My jaw fell open, and the short-lasting look of vulnerability vanished from Margot's eyes. She laughed, the sound bitter and tired. I searched for words, but I was at a loss.

"Margot, I'm so sorry."

She ran her fingers down the keys of the piano softly. She took a steadying breath.

"You know, it's hard to hate someone who has died. You've got all of this anger with nowhere to put it."

She blinked slowly, lashes casting slanting shadows down her cheeks.

Perhaps that's why Margot O'Dell was so angry at the world. Perhaps it was because she had nowhere else to put it.

"Grief's weird as hell," Margot whispered.

I thought of my mother instantly, images of her flashing to my mind. Before I could stop them, words tumbled out of my mouth and hung in the air.

"I know what grief's like."

Margot's fingers, which she had been using to trace the piano's keys, paused. The silence felt painful. My words lingered in the air and rung in my ears. Her stillness was anticipating; waiting for me to spill secrets of my own. A secret for a secret. A truth for a truth.

"My mother died a few years back, so I know grief," I smiled softly, "it's like him and I are old friends, and I see him everywhere I go."

Margot's whole face seemed to soften. Unease roiled in my stomach at what I had just told her. Never did I expect that I would be opening up to Margot O'Dell tonight. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, I quickly changed the subject, no longer wishing to talk about anything to do with myself, or my mother.

"Look, I know we're not friends or anything," I scoffed, and Margot's lips quirked up, "but if you ever need someone, I'm here."

"Awhhh," Margot said, drawing out the sound, layering it thick with sarcasm. "You're so disgustingly adorable when you're nice."

I straightened up in embarrassment, and a teasing smile creased her eyes.

I wanted to ask her one more thing before the moment ended; why had she used Fiancée for Hire in the first place? Why had she chosen me? Had she recognized me as the girl who had challenged her at The White Swan café? The thought of her choosing me to be her fake fiancée after our argument that had gotten me fired filled me with even more questions.

But before I could ask her any of them, the distant echo of shouting sounded from down the corridor, crushing the moment in an instant. Charles, Audrey, and another that I did not recognize. Margot listened intently, before recognition flooded her gaze and she cursed under her breath. She stood up abruptly, and rushed out of the door, and I followed her, down the confusing path I took with Beckett to get to her in the first place.

We reached the main area of the house, the one where I had first met the O'Dell's. Charles and Audrey stood facing a man I had never seen before. Audrey's cheeks were stained with tears, and Charles' face was void of emotion. As per usual.

I looked at the man. He looked as though he had just stepped in from a winter storm. His face was clouded with freckles, with a sweeping of ginger hair that covered his forehead, ruffled by wind. He had been the one shouting the loudest, voice layered with hurt and betrayal.

He stopped had when we entered, breathing heavily when he turned towards us. He stared at Margot long and hard, the anger in his eyes transmuting into something entirely new, lips parting slightly. He looked at me, jaw locking, before gradually, his eyes fell to the wedding ring on my finger.

"I didn't think it was true," he spoke quietly, looking back to Margot, his voice, although small, thick with horror.

"Jude..."

"You know, I knew it was all an act." He was laughing now, humorlessly. "I knew every photo of you circulating throughout the media wasn't true. Crying at her funeral, her gravestone. The interviews where you said you didn't know what your life was without her. It was all a lie, wasn't it?"

I looked between the two of them in confusion. Margot's face, once soft and vulnerable, now venomous.

"Because just a year after my sister was murdered in your house, you got engaged to someone else," Jude's voice rose. "Tell me, did Eden ever mean shit to you?"

Margot's pretty lips, full and bow shaped, now curled into an ugly snarl.

"You think it was easy? I loved that girl to pieces. She was everything to me. And then she cheated on me. And then, before I could even process that, she died." Margot was yelling now, voice cracked and broken. "So yeah, maybe I have moved on, maybe I don't love her anymore. But for months I did, and it tore me apart."

The silence was deafening.

"You have no right to come into my house and call my grief a lie, because it sure as hell was real. It was one of the most real things that I've ever felt."

They stood there, staring at each other. I felt as though I was intruding on something personal. It felt as though no one should ever see Margot like this.

She turned to face me, eyes cold and unfeeling.

"Take Aspen to her room, Beckett."

I turned to Beckett, who had been standing quietly behind us the whole time. He looked at me softly, and I sighed, turning on my heel and walking towards the stairs. Beckett walked quietly behind me. The conversation continued in hoarse whispers below. Whispers that I could not decipher.

"So, how're you doing?" Beckett looked over at me as we walked down the hall towards my room.

His awkward attempt at compassion made my lips curve into a small smile.

"Oh, I've been better."

"At least your fiancée isn't in love with her dead ex-girlfriend," he pointed out. "I feel like that's got to be a bonus. She's not entirely damaged goods, just a bit traumatized, understandably."

I looked at him and snorted. He didn't look like he was joking, eyebrows knotted together in concern. It was comforting knowing that his concern was for me. He cared, and that was definitely a positive when he was the person designated to protecting me.

"Thank you for being my bodyguard, Beckett."

He gave me a lobsided grin, "Anytime."

We reached my door, and I took the key out of my pocket. I unlocked it, opening the door with a click. Before stepping in, I looked back at him.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be here."

I shut the door behind me, and flopped onto the bed, crawling under the covers and curling up. My blonde hair fanned out across the pillow in front of me.

Margot was like a light switch. That's the only thing I could liken her to. There was on, and there was off. There was everything, and then there was nothing. No middle ground. When she was on, she was sweet, caring, honest. But God, when she was off, the coldness crept through, a frigidity iced her gaze and froze her jaw.

That is what loss does to people. It makes you feel as though it's you against the world. I know that's what it was like for me. Sometimes, it still felt that way, even after all this time. I couldn't bear to imagine what it would be like when the person you'd lost had cheated on you. When they had been murdered in your own house.

If anger and guilt were at war in your heart, which one would win? Which one would you succumb to in the end?