Page 5 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

She and Rowan at the season's opening night, his arm possessively around her waist, her smile radiant with the triumph of her performance and the security of belonging to an Alpha who seemed to adore her.

"You never really saw me, did you?" she asked the image, tracing Rowan's confident smile with her fingertip. "Was it always her you wanted?"

The memory of his public rejection flooded back — standing before the entire pack, his voice cool and controlled as he announced that their courtship was over, that he'd made a mistake in choosing her.

The way his eyes had deliberately avoided hers.

The heartache alone was almost too much to bear. It made her want to shrivel up in a ball and never be seen by the world again.

I couldn’t give them such power, but how can I accept this?

"You could have at least done it privately," she said, dropping the frame into a box with less care than it deserved. "But that wouldn't have served Magnolia's purpose, would it?"

Her twin had orchestrated everything perfectly.

The rumors began circulating just days before. The whispers about Marigold's supposedly unstable nature, her "unsuitable" temperament for an Alpha mate.

Then came the pointed questions from company directors about her commitment — her focus.

Marigold yanked open her jewelry box, the delicate hinges protesting.

Inside lay the amber pendant Rowan had given her — a gift, one of many, he'd said matched the warmth in her eyes.

"'No other omega has eyes like yours,'" she mimicked his words bitterly. "Except, of course, my identical twin."

She snapped the jewelry box closed without taking the pendant.

Let it stay buried here with the rest of her mistakes.

A knock at the door startled her.

She froze, her heart leaping to her throat.

"Mari? It's Eliza. Are you in there?"

Marigold exhaled. Just her understudy — former understudy, she corrected herself — not Magnolia or Rowan come to witness her disgrace.

"Yes, come in," she called, quickly wiping at her eyes.

Eliza entered tentatively, her dancer's body held with the characteristic poise they'd all been trained to maintain even in moments of crisis.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the half-packed suitcase.

"So it's true? You're leaving?"

Marigold nodded, resuming her packing.

"News travels fast."

Of course, it did when you were the talk of the city.

"Everyone's talking about it. About everything." Eliza shifted uncomfortably. "I wanted to say...I'm sorry. What happened…it was?—"

"Perfectly orchestrated," Marigold finished, folding a scarf with precise movements. "My sister always had impeccable timing."

"Will you go back to your family's estate?"

Marigold let out a hollow laugh.

"My family has made their allegiances clear. Magnolia is the daughter they want to claim now."

"Where then?"

"Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can stop being Marigold Everhart, the omega who wasn't good enough."

The Omega rejected and abandoned by everyone…

She zipped the suitcase with finality.

"Somewhere I can just be...me. Whoever that is now."

Eliza stepped forward hesitantly.

"The company won't be the same without you."

"I suspect that was the point," Marigold said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Magnolia doesn't want reminders of me around while she takes my place."

"Not everyone believes what they're saying about you."

As reassuring as she hoped those words would be, it does nothing to ease my heart. It doesn’t matter if people believe it or not. Those with power in our society have made their decision. Chosen their new star. That’s enough to reverse and bury everything I worked hard for.

Erase everything I built with a snap of my twin sister’s fingers.

"It doesn't matter anymore." Marigold picked up her coat. "I've spent my whole life performing for others, Eliza. Perhaps it's time I learned to live for myself."

This is just how it has to be…

Marigold stood in the center of her emptied apartment, her suitcase and a single box of keepsakes by the door.

The space echoed with hollowness now — bare walls where framed reviews had hung, empty shelves once lined with porcelain ballet figurines and the barren corner where her practice barre had stood.

Five years of her life were packed away in hours.

She traced her fingers along the windowsill, feeling the groove worn into the wood where she'd rest her hand between readings of her lines.

"I thought I'd feel more," she whispered to the empty room. "Isn't that strange? This place was my sanctuary."

Her footsteps made a different sound now as she walked the perimeter one last time — no longer muffled by the plush rug she'd splurged on after her first principal role. The morning light cut through the windows at a sharp angle, illuminating dust motes dancing in the emptiness.

At the kitchen counter, she paused at the sight of the single mug she'd left behind — a gift from Rowan on their six-month anniversary.

