"Like she reminds me of someone. Lucille Harding."
Jackson's face darkened instantly.
"Don't ever say that again."
"Lucille is dead. She's been dead for years."
The air between them turned heavy. No matter how much Millicent hated to admit it, there was one truth she couldn't escape.
Jackson had never forgotten Lucille Harding.
Not even after all this time.
The realization burned through Millicent like acid. Jealousy coiled in her chest, white-hot and suffocating.
She stared in my direction, a flicker of venom crossing her eyes, so brief it was nearly invisible.
She wanted to grind Lucille Harding's bones to dust.
But Lucille Harding was already dead.
Now, Millicent was the only Mrs. Gilbert. The only wife at Jackson's side.
...
I was in the middle of a lively conversation with a group of businessmen, trading pleasantries and clinking glasses.
But the entire time, I felt a gaze clinging to me like a shadow.
I pretended not to notice Jackson's searching gaze.
He held out until he couldn't anymore, then picked up his glass and walked over.
"Mrs. Stephens."