompson arranged daily in the entryway—today, white peonies that probably came from some exclusive florist.

When I reached the dining room, the table was already set with breakfast—fresh fruit, yogurt, croissants still warm from the oven, coffee in a silver pot that gleamed in the sunlight. The room itself was all understated elegance, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured gardens.

"Good morning, Mrs. Frost," Mrs. Thompson greeted me with a warm smile as she poured coffee into my cup. "I hope you slept well."

"Well enough," I lied, settling into my usual chair. The one across from me—Edward's seat—was conspicuously empty, though I could see the telltale signs that he'd been there. His coffee cup had been cleared, but the newspaper he favored was folded beside his place setting, already read. "Has Mr. Frost already left?"

"Yes, ma'am. He had breakfast early and left for the office around seven-thirty." Maria hesitated, then added gently, "He asked me to remind you to pick up Miss Vera Parker from the airport today. Her flight arrives this afternoon."

The croissant I'd been reaching for suddenly seemed about as appealing as cardboard. "Right. Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Thompson."

I forced myself to eat, to maintain the pretense of normalcy, but everything tasted like ash in my mouth.

I managed half a croissant and some fruit before giving up, pushing away from the table. I needed air, needed space to breathe before I had to put on my Mrs. Frost mask and play chauffeur to my sister.

---

JFK Airport was a sea of moving bodies, all rushing somewhere important while I stood still, scanning the arrivals board. Vera's flight from Paris had landed twenty minutes ago, which meant she'd be emerging from customs any minute now.

The international terminal hummed with a symphony of airport sounds—luggage wheels clicking against tile, multilingual announcements echoing overhead, tearful reunions and excited greetings creating a backdrop of human connection.

Around me, families clutched handmade welcome signs, partners waited with flowers, and drivers held tablets displaying surnames. I stood alone, empty-handed, feeling more like a hired service than family.

I checked my phone again. No texts from Edward asking if I'd picked up his precious Vera yet.

The memory of last night—his coldness, his back turned to me as I left his room—still stung. And now here I was, playing chauffeur to the woman who should have been in my place. The woman who, by all accounts, still had more claim to Edward's attention than I did.

I moved closer to the arrivals gate, positioning myself where I could see the passengers emerging but remain partially hidden behind a column. Old habits die hard; I'd spent years learning to observe without being seen.

That's when I heard them.

"...honestly, Vera, I don't understand why you're being so calm about all this." The voice was crisp, cultured, dripping with the kind of entitled irritation that only comes from old money.

I peered around the column. Rebecca Taylor—sleek blonde bob, designer sunglasses perched unnecessarily on her head indoors, Louis Vuitton carry-on rolling behind her. And beside her, Vera, looking effortlessly elegant in a cream cashmere sweater and tailored pants despite the transatlantic flight.

"What do you expect me to do, Rebecca?" Vera's voice was soft, reasonable. Always so reasonable.

"Fight for what's yours! Edward has been yours since you were children. Everyone knows it. This arrangement with... her... it's just business." Rebecca's perfectly manicured hand made a dismissive gesture. "Edward from childhood has always preferred you. That's common knowledge in Upper East Side circles."

I felt my stomach clench. This wasn't new information, but hearing it stated so baldly still hit like a slap.

"It's complicated," Vera murmured, adjusting the strap of her Chanel bag. "Edward has obligations."

"Obligations! Please." Rebecca rolled her eyes. "That marriage is a joke. Two years and still no baby? After she lost the first one? How pathetic!"

My hands curled into fists. The miscarriage. Of course that would be gossip fodder for these vultures. Three months, and the wound was still raw, still bleeding whenever someone poked at it.

I stepped out from behind the column, my face carefully arranged into a neutral expression. "Vera. Welcome back."

Both women froze, eyes widening slightly before their society masks slipped back into place. Vera recovered first, her perfect smile appearing as if by magic.

"Anna," she said, stepping forward. "You came to pick me up."

Not "thank you for coming". Just a statement of fact, tinged with the faintest hint of surprise.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "Where's Edward? I would have thought he'd want to welcome Vera himself."

The implication was clear: Edward should have been here for Vera, not sending his placeholder wife.

I met her gaze steadily. "Edward has meetings all day. He asked me to come." I kept my voice calm, matter-of-fact. "He's looking forward to seeing Vera at dinner."

Rebecca's perfectly glossed lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Is he really busy, or did you not want him to come? Afraid to leave those two alone together?"

My patience snapped. I pulled my iPhone from my pocket and held it out to her. "Edward asked me to come, but if you don't believe me, you're welcome to call him right now. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to have his board meeting interrupted to confirm his wife's whereabouts."

Rebecca's eyes widened fractionally.

"Rebecca, don't," Vera said softly, placing a hand on her friend's arm. "Anna was kind enough to come get me. Let's not make this difficult."

Kind enough. As if I were doing her a favor, not fulfilling a duty assigned by my husband.

"You're too good-hearted, Vera," Rebecca muttered, loud enough for me to hear. "That's what lets people walk all over you."

I pretended not to hear, tucking my phone away. "I've got the car waiting. Shall we?"

The ride to the baggage claim was silent and tense. I walked slightly ahead, giving them space while staying close enough to hear any further comments. There were none. Rebecca knew when she'd been caught.

After collecting Vera's matching set of designer luggage, we headed toward the parking garage. I'd driven myself today, opting for my own Audi rather than asking Thompson to bring one of the Frost family cars. A small rebellion, but it felt necessary.

As I loaded the last of Vera's bags into the trunk, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and felt a familiar sinking in my stomach. Irene Parker. My mother—biologically, at least.