I clutched the duty roster with Jemima Finch's name on it, my fingertips trembling. Shock and rage lodged in my chest so thick I could barely breathe.
I drove back to the Winfield house in a daze. It wasn't until the car bumped against a stone bollard that I snapped back to reality. I stared at the front door and felt like I was looking at a stranger's home.
Before I could push the door open, the sound of another car pulled up behind me. Miles walked in with Stella on his arm, all smiles.
He glanced at me without a shred of concern. Only impatience. He strode inside and said flatly, "Stella's pregnant. She's moving in for a while."
Then, almost as an afterthought, with that same clipped irritation: "You two know each other. Don't be petty about it. Would it kill you to lend a hand?"
I lifted my gaze. I let just the right amount of shock and hurt surface in my eyes, let my voice tremble. "Moving in? Miles, this is our home. Mine, yours, and Chloe's for seven years. She's an outsider. How can you let her move in here?"
I deliberately stressed the word outsider and looked past him at Stella.
She stood there in a cream-colored dress, one hand resting on her barely showing belly, her face the picture of fragile innocence. But beneath those doe eyes lurked something triumphant.
The moment she heard my words, she ducked her head and twisted her fingers together, playing the wounded lamb. "Miles, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have asked for something like this. I've upset Martha. I should just go. I don't want to cause problems between you two."
She made a show of turning to leave, but Miles seized her wrist and held it tight.
He whipped around and glared at me, brow furrowed. "Martha, are you done making a scene? Stella is carrying my child. She has no one else. What's the big deal about letting her stay? It's just one more place setting at the table. Do you really have to be this difficult?"
I stood frozen. Memories detonated behind my eyes.
There was a time he would have shielded me behind his back. A time when he'd scowl if another man so much as glanced my way, swearing that his girl would never suffer a moment's hurt.
Now he shielded someone else, and all his cruelty was aimed at me.
"Your child?" I laughed, and the sound was bleak enough to cut. "Miles, I am your wife. Chloe is your daughter. This is your family. What is she? Your secretary? Your mistress? You brought her into our home. Did you even think to ask the woman of this house?"
I raised my voice on purpose, trying to rip away that righteous mask he wore.
But Miles didn't flinch. He tucked Stella behind him, his tone cold as a blade. "My mind is made up. This is settled. Either accept it, or move out yourself."
That sentence shattered the last sliver of illusion I had left.
Seven years of marriage, and to him it weighed less than nothing.
I lowered my eyes to hide the frost gathering in them and feigned surrender. "Fine. I'll agree. But I have conditions."
He scoffed, voice glacial. "You think you're in a position to negotiate?"
"Go make dinner. Now. Stella likes seafood. Cook it yourself. If a single dish is missing, don't bother coming back inside."
My whole body went rigid.
He knew full well I was allergic to shrimp and crab. There was a time he wouldn't even let me set foot in the kitchen. Now he wanted me to handle them with my own hands.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms, my voice scraped raw. "Miles, you know I—"
"So what if I know?"
He cut me off. His eyes were ice, his tone stripped of every last trace of warmth. "Someone keep an eye on her while she cooks."
He turned, took Stella's arm, and guided her upstairs. His steps were brisk. He never once looked back.
I stood rooted to the spot, my fingers tightening around the voice recorder until my nails carved crescents into my palm.
The sharp sting of it didn't amount to a fraction of the pain in my chest.
The day Stella moved in, Miles cleared his entire schedule and waited on her hand and foot. He complained the housekeepers were too slow, so he carried the elegant gift boxes himself, wearing a tenderness on his face that had never once been mine.
I sat on the living room sofa like an outsider in my own home.
From that day on, Stella crowned herself lady of the house. She wielded her pregnancy like a scepter, ordering the staff around at every turn. Imported coffee, high-end supplements, leisurely strolls through the garden. The slightest inconvenience earned everyone a cold look and a sharp tongue.
The housekeepers seethed in silence. They came to me in whispers to complain, and I only said, calm and even, "Let her be. Just do as she says."
I was waiting. Waiting for her to slip up and show more of her hand. Waiting for Miles's indulgence to reach its breaking point. Waiting for the perfect moment to bring it all crashing down.