"You can have that too," she told the apartment as if Magnolia might materialize to claim it. "I don't need keepsakes of false promises."

The apartment didn't respond.

It simply existed, indifferent to her departure as it had been to her presence. Perhaps that was fitting. The city itself had moved on from her disgrace with the same cool indifference.

At the door, Marigold allowed herself one final glance.

For a fleeting moment, she saw ghostly echoes of herself — spinning across the hardwood after getting the call about Swan Lake, collapsing in tears the night of Rowan's rejection, determinedly rising the next morning to practice despite everything.

"Goodbye," she said simply, her voice steadier than expected.

She turned the key in the lock, listening for the final click before sliding it under the door as arranged.

Walking away should have felt momentous, but it was just footsteps down a familiar hallway, the worn carpet beneath her ballet flats, the same flickering light they'd never fixed.

Outside, the city assaulted her senses.

Car horns blared and pedestrians pushed past, the sidewalk a choreographed chaos she'd once navigated with unconscious grace. Now each body that brushed against her felt like an intrusion, each sound a spike through her already fragile composure.

"Watch it!" a man in a business suit snapped as she hesitated at the curb, her suitcase momentarily blocking his path.

"Sorry," Marigold murmured, the apology automatic.

She'd been apologizing for existing ever since the gala.

The city smelled of exhaust and fresh bread from the corner bakery where she'd once been a regular. The owner caught her eye through the window and offered a small, pitying wave.

Marigold nodded back, unable to summon a smile.

A poster for the ballet company's new season fluttered on a nearby lamppost. Magnolia's face stared back at her, serene and triumphant in the role that should have been Marigold's.

"They airbrushed your scar," she told the image of her twin, noting the perfect smoothness where a childhood accident had left a small mark on Magnolia's chin. "You always hated that scar."

A passing woman gave her a concerned glance, and Marigold realized she was talking to a poster in public.

She clutched her suitcase tighter and continued down the crowded avenue, her dancer's posture both a comfort and a curse — it was impossible to disappear when your body had been trained to command attention.

Even now, with her career in ruins, her spine refused to slouch, and her chin maintained its proud angle despite the shame weighing on her shoulders.

A taxi splashed through a puddle, sending dirty water across her shoes.

Once, she would have been horrified.

Now, she barely registered it.

"The city's giving me a proper farewell," she murmured, finding an unexpected flicker of humor in the moment. The realization startled her—she hadn't found anything amusing since the betrayal.

Perhaps leaving truly was the right decision.

The thought settled in her chest with surprising certainty as she continued her journey through streets that had once felt like home but now seemed as foreign as her own reflection.

The crowd thickened near the shopping district, forcing Marigold to navigate a sea of bodies. Each face she passed seemed carefree, untouched by the kind of betrayal that had hollowed her out.

"How did I miss it?" she whispered, dodging a businessman rushing past with coffee in hand. "All those late-night 'rehearsals' when she was watching me, learning my routines."

A memory surfaced — Magnolia sitting in the audience during practice, notebook in hand, claiming to be "supporting her sister" while secretly cataloging every movement, every technique Marigold had spent years perfecting.

I was that naive…

"She was always there, wasn't she? Taking notes on my life while I thought she was taking notes on dance."

The realization burned.

Marigold paused at a crosswalk, her fingers tightening around her suitcase handle.

"I let her in. I showed her everything." Her voice was barely audible above the street noise. "God, I even introduced her to Rowan."

The pedestrian signal changed, and she moved forward mechanically.

"Ma'am? You dropped this." A young man held out her scarf.

"Thank you," she said, taking it with trembling fingers. Such a small kindness from a stranger when those she'd trusted most had orchestrated her downfall.

She wrapped the scarf around her neck and continued walking, the bitter wind matching her thoughts.

"She couldn't create, so she decided to steal instead," Marigold muttered. "But I won't let her have this victory. My life isn't over just because she took my role."

The train station appeared ahead, its grand facade a monument to departures and arrivals.

Marigold slowed her pace.

"One ticket to Willowbend," she rehearsed under her breath. "Just say it and go."

Her feet carried her through the massive doors into the cavernous main hall.