Chapter 5

Edward's voice was flat, devoid of even the slightest inflection, yet it landed in Victoria's chest like a hammer blow, sending her pulse racing in chaos.

"If you claim you don't hate it," he said, "then you won't waste a single bite."

He bent suddenly, the glint of his steel-link watch catching the light as his hand reached down to the wreckage on the carpet. The deep purple blueberry filling seeped into the sugar glaze, clinging to shards of flaky crust. It looked disturbingly like congealed blood, and Edward scooped it up without hesitation, closing his fingers around the mess.

The sweet, cloying scent mingled with the stale dust in the air.

Victoria barely had time to recoil before his other hand shot out, gripping her chin like a steel trap and forcing her head upward.

Her eyes widened in panic. She tried to pull back, but Edward's hold was unyielding, locking her in place.

He gave her no chance to breathe. The hand smeared with sticky filling and carpet grit was shoved into her mouth with brutal force.

The taste exploded across her tongue—sickly sweet, almost bitter, laced with the grit of dust and something metallic.

"Swallow it." Edward's gaze was cold and merciless. His fingers pressed deeper, invading her throat until she gagged, unable to spit it out. "Isn't this your sister's favorite? Don't you want to be like her?"

The thick blueberry paste clogged her airway. Victoria's breath came in desperate bursts, tears spilling from her eyes in a reflex she couldn't control.

She beat at his arm with both hands, her nails catching on the fine fabric of his shirt and leaving creases, but he didn't relent.

"Swallow!" His bark was sharp enough to cut the air.

His grip tightened, forcing her to gulp down the mass. The sweetness turned rancid in her mouth, mingling with the copper tang of blood from her bitten lip. It slid down her throat, making her stomach convulse violently.

Only when the last of it was gone did Edward release her, wiping his hand on the front of her nightdress as though she were nothing but a rag.

Air rushed into her lungs, and Victoria collapsed forward, coughing so hard her ribs ached. The taste churned in her gut until she thought she might be sick.

She scrambled away, half crawling, half stumbling into the en suite bathroom. Clutching the rim of the toilet, she retched until the pie, along with the bitter acid from the night before, came up in a violent rush.

In the mirror above the sink, her hair hung in tangled strands, her mouth stained with a smear of purple-red. She looked like someone dragged from a heap of garbage.

Edward leaned against the doorframe, watching her without a flicker of pity. His eyes held only the satisfaction of revenge—and a deeper, more corrosive disgust.

"Pathetic," he said coldly. "How much must you hate Anne to despise even her favorite food?"

Victoria flushed the toilet, her hands trembling. "I don't… I only—"

She wanted to tell him she'd been forced, that she'd always had a physical aversion to too much sweetness. He knew that. He'd known for years.

But Edward didn't care.

He strode forward, grabbed the back of her collar like she was a stray animal, and hauled her out of the bathroom.

"If you hate this place so much—hate every trace Anne left—then I'll make sure you get what you want."

He dragged her, limp and gasping, out of the room steeped in Anne's memory.

At the end of the hallway was an empty room. Bleached walls. Bare floor. No carpet, no photographs, no scent lingering in the air.

Victoria lay on the cold boards, gulping air. And in the midst of her humiliation, she felt a flicker of absurd relief.

At least here, there were no eyes staring out from a frame, no ghost of Anne's gaze watching her shame.

Thank God…

"Feeling relieved?" Edward's voice cut through her thoughts, laced with mockery.

He had a way of reading her most private feelings and twisting them into the ugliest possible interpretation.

"You're filth. You don't deserve to be anywhere touched by her presence."

He crossed to the wardrobe, yanked out a white garment bag, and tore it open with a sharp rip.

A pure white lace dress landed across her face, blocking her vision.

"Put it on." His tone left no room for refusal.

Victoria pulled it away, her stomach dropping when she recognized it. Anne's eighteenth birthday dress. Back then, Anne had been slender, her waist delicate, her smile untouched by sorrow.

"No…" Victoria shook her head, her voice trembling. "It doesn't fit… and it's hers… she treasured this—"

"I said put it on!" Edward's sudden rage exploded, his foot smashing into a nearby chair. The crash made her flinch hard.

"You wanted to replace her, didn't you? Climb into my bed, take her place? Now you're playing innocent?" He advanced, boxing her in against the wall, one hand braced beside her head, his body radiating dominance.

"Don't make me undress you myself."

Victoria stared at him.

This was the face she had once dreamed about as a girl—now twisted into something demonic.

Her body shook violently. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she broke.

"I never… I never wanted to replace her, Edward!"

"Shut up!" His patience snapped. He shoved her against the wall with brutal force. The impact sent pain lancing through her skull, her vision going dark for a moment. A lump swelled rapidly at her temple.

Her whole body trembled, tears falling in heavy drops.

Edward gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His eyes were pure ice.

"Take it off."

It was a command, not a request.

Victoria saw the hatred in his stare and felt something inside her die. She stopped crying. Stopped trying to explain.

Under that frozen gaze, her hands shook as she untied the straps of her nightdress.

She lifted Anne's white lace dress. It hung loose on her frame, the fabric cold against her skin.

She stood motionless, a marionette with its strings cut, waiting for the next blow to her dignity.

Edward looked her over, his disgust deepening.

"Ugly," he said, as if inspecting a cheap imitation.

"Stay here. Wear it until you understand exactly what you are. Then you can come out."

He turned and walked away, not sparing her another glance.

The door closed, shutting out every trace of light.

Victoria stood in the dark, the dress clinging to her like a shroud.

She sank slowly to the floor, arms wrapping around her knees, forehead pressed to the cold wall.

"Anne…" Her lips moved soundlessly. Tears slid down her swollen face, dripping onto the pristine fabric and leaving dark stains.

Her voice was a whisper, meant for no one but herself—and perhaps the empty air. "I tried… I really tried… but why does it still hurt so much…"