Chapter 4: The Game Begins

Emily Walker met my gaze, eyes raking over me before the hostility faded. She grabbed my hand, her grip tight and smile too sweet. "Sister-in-law, the maple blossoms are gorgeous. Let me show you—Aunt’s waiting in the gazebo."

I understood the real invitation: Caldwell’s aunt wanted to size me up. In families like this, power games played out over sweet tea and garden walks.

It would be rude to refuse, so I followed. But when we got to the gazebo, Caldwell’s aunt was nowhere to be found—just a vase of hydrangeas and a sweating pitcher of sweet tea.

"Since Aunt isn’t here, I’ll take my leave." I turned, but Emily blocked me, heels clicking on the flagstones and perfume thick in the air.

Her face hardened. "Don’t think I don’t know who you really are. Just a maid playing at being the Caldwell mistress. Know your place."

The words hit like glass shards. I forced myself to stand tall, hands trembling as I tried to keep my voice steady.

I bit the inside of my cheek, replaying Mrs. Porter’s warning: “Smile, even when it kills you.”

"Emily, if you’re so fond of my husband, why didn’t you marry him yourself? You didn’t want a sick man, but now you’re jealous. Doesn’t make sense, does it?"

Her face flushed red. I saw her hands clench, fighting for control.

I pressed on: "When the families arranged this marriage, they didn’t say which Miss Porter. Mr. Porter calls me daughter, my dowry was delivered in full—what right do you have to judge me?"

Her jaw clenched. For a second, I almost pitied her.

She glared at me. "Your husband acknowledges you? Then why haven’t you consummated the marriage?"

The accusation stung. I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to stand taller.

"Emily, you’re not married yet. Why ask about another couple’s private business?"

My words were steady, but my hands shook at my sides. I wouldn’t let her see how much she rattled me.

Her face went crimson, eyes darting behind me. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand and cried out: "Sister-in-law, don’t!"

I realized she was setting me up—trying to make it look like I’d thrown myself into the pond. I yanked her hand and let myself fall, the water hitting me like ice, stealing my breath and flooding my ears with muffled shouts from the shore.

I’d seen these tricks before at the Porter house—framing, fighting for favor. I knew how to play the victim.

I thrashed, pretending I couldn’t swim. Someone jumped in, hauling me out with strong arms. My dress clung to my skin, teeth chattering.

I cried, tears streaking down my cheeks as the cold set in. The family gathered, Emily pale and speechless at the edge of the crowd.

Ethan Caldwell crouched beside me. I flung myself into his arms, the bells on my ankle chiming a sad little tune.

"Wife," he murmured, his hand warm on my back. I sobbed harder, letting the tears fall.

I didn’t forget to plead for Emily: "Husband, don’t blame cousin. She didn’t mean it."

Emily was speechless, lips quivering but no words coming. The family watched in awkward silence.

Ethan smiled, voice gentle: "Wife, it’s windy. Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill."

"Alright."

On the way back, I clung to Ethan’s hand. His fingers were cool and steady, grounding me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emily stamping her feet, her composure cracking.