Thessaly's Point of View
I shouldn't have come back early.
That's the only thought in my head as I stand outside our penthouse door at eleven o'clock on a Saturday night. The bachelorette yacht party was supposed to last until tomorrow morning. Champagne. Dancing. All of Jareth's society friends pretending we were close.
But I couldn't stand another second of their fake smiles and whispered comments.
"She's so lucky Jareth picked her."
"Do you think he actually loves her?"
Three years. I've spent three years turning myself into the perfect wife for Jareth Winslow. I learned which fork to use at fancy dinners. I memorized important names. I even changed the way I laugh—softer, quieter, less me.
And in one week, I'll marry him at the Plaza Hotel.
I slide the key card through the lock, and the door clicks open.
The penthouse is dark except for a soft glow coming from our bedroom down the hall. Music plays quietly. My heart lifts a little. Maybe he's awake. Maybe we can talk like we used to.
I kick off my heels and walk across the cold marble floor.
That's when I hear it.
A laugh. Female. Coming from our bedroom.
I freeze, my heart suddenly pounding. Jareth must have friends over. That's all.
But something feels wrong. The apartment is too quiet except for that bedroom. And that laugh sounds familiar in a way that makes my stomach twist.
I move toward our bedroom door. It's cracked open just enough for light to spill out.
I don't want to look.
Every instinct screams at me to turn around. To go back to the yacht. To pretend I never came home early.
But my hand pushes the door open anyway.
Jareth is in our bed. Our bed, with the white silk sheets I picked out. He's not alone.
A woman with platinum blonde hair is tangled up with him, her bare back to me. She's laughing, running her fingers through his hair the way I do.
I must make a sound because Jareth's head snaps toward the door. His eyes go wide with shock.
But not guilt. Not sorry. Just annoyed.
Like I'm interrupting something.
"Thessaly." My name comes out flat. Cold. "You weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow."
The blonde woman turns around, and the floor drops out from under me.
No.
It can't be.
She has violet eyes—the exact shade I remember from childhood. A small scar above her left eyebrow from when she fell off her bike at age seven.
"Hi, Thessie," she says, and her voice is exactly the same.
Elowen.
My sister.
My dead sister.
"Surprise," she adds, smiling.
The room spins. I grab the doorframe to keep from falling.
Elowen drowned five years ago. I went to her funeral. I watched them lower her empty coffin into the ground. I cried for months.
I grieved for her.
"How—" The word barely comes out. "You're dead."
"Clearly not." Jareth sits up, not even bothering to cover himself. "We need to talk."
"Talk?" My voice cracks. "You're in bed with my dead sister!"
"She's not dead, obviously." He says it like I'm stupid. "Elowen's been in a private medical facility in Switzerland. Recovering."
"Recovering from drowning?"
"Traumatic brain injury," Elowen explains calmly. "The accident caused memory loss. I've been in treatment for five years. But I'm better now. I remember everything."
She reaches out and takes Jareth's hand. Their fingers lace together naturally.
"Especially," she continues, "I remember that Jareth and I were engaged before my accident. Before you stepped in."
The words hit me like a punch.
"That's not—" I look at Jareth, desperate for him to deny it.
He won't meet my eyes.
"You knew," I whisper. "You knew she was alive."
Finally, he looks at me. And what I see in his face breaks something inside my chest.
Relief.
He looks relieved that I found out.
"I was going to tell you," he says. "Eventually. But then the wedding got planned, and it was easier to just wait."
"Wait for what?"
"For Elowen to get better." He stands up. "Look, Thessaly, you're smart and capable. You've been helpful with business. But you were always temporary."
Temporary.
Three years of my life. Temporary.
"I love Elowen," Jareth continues. "I always have. You were just there. Available. And honestly, you were so eager to please that it made things easy."
Each word is a knife.
"The wedding—"
"Is canceled. Obviously. Elowen and I are getting married instead."
I can't breathe.
"Get out, Thessaly," Elowen says, her voice sharp now. "This is embarrassing for everyone."
Something inside me snaps.
I lunge forward, my hand flying out before I can think. The slap connects with Jareth's face with a sharp crack.
His head whips to the side.
Then he grabs my wrist, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
"You crazy—"
I grab the champagne bottle from the nightstand with my free hand.
I swing it toward his head.
Elowen screams.
The bedroom door bursts open behind me.
"That's enough!" My mother's voice cuts through the chaos. "Security is on the way, Thessaly."
I spin around.
My mother stands in the doorway. My father is behind her. And behind them—Jareth's parents. His sister.
They're all here.
They're all watching.
My mother's face is cold. "Put down the bottle. You're being hysterical."
"Hysterical?" My arm shakes. "Did you know Elowen was alive?"
Something flickers across my mother's face.
"Of course we knew," she says. "Who do you think paid for her treatment?"
The bottle slips from my fingers and crashes to the floor.
"You let me think she was dead," I whisper. "For five years."
"We needed you focused," my father says quietly. "The company was failing. You were the only one who could save it. If you'd known Elowen was alive, you would have been distracted."
"Distracted."
My mother steps forward. "You did beautifully, darling. Crane Luxuries is profitable again, thanks to your work. But now Elowen's recovered, and she can take over her rightful place. As the face of the company. And as Jareth's wife."
Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway. Two security guards appear.
"Mrs. Crane called about a disturbance," one says, looking at me.
"Yes," my mother says smoothly. "My daughter is having a breakdown. Please escort her out. She's become violent."
"I'm the victim here!"
But the guards are already moving toward me.
"Wait—this is my home too—"
"Actually," Jareth says, "this apartment is in my name. You have no legal right to be here."
One of the guards grabs my arm. Firm but not rough.
"Ma'am, you need to come with us."
I look at my family. My fiancé. My supposedly-dead sister.
Not one of them looks sorry.
"Your belongings will be sent to you," my mother says. "Right now, you need to leave before someone calls the police."
The guard pulls me toward the door. I stumble, my bare feet slipping on marble.
In the bedroom, I hear Elowen laugh.
"Poor Thessie. Always so dramatic."
The hallway blurs. The elevator. The lobby. Suddenly I'm outside on the Manhattan street, rain pouring down.
The door locks behind the guards with a click that sounds like my life ending.
I stand there in my cocktail dress, barefoot on wet pavement, with no phone, no money, no keys.
No home. No family. No fiancé.
Nothing.
Thunder rumbles overhead.
A car pulls up to the curb. The back door opens, and a man in an expensive suit steps out, already soaked.
He looks at me with eyes the color of ice.
"Rough night?" he asks.
I open my mouth to answer, but before I can speak, he kneels down on the wet pavement, rain streaming down his face.
"I have a proposal for you."