Chapter 4

Anna POV

"Hello?"

"Anna," my mother's voice was crisp, businesslike. "Have you picked up Vera yet?"

No greeting. No "how are you". Just straight to her favorite topic.

"Yes, we're at the airport now. Just heading to the car."

"Good. Is she well? Did she enjoy Paris?"

I glanced at Vera, who was saying goodbye to Rebecca with air kisses and promises to call later.

"She seems fine. You could ask her yourself when we get home."

"Don't be difficult, Anna. You know your father and I are still tied up here in Boston." A pause. "You're taking good care of her, I hope? She's been traveling for hours."

I bit back a sarcastic response. "Yes, Mother. I've got her luggage. We're heading home now."

"Remember, you're the older sister. It's your responsibility to look after her."

Older sister. As if we'd grown up together. As if I hadn't spent my childhood with Helen Wilson, my foster mother, in a modest Brooklyn apartment while Vera was being raised in luxury as the beloved Parker daughter.

"I know," I said flatly.

"Let me speak to her before you go."

I walked over to Vera, who had just finished her goodbyes to Rebecca. "Mother wants to talk to you," I said, holding out the phone.

Vera's face lit up as she took it. "Mom! Yes, I just landed... Paris was amazing, you would have loved the spring collections... I know, I took tons of pictures to show you."

Her voice was warm, affectionate—so different from the cool politeness she showed me. With each enthusiastic response, each little laugh, I felt something twist inside me. This was what a daughter sounded like when she talked to her mother. This was what I'd never had with Elizabeth Parker.

I busied myself with arranging Vera's carry-on in the backseat, pretending not to listen as Vera promised to call later with all the details of her trip.

"Love you too," she said, before handing the phone back to me. "Mom wants to say goodbye."

I took the phone. "We're leaving now. I'll text when we get home."

"Thank you for picking her up, Anna. It means a lot to your father and me." Her tone had softened slightly, the closest thing to warmth I'd get.

"Sure. Bye, Mother." I ended the call and pocketed the phone.

"Ready?" I asked Vera, gesturing to the car.

The drive back to Frost Estate was mostly silent. Vera gazed out the window at the passing scenery of Long Island, occasionally commenting on a new shop or restaurant that had opened during her absence. I responded with nods or single-word answers, keeping my eyes on the road.

When we finally pulled through the gates of Frost Estate, I felt the familiar mix of awe and alienation the place always inspired in me. The sprawling mansion with its manicured grounds never felt like home, no matter how many months I lived there.

Mrs. Thompson, the estate manager, was waiting at the front door as we pulled up. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back in its usual neat bun, her posture as straight as ever despite being in her sixties.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Frost," she greeted me with a slight nod. Then, turning to Vera as she emerged from the car: "Miss Vera, lovely to have you back. Was your journey pleasant?"

"As pleasant as a transatlantic flight can be, Mrs. Thompson," Vera replied with a warm smile. "It's good to be back."

"Would you like me to arrange for dinner? Mr. Frost called to say he'll be home by seven."

"Yes, please," I answered. "And have someone bring Miss Parker's luggage to the blue guest suite."

"Of course, Mrs. Frost." Mrs. Thompson turned to go, then paused. "Will you be needing anything else?"

"No, thank you," I said, handing my car keys to the waiting staff member who would park it in the garage.

As we entered the grand foyer with its sweeping staircase and crystal chandelier, I felt Vera's eyes on me, studying my movements as if looking for something.

"I'll let you get settled," I said, turning toward the east wing. "Dinner's at seven, as you heard."

"Where are you going?" Vera asked, her voice innocently curious.

"To my room. I have work to finish."

"Your room isn't in the master suite? With Edward?"

I stopped, turning slowly to face her. Her expression was perfectly crafted—mild surprise with just a hint of concern.

"I have my own room," I said evenly. "I use it as a studio for my work."

"So you and Edward... you sleep in separate rooms?" Her green eyes widened slightly.

I studied her face, noting the calculating look beneath the innocent facade. "Are you disappointed, Vera? Or are you hoping for something?"

Her expression faltered for just a moment—a flash of something hard and cold in those usually warm green eyes—before the mask slipped back into place.

"I don't understand what you mean," she said, her voice soft and hurt. "I was just surprised. I didn't realize you and Edward had... that kind of arrangement."

"We may sleep in separate bedrooms," I said, my voice dropping slightly, "but we still fuck regularly. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Vera blinked rapidly, her mouth opening in shock—whether genuine or performed, I couldn't tell.

"I... I didn't mean... I'll just go to my room to freshen up," she murmured, turning quickly toward the west wing where the blue guest suite was located.

But not before I caught it—that brief flash of venom in her eyes, quickly masked by her retreat.

I watched her go, a strange calm settling over me. For the first time, I'd seen behind Vera's perfect mask. And what I'd glimpsed there confirmed what I'd always suspected: my sister wanted my husband. And she wasn't going to stop until she had him.