Chapter 3: Scandal in Silver Hollow

1

"She was Mr. Owen’s first wife?"

The question hung in the air, crackling with small-town energy. The church parking lot bustled with ladies in their Sunday best, clutching purses and coffee cups, their voices dropping to a gossipy hush as I walked by.

"First wife? Now, Mrs. Owen is his childhood sweetheart."

"She stole someone else’s man, and now she’s been dumped—serves her right."

...

I had just returned to Silver Hollow and was already hearing gossip like this.

Savannah greeted me with sticky heat, Spanish moss, and memories I’d tried to forget. The Georgia humidity clung to my skin, and every sideways glance felt like a mosquito bite. Silver Hollow wasn’t a city that forgot its scandals; the rumor mill spun faster than the ceiling fans in the Baptist church basement. It’s no wonder they think that way. Now, Lila Owen—Mrs. Owen—is the one best suited to Owen.

And I was just an orphan girl who happened to save Owen’s life.

Back then, the Miller family had fallen on hard times. Lila volunteered to go to church to pray for the Governor’s wife, with no set date for her return.

The Owen family pressured Owen to get married. He turned down all the local girls, insisting on marrying me to repay the debt of saving his life.

I was just sixteen then—naive and inexperienced. I thought it was fate, like something out of a romance novel, and happily agreed.

I could still see myself, nervous hands twisting the edge of my thrift-store dress, thinking I’d found my own Hallmark ending. Suddenly, I was put on a pedestal, everyone whispering and watching, waiting for me to trip. Only I didn’t know any better.

I didn’t realize that this seemingly good marriage was just Owen’s way of staying loyal to Lila. Nor did I know that the biggest reason I was chosen as Mrs. Owen was because I had no power, no family, no parents. I could be sent away at any time.

Three years of marriage, and Owen treated me as coldly and distantly as he had at the start. But I liked the way his brows furrowed, his deep-set eyes, and the faint scent of aftershave that lingered around him.

On crisp autumn mornings, I’d find his half-empty mug of black coffee in the kitchen, or the faintest trace of his cologne on the laundry. I thought he was just reserved by nature, not fond of closeness.

In the first year after our marriage, pushed by the Owen elders, we finally slept together. I gave birth to Maddie.

Except for me, everyone knew Owen had never let go of Lila. I stayed in the dark, until—

A few months ago, in a rare moment of closeness, Owen bit my ear and whispered, "Aubrey, give me another son."

His breath was hot against my skin, the night thick with the scent of rain and soap. We were tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat, when suddenly—

I heard his assistant call from outside: "Sir, Miss Lila is back!"

Everything came to an abrupt halt. Owen pulled away, dressed quickly, and hurried out.

My heart pounding, I sat there stunned, the comforter pulled up to my chin, not understanding, and quickly dressed to follow him.

The housekeeper and maids looked at me with a mix of pity and ridicule.

It rained that night.

I saw Owen—always so composed—running through the rain toward a young woman. He held her in his arms, shielding her from the downpour, as if afraid a single drop might touch her.

The heavy rain blurred my vision. Owen passed right by me, carrying Lila. I shrank back, wishing the rain could wash me away.

I stood dumbly in the rain for a long time.

Lightning flashed across the Savannah sky. A maid finally brought me an umbrella. Unable to bear my humiliation, she whispered, "Ma’am, the boss and that Miss Lila go way back."

Though I was naive, I wasn’t stupid. In that moment, I understood everything.

Owen’s scent still lingered on my skin. I felt filthy.

After returning, I scrubbed myself nearly raw. With damp hair, I lay down and soon developed a fever.

For three days, I burned in a haze. During those three days, Owen was busy with Lila and never came back.

The maid took my keepsake to find him, but he did not return.

Three days later, my fever broke. With it, my unrealistic hopes and feelings for Owen faded away.

When Owen finally returned, he carried the scent of peach blossoms—not his usual cologne. The source was obvious.

His gaze fell on my pale face. Just as he was about to speak, I interrupted him—

"Owen, let’s separate."