The next thing she knew, she was in the backseat of a black luxury sedan, her fingers clenched tightly in her lap. The world outside the window blurred as they sped through the city, and before she could even piece her thoughts together, the car pulled to a smooth stop in front of Elias's estate.
She didn't wait. The moment the driver opened the door, Liora stepped out, the chiffon and lace of her wedding dress trailing behind her like a ghost that refused to leave. Her heels clicked against the stone driveway as she walked briskly toward the front entrance. Elias hadn't even moved yet.
The mansion loomed ahead—an immaculate display of wealth and quiet menace. As soon as she stepped through the door, a line of maids in identical black uniforms bowed low, greeting her with warm, rehearsed smiles.
"Welcome home, Madam Woods," they said in unison.
Madam Woods.
She flinched.
Without acknowledging them, Liora walked straight into the main sitting room and let herself fall into the plush velvet couch like a lifeless doll. She sank into it, letting her limbs go limp, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest like a brick wall. The cool fabric kissed her arms, but it didn't soothe the burning sensation under her skin.
She already knew what was coming.
She'd lived it before.
The visit.
Right on cue, the distant hum of another car engine rolled up the driveway. She didn't need to look. She already knew who it was.
Tires crunching against gravel. Doors clicking open. Voices rising.
And just like that, her parents and Elias's parents stepped out of the car, as if summoned by some divine script she was tired of living in.
They marched in, voices already rising with tension, but Liora tuned them out.
First, she was still too shocked to process any of it. Second, she didn't want to listen to the same conversation all over again.
"You could've at least prepared us," Elias's mother snapped, her voice sharp and cold like shattered glass.
Elias's father gave a deep sigh, his expression unreadable but clearly displeased. "This whole situation could've ruined us in front of the press. Do you understand that?"
"And where is Hanna?" Liora's mother demanded, ignoring her completely. "We haven't heard a word. She just disappeared!"
Liora stared blankly ahead. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. The voices floated around her, muffled, distant, like echoes in a dream.
She didn't need to listen. She knew every line, every accusation, every defense.
Elias had insisted, back then, that he would only marry Hanna. It was Hanna or nothing. His father had called him a fool but relented anyway, letting him follow his heart like some tragic prince in a drama.
Her own parents had only cared about the scandal. The optics. Where Hanna had run off to. Not once did they ask how Liora felt about stepping into her sister's wedding gown like a backup prop in someone else's play.
That was the first time, anyway. This time, she was too numb to care.
So she sat there, arms folded tightly across her stomach, legs curled under her like a child trying to make herself smaller. Her eyes stayed fixed on the carpet—a soft beige with swirls of cream, so pristine it looked untouched by the world.
The conversation grew louder. Accusations flew. Defenses, weak and repetitive, followed. No one noticed that Liora hadn't spoken a single word.
Until her mother turned toward her. "Liora."
Liora blinked, slow and hollow. She lifted her gaze, met her mother's concerned eyes, and offered a brittle smile.
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, standing slowly. "I know. I'm just a replacement. Nothing more. I know my place."
Her words sucked the air from the room, silencing the bickering for one, brief, victorious second. She pushed herself up from the couch with aching effort, the dress rustling around her legs like chains. Her knees wobbled slightly, but she straightened herself out and turned toward the grand staircase.
"I'm tired," she said, barely glancing at any of them. "I'd like to sleep now."
Without waiting for a response, she walked toward the stairs. Her footsteps echoed up the marble steps like gunshots in a church.
She heard Elias behind her. His pace was calm, but she could feel the tension rising off him like heat.
"Liora," he called gently. "Wait."
She paused on the landing, turning slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of her eye.
"I was going to tell you… You'll have your own room. We won't be—"
"Of course we won't," she cut in, her voice cold and hard. "Don't you dare think I want to be in the same room with you."
His eyes widened slightly, confusion flashing across his face. "I just thought—"
"You thought wrong."
She turned her back on him and continued walking. Each step down the hallway felt like trudging through mud, but she pushed forward, all the way to the room at the very end.
Her room.
It was as lavish as she remembered. Pale gold wallpaper, antique furniture, a massive four-poster bed draped in silk, and windows tall enough to reach the ceiling. Everything was perfect. Everything was beautiful. Everything was fake.
She shut the door quietly behind her and stumbled toward the couch by the window. The second her body hit the cushions, she curled into herself, clutching a nearby pillow to her chest.
Her heart throbbed against her ribs. Her throat tightened. She tried to breathe, but every inhale felt like glass scraping down her lungs.
This had to be a dream. Or some twisted limbo. Maybe she was in a coma. Maybe she was already dead, and this was just the universe playing tricks on her before she crossed over.
Then, without thinking, she pinched her cheek—hard.
"Ow," she muttered.
Still here.
She slapped her wrist next. Not enough to bruise, just enough to sting. The skin pinked under her fingers. Definitely real.
Finally, she stood, marched over to the end of the bed, and gave it a solid kick with the side of her foot.
"Shit," she hissed, hopping on one leg.
Yeah. That hurt.
She paused, panting a little from the surge of dumb adrenaline. Then let out a slow breath.
"Fine," she said aloud, mostly to herself. "Just... making sure."
She walked back toward the bed, but halfway there, a weird little laugh escaped her. She did a quick, clumsy kick into the air—more joy than grace.
"I'm alive," she whispered, half in disbelief, half in victory. "I'm actually alive."
She did another little kick, higher this time, grinning through the tears still drying on her cheeks. Then she paused, shifted her weight, and kicked again—this time imagining Elias's smug face right in front of her foot.
"And that's for thinking you could get rid of me that easy," she said, breathless.
She spun around once, arms flopping to her sides, and flopped back down on the bed with a huff.
"No way am I getting tossed aside again. Not in this life."