Chapter 1: The Siren’s Secret

The siren in my backyard told me—with a sly, knowing smirk, like she was in on some cosmic joke—that the man I’d shared a bed with for three years—my husband—was a fraud.

I remember the way the air smelled that evening—heavy with honeysuckle, thick with the muddy tang from the lake. I couldn’t get the smell out of my head, even now. She said my real husband—then paused, letting it sink in—was down there with her, at the bottom of the lake, locked together as lovers.

If I wanted him back, I’d have to cut out the heart of the man beside me and toss it into the lake myself. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, daring me to believe her. I almost did. God help me, I almost did.

Late at night, I lay in bed, listening to Caleb’s steady breathing. Cold sweat prickled my skin. My mind spun, replaying the siren’s words—every creak in that old house made me flinch, my nerves strung tight.

I had noticed something was off. Something was wrong. I felt it. Deep in my bones, I knew I’d been living with a stranger.

Three years ago, the church ladies came knocking, all smiles and secrets, saying the guy next door—Caleb Whitaker—was a decent, mild-mannered man. Quiet, reserved. They’d brought over a casserole and a pie, voices low, like they were letting me in on the secret handshake.

I brought over a carton of eggs and married him in a small-town ceremony. That’s how it goes in Maple Heights. The church was decked out with wildflowers, and the preacher’s voice boomed through the rafters. Folks clapped politely. I remember thinking how normal it all seemed.

On our wedding night, Caleb lifted my veil. The lamplight caught the edge of his smile, casting half his face in shadow. He was strikingly handsome—high cheekbones, sharp jaw, his features reminding me of the mist rolling off the lake at dawn. I could almost feel the chill.

In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he only glanced at me, but that was all it took to make my face burn. My heart hammered so loud I worried he could hear it—loud enough to wake the dead.

But when he leaned in close, I caught it in the lamplight—a sharp, dangerous glint beneath those beautiful eyes. My hand trembled—I almost cried out. My breath caught, and a chill ran down my spine.

It felt like he hadn’t come to marry me at all, but to end me. Nothing like what the church ladies had promised. Their words echoed in my head, suddenly hollow. I felt a lump rise in my throat.

Still, I’d been raised to be a good, proper woman. No matter how scared I was, I had to do my duty as a wife. My mama’s voice rang in my ears, telling me to hold my head high and never let fear show. That was the rule.

“Let me… help you get ready for bed.” My voice barely wavered, but my hands shook so badly I could hardly manage the words. Inside, I was screaming.

That night, with hands shaking, I undressed him. My fingers fumbled with the buttons, the silence between us thick enough to choke on. I could feel every second stretching out, heavy and suffocating.

Folks said I was the prettiest girl in Maple Heights—soft-spoken, gentle, the kind of woman men whispered about. At least, that’s what they said. I knew how to please him. Or at least, I thought I did.

Caleb gripped my wrist and pulled me into the old four-poster bed. The mattress squeaked under our weight. I stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, trying not to think about what was happening.

Maybe it was because I’d married into a broke family, but Caleb showed me little tenderness. The next day, my legs shook so bad I could barely stand. I pressed my palm to the cool wall for balance, biting my lip to keep from crying out. God, it hurt.

I’d never met a man colder or more distant than Caleb Whitaker. He moved through the house like a shadow. Silent. Untouchable.

He didn’t seem interested in women, yet in bed he was relentless. Not obsessed—just fulfilling an obligation. Was that all I was to him?

I couldn’t figure him out. Every gesture, every glance left me guessing. It was like living with a locked door I couldn’t open. Some days, I thought I’d go mad.

He looked like a fallen angel, but acted like a devil—making me both respect and fear him. Sometimes I’d catch my reflection in the window and wonder who I was becoming. My stomach twisted at the thought.

Luckily, after the wedding, he was out of the house every few days, leaving me alone in our empty home. The silence became my only companion. I almost preferred it.

Rumors started to spread in town: “That Whitaker girl is shameless, always flirting with the men at the diner.” I heard the whispers behind my back, felt the stares at the grocery store. Each one stung like a slap.

I was ready for the fallout. Folks in Maple Heights had long memories and tongues sharp as razors. I braced myself for whatever was coming.

The day Caleb came home, Mrs. Jenkins from next door mocked me right to my face. He didn’t react—not a flicker. He just brushed past her, eyes fixed ahead, cold as ice.

That night, he pulled me into bed, and I cried until my cheeks were raw. My pillow was damp, and I pressed my face into it to muffle the sound. The ache in my chest wouldn’t let up.

I knew what he wanted, but he said nothing. The jealousy in him was thick enough to taste. The tension between us crackled like static, making my skin crawl.

Exhausted from crying, I clung to his arm, my face burning, begging, “I swear, I’d never look at anyone else… Please, just let it go…” My voice was barely a whisper, my words tumbling over each other. Shame and fear tangled together inside me.

Caleb ignored me, tilted my chin up, and kissed me hard, pulling me down with him. His grip was unyielding, his lips cold as stone. I felt trapped, unable to breathe.