Elise came home at six with shopping bags and a bright, oblivious smile.

I sat through dinner like a perfect stepdaughter—polite, quiet, answering questions about London with the right amount of vague enthusiasm. Roman sat at the head of the table, the picture of the devoted fiancé, refilling Elise’s wine and discussing wedding venues like the afternoon in his study had never happened.

Only once did his eyes meet mine across the candlelight.

The look lasted less than a second.

It promised everything.

By ten o’clock Elise had gone to bed with another headache and a sleeping pill. The penthouse settled into silence. I waited in my room until the...