CHAPTER 8: The Snake in Velvet

The scent of roses wafted through the air—a heavy, suffocating sweetness that didn’t match the cold tension sitting thick on Milo’s shoulders.

He stood just outside the ballroom, wrapped in the stiff embrace of a suit that fit too perfectly. Tailored by Win’s assistant. Chosen by Win’s eyes.

Win hadn’t looked at him all evening.

Not once.

Their first public appearance as a married couple. A press event for Win's latest company merger—hundreds of eyes, camera flashes, reporters, investors. Milo was there only to play the role of the perfect husband.

Beautiful. Silent. Replaceable.

And he knew it.

“Smile,” Win had murmured earlier, just before they walked out onto the red carpet. “Or I’ll give them something real to write about.”

So Milo smiled.

He smiled until his cheeks ached. Until his fingers, loosely laced with Win’s, trembled from pretending not to feel how unwanted he was.

That was before she arrived.

Peach Thanakorn.

The name alone made Milo’s skin prickle. It was the way the room shifted when she walked in—heads turned, voices lowered. Like everyone remembered her. Like the queen had returned to reclaim her throne.

She was stunning. Tall, dripping in gold, her black dress hugging every perfect curve. Her makeup was flawless. Her smile even more so.

But Milo saw it.

Behind her perfectly painted lips was poison.

“Win,” she breathed, striding through the crowd like the floor parted just for her.

Milo stiffened. Win turned at the sound of her voice—and for the first time in days, emotion flickered across his face.

Shock. Recognition. Confusion.

“Peach.”

Her name on his lips made Milo’s stomach twist.

She didn’t hesitate. Just threw her arms around Win’s neck, pressing her body against his in a move so intimate, so practiced, it felt like watching lovers reunited.

Milo blinked.

He had no right to feel jealous.

And yet…

Win didn’t push her away.

“You haven’t changed,” Peach purred, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “Still too handsome for your own good.”

“And you,” Win said coolly, “left me in London for a runway in Paris.”

She laughed. It was delicate and dangerous. “A girl’s gotta chase her dreams.”

Milo watched as they fell into conversation like no time had passed. Peach’s hand lingered on Win’s arm. Her eyes never once drifted toward Milo.

Until they did.

And when she looked at him, it was like a blade sliding beneath the skin.

“Oh,” she said sweetly. “And this must be... the new husband.”

Win’s jaw ticked. “Peach, this is Milo. My—”

“Replacement?” she cut in, eyes gleaming.

Milo extended a hand, polite. “Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t shake it. Just gave him a look—dissecting him from head to toe—and smiled.

“So pretty. Like a doll,” she said. “But Mimi was prettier.”

Win stiffened.

Milo flinched.

And Peach? She just sipped her champagne and turned her attention elsewhere—like she hadn’t just dropped a loaded bomb at their feet.

The rest of the evening blurred.

Win barely said a word to Milo. Peach never left his side. They laughed like old flames, the kind who burned everything they touched.

Milo stood quietly, smiling on cue, clenching his fists inside his pockets.

By the end of the night, he wanted to scream.

Later, in the car, silence stretched thick between them.

Win stared out the window.

Milo couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

Win’s gaze didn’t shift. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

Milo’s voice cracked. “She hates me.”

Win’s lips curled in a ghost of a smile. “Get in line.”

That shut him up.

The days that followed were worse.

Peach started showing up everywhere.

At Win’s office.

At dinners.

At charity events Milo wasn’t invited to.

And always, always with that same smirk when her eyes met Milo’s—as if she’d already won.

One night, she came to the house.

Uninvited.

Dressed like a memory, she walked in with wine and laughter and sat beside Win on the couch like she belonged there. Milo stood at the top of the stairs, watching her pour a glass and lean in too close.

“I missed this,” she murmured. “Us.”

Win didn’t pull away.

Milo turned and walked back into the shadows of the hall before the nausea in his stomach spilled out onto the marble.

The next evening, Milo came home to find Peach in his bedroom.

She was perched on the edge of the bed, thumbing through one of his books.

“What the hell are you doing?” Milo snapped.

Peach looked up, not surprised. “Relax. Just wanted to see what type of tragic novels you fill your head with.”

“Get out.”

She stood slowly, smoothing down her dress.

“I can see why he keeps you,” she said, walking closer. “You look just like her. If I squint hard enough, it’s almost like she never died.”

Milo froze.

Peach leaned in, her perfume thick and cloying. “But you’ll never be her. You think because you share her blood, you can share her place too?”

“I didn’t ask for this marriage.”

She laughed. “You think he married you because he wanted to?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re nothing, Milo. A guilt chain. A reminder. A punishment. You think he doesn’t see your face and see her corpse?”

Milo’s throat tightened.

“You should do him a favor,” Peach whispered. “Leave. Or better—jump off that same balcony she did.”

Milo slapped her.

The sound cracked through the room.

They both froze.

Peach’s cheek reddened instantly.

Milo’s chest heaved. His hand shook.

Peach stepped back, then smiled. Slowly. Wickedly.

“Oh baby,” she said. “You’re going to regret that.”

To be continued…

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