Chapter 3I Died And Became Your Stranger

At dinner, Luke arrived.

I assumed he was here to discuss the wedding details.

Instead, he barely spared me a glance before walking straight toward Brody—or rather, toward Gemma, who was leaning heavily on Brody’s arm.

"Let me," Luke said, stepping in to lift Gemma into his arms.

Seeing Luke, the fragile facade of strength Gemma had been holding up finally crumbled. Her eyes welled with tears, and she looked up at him, her lashes heavy with moisture.

"Luke..." she whispered.

Luke let out a soft sigh, his eyes melting with pity. "Did you try to learn ballet just because you wanted to dance at the engagement party tomorrow?"

Gemma nodded miserably. "I wanted the night to be special for you and Paula. She looks so beautiful when she dances... I wanted to share that with her." She turned her wet eyes to me, her lower lip trembling. "I’m sorry, Paula. This is all my fault..."

Before I could even open my mouth to respond, Luke’s sharp, warning voice cut through the air. "Watch your tongue, Paula. I don't want you repeating any of those cruel, inappropriate comments you made earlier around Gemma."

I forced a small, polite smile. "It’s fine. I appreciate the thought, Gemma. Just focus on resting your ankle."

Luke carried Gemma into the dining room.

My custom velvet-upholstered chair—the one that had been reserved solely for me—was pulled back. Luke carefully laid Gemma down on the adjoining sofa, using my custom chair as a footrest for her injured ankle.

My hand hovered over the back of the empty chair next to them, freezing in mid-air.

"Gemma’s foot needs to be elevated," Brody explained, his tone dismissive. "You can sit somewhere else." He glanced at my plate. "Actually, you shouldn't even be eating tonight. The engagement party is tomorrow. If you bloat, you won't fit into your custom gown, and you’ll make a laughingstock out of the Henderson family."

I let my hand drop from the chair.

"Thanks for the reminder, Brody," I said softly, stepping back. "I’ll head up to my room. Enjoy your dinner."

As I walked toward the grand staircase, Gemma’s giggles echoed from the dining room.

"Look at her walk," she whispered. "She looks like a stuffed turkey from behind."

"Don't insult turkeys," Brody snickered. "Paula only acts high-and-mighty because of her trophies. That custom princess chair she’s so obsessed with? She basically threw a tantrum and forced Mom to buy it after she won her first regional title. It was never hers by right anyway."

Their laughter faded as I climbed the stairs.

My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a notification from Elysium Transitions:

Miss Sampson, your background check and compatibility match with the Scott family have been fully approved.

I texted the coordinator: Can I go see them now?

Of course. We have sent the coordinates to your device. You are free to visit them at your convenience.

I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my keys, slipped out the back door, and drove away from the Henderson estate.

The moment I arrived at the modest suburban address, I saw them.

They were exactly as their file described: a warm, ordinary middle-aged couple in comfortable, faded sweaters.

When they opened the door, they looked startled, but recognition quickly filled their eyes.

"You must be Paula," the woman said, her voice instantly wrapping around me like a warm blanket. "Oh, sweetheart, you are even more beautiful in person."

She pulled me into the warm entryway, gently holding my hand. "You’re just in time. My husband and I just finished cooking dinner. Please, come eat with us."

The man came out of the kitchen holding a piping hot plate of homemade lasagna, a shy, gentle smile on his face. "We didn't know what you liked, sweetheart. But our Gemma... her absolute favorite was always my homemade garlic bread and slow-simmered marinara. I hope you’ll give it a try."