Invisible.
Replaceable.
Beneath notice.
That hurt almost as much as the betrayal.
The woman turned and looked down at me, her mouth curling into a lazy smile.
“You,” she said, pointing at me. “Bring fresh towels upstairs. And make sure they’re the soft ones. Not the cheap guest towels.”
My hands tightened around the handle of the cleaning cart.
Ethan laughed.
“Be nice, Vanessa. The staff are sensitive.”
Vanessa.
So that was her name.
She smiled up at him. “I am being nice.”
Then she leaned into him, and they disappeared around the corner toward my bedroom.
My bedroom.
The room where I had cried after losing my mother.
The room where Ethan had once held me and promised he would never let me feel alone.
The room where our wedding portrait hung above the fireplace.
For a moment, rage burned through the shock.
