For a heartbeat, guilt flickered in his eyes. Then control reclaimed him. “Does it matter? Just eat.”
I glared. “After three years, you still don’t know I’m allergic to this.”
Silence. Lydia’s fork clinked, mock shock on her face.
I stood. Legs trembling, voice steady. “Keep it.”
Down the hall, my room—my kingdom—waited. Everything that had once belonged to me, every memory now a toxin, went into my suitcase: wedding photos, jewelry, gifts. Each thud a reminder of betrayal.
The door opened. Marco. Lydia at his side, belly cradled like a trophy.
“It’s good you’re finally doing something right,” he said, smooth, cold. “Lydia moves in. She even donated bone marrow despite being pregnant. Least you can do is take care of her.”
I laughed, sharp, broken. “Bone marrow? Don’t insult me. She gave nothing. And why should I take care of her? Is she pregnant for you, Marco?”
His eyes narrowed. Steel. Ice. Menace. “Ungrateful. Always talking nonsense.”
Lydia sniffled, crocodile tears glistening. “Marco… don’t fight. I’ll go back home. Don’t want to make Isobel uncomfortable.”
Marco wrapped an arm around her instantly. “This is your room now. Isobel will take care of you.”
My chest burned. Face calm. “She can have it all—even the house. I don’t care anymore.”
Marco’s eyes glinted cruelly. “Stop being dramatic. Just a bedroom. Guest room for you.”
I zipped the suitcase. He stopped me, voice snapping like a whip:
“Wait. Give Lydia your necklace. The one your father gave you. She needs it—to protect her from nightmares.”
My throat constricted. The necklace—my father, his blessing, his legacy. And now, Marco wanted it handed to Lydia.
I pressed my fingers to it, nails digging in. Every heartbeat screamed vengeance.