Breaking Free from the Trap

Sleep had become a stranger to me in recent weeks. Perhaps that's why I found myself padding down the hallway at two in the morning, drawn by the thirst that scratched at my throat. The house was tomb-quiet, the kind of silence that makes you aware of your own heartbeat.

I descended the stairs carefully, one hand trailing along the cool banister. The marble felt smooth beneath my bare feet. As I approached the library, a sliver of golden light spilled from the partially open door. Xander must have forgotten to turn off the lamp again. He often worked late, citing business calls with international clients.

But it wasn't the hum of a conference call that stopped me three steps from the doorway.

It was laughter. Soft and intimate. Female.

My hand froze on the banister. Through the gap in the door, I saw them. Liberty's back was to me, her silk robe—the expensive one my brother had given her—catching the lamplight. And Xander. My husband stood before her, closer than I'd seen him stand to anyone in three years. His hands rested on her waist. Not hovering. Not hesitant. Touching.

She leaned into him, rising on her toes to whisper something in his ear. Whatever she said made him smile. Not the polite upturn of lips he offered me at breakfast. A real smile. The kind that reaches the eyes and transforms a face. The kind I'd spent three years trying to earn.

My water glass slipped from my hand.

The crash shattered more than crystal. Both of them turned toward the doorway. I waited for guilt. For shock. For the scrambling panic of people caught in betrayal.

Instead, Xander's expression cooled into something worse than anger. Annoyance. The look you'd give a servant who'd interrupted an important meeting.

Liberty's face showed no embarrassment at all. Her mouth curved into something that might have been a smile if not for the coldness in her eyes.

"Emma." Xander's voice carried the flat tone he used when discussing household expenses. "What are you doing up?"

What was I doing? I stared at the man I'd married, the man who flinched away if my hand accidentally brushed his at dinner, who kept separate rooms because his skin was "too sensitive" for shared spaces. That man now had his hands on my sister-in-law's waist.

"I was thirsty," I heard myself say. The words sounded distant, like someone else was speaking.

Liberty adjusted her robe with deliberate slowness. "How clumsy of you, dropping that glass. You really should be more careful, Emma. You've been so scatterbrained lately."

Scatterbrained. The word she'd been using for months, every time I forgot a conversation or lost track of time. Every time I woke up groggy and confused, unable to remember the evening before.

"I'll clean it up." I bent down, reaching for the shattered pieces.

"Leave it." Xander's command stopped me. "The housekeeping staff will handle it in the morning. Go back to bed."

Not 'Let me