Elodie's POV
“Nicholas has carried the weight of this entire family on his back, and what have you done?” Valerie’s voice cracked, theatrical and trembling. “Treated him like a bottomless ATM. Has anyone ever made him feel like he belongs? Has anyone ever truly loved him?”
Her hand brushed Nicholas’s cheek like she was petting something fragile and broken, and tears poured down her face, steady, practiced, like she’d rehearsed this moment in a mirror.
“Nicholas, I’m here because I love you more than anything in this world. If Elodie can’t accept that, then I’ll prove it to you with my life.”
Then, without warning, she darted for the window.
First floor or not, Nicholas panicked. Lunged. He caught her mid-sprint and held her like she might actually shatter.
For a split second, he looked terrified, like he'd almost lost a limb.
Then the switch flipped.
His eyes darkened, and in one smooth motion, he snatched a crystal vase off the table and hurled it straight at me.
It hit.
I felt the sting before I even saw the blood.
“Look at what you’ve done, you spiteful, jealous woman!” he yelled, his voice hoarse with rage. “How could I have been so blind to marry someone like you?”
Nicholas pointed at the broken glass and the woman sobbing in his arms.
Then he declared, “This house belongs to Valerie now. You’re not welcome here. Get out.”
This house... our house.
The year we were in love, Nicholas swore we’d grow old together, where he picked out the paint colors with me and told me which wing we’d turn into a nursery.
Now, for a woman who just tried to throw herself out the window, he was throwing me out instead.
I looked down. Blood from my cheek was dripping onto the polished marble floor.
I nodded, slow and numb.
“Alright,” I said softly. “I’ll go.”
But, Nicholas, can you really afford what it’ll cost to push me out?
...
By the time I made it downstairs, the seven mistresses were already waiting in the living room.
Jessica gasped the second she saw me. “Jesus, Elodie! Your face!”
She darted off to grab the first aid kit. The rest closed in around me, their eyes sharp, their jaws tight.
“This isn’t just words anymore,” Rebecca muttered. “He’s crossed a line. He’s gone full-on abusive.”
“Yeah,” Amanda said, her voice shaking with fury. “You can’t let this slide. He laid hands on you, El.”
For all his recklessness, Nicholas had always known where the invisible line was.
He spoiled us like collectibles—pretty, expensive, and replaceable—but he never damaged the goods.
But now?
Now he had Valerie whispering poison in his ear and fire in his veins.
And birds of a feather always find their kind.
I sat down carefully as Jessica began cleaning the cut on my cheek. The sting was nothing compared to the dull ache behind my ribs.
I took a deep breath and said, steady and clear, “Do you know why Nicholas can get away with this?”
Hannah and Cressida didn’t miss a beat.
“Because he’s a bastard!” they snapped in perfect harmony.
I gave a tiny smile, then shook my head. “No. It’s because he’s the heir to the Vanderbilt fortune.”
Money made him untouchable. Money built the pedestal he stood on and fed the illusion that he could never fall.
He was a man born on third base, convinced he’d hit a triple.
He never learned to value anything, especially not love.
I glanced upstairs in the direction he’d stormed off and said inwardly, 'But it’s alright. Sooner or later, he’ll learn,'
As Jessica carefully bandaged my face while I sat on the couch, the front door opened once more.
Valerie strutted in like she was walking a runway, her wrist heavy with new jewelry.
She stopped in the middle of the room and smiled like a wolf in silk.
“I’ve cut off your allowance,” she announced. “You’re nothing now. Just wait till you’re out there starving on the street.”
I exchanged a look with the Seven Roses and smiled quietly to myself.
In this mansion, she’s the only one living off a monthly allowance of $100,000.
The rest of us have our businesses and incomes.
Valerie mistook my silence for surrender.
She snorted coldly, spun on her heel, and hooked her arm around Nicholas, dragging him off to the shop.
“Let’s go,” she purred. “I want to hit Cartier before they close.”
...
My phone started buzzing an hour later.
Photos. Videos. Stories.
Nicholas splurged like a man with no limits, buying whatever Valerie desired—handbags, jewelry, wedding gowns, diamond rings. If she wanted it, he swiped his card without hesitation.
Then came the suite photos. Presidential. Penthouse.
Ten boxes of condoms were stacked on the bedside table like party favors.
And there she was, Valerie Smith, draped in a wedding gown, waving a deposit slip like it was her golden ticket.
