Lulu
I wasn’t surprised when Scott followed me into the bedroom, demanding that I pack his suitcase. I didn’t say a word, just did as I was told. That was what I had become—a wife more akin to a servant, voiceless, without the right to complain.
I went to the laundry room, mindlessly sorting warm and cold washes. My hands moved automatically while my mind reeled, haunted by thoughts of Scott’s trip to Paris. But all of that came to a screeching halt when I picked up his light blue shirt.
A deep maroon lipstick stain tainted the collar. I stared at it for a long moment, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t need to be a bloody genius to figure out who it belonged to. I didn’t own a bold shade like this, and I sure as hell wasn’t in Paris yesterday.
A wave of revulsion and fury surged through me. My grip on the shirt tightened, my nails digging into the fabric as I fought the urge to tear it to shreds. Instead, I opted for something more fitting. With pure contempt, I hurled it straight into the bin. Better to have it recycled than to put myself through the indignity of scrubbing out her mark on his clothes.
As I was trying to steady myself, footsteps echoed behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“Lulu,” came the saccharine voice. I stiffened. I wasn’t ready for this.
Leia stood at the doorway, a smug smile curling on her lips. She was draped in a silk wine-coloured dress, far too extravagant for lounging about the house. Her fingers clutched her phone, poised to put on a show.
I thought she had left, but clearly, I had underestimated her.
I used to think nothing of it when she stayed over, catching a ride with Scott to her agency whenever she had photoshoots. I had been a fool to trust them.
“I already know, Leia,” I said, keeping my tone even. “There’s no need to keep up this charade.”
“Then you should see this,” she cooed, holding her phone up to my face.
Videos and photos flooded the screen—her and Scott in Paris, all over each other. Them holding hands, kissing under the Eiffel Tower, laughing in the glow of candlelight at some fancy restaurant. They looked like a couple in love.
“Trash,” I spat. “I’d rather gouge my eyes out than watch this filth.”
Leia giggled, tucking her phone away. “But you have to. This is your reality, Lulu. You’re just a wife on paper. Scott doesn’t love you. I’m the one he wants. I’m the one who’s always been by his side.”
I locked eyes with her. “Why are you doing this, Leia? Have I ever wronged you? We were like sisters once. What changed?”
Her smirk faltered, her eyes darkening. “What changed? You did. The moment you walked into this family, everything shifted. You were the pitiful little orphan, and Uncle Montgomery—your precious adoptive father—gave you all his attention. Do you have any idea how that felt? I was his niece, his own flesh and blood, and yet, you became his favourite.”
I shook my head, stunned. “You’re wrong, Leia. He cared about you just as much. He always treated you well.”
“Not like he treated you,” she hissed. “You were special. You were different. I was just an afterthought. I’m so bloody sick of it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could utter a word, Leia let out a sharp scream.
My eyes widened as I saw detergent spilling from the shelf, trickling down her arm. She clutched her face, wailing in agony.
“Oh my God! My eyes! Lulu, you did that on purpose!” she shrieked.
I stumbled back, horrified. “I didn’t touch you, Leia! You know I didn’t!”
Before I could gather my thoughts, rapid footsteps approached. Scott burst into the doorway, his gaze snapping to Leia, who was now dramatically cradling her face.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded.
Leia pointed a trembling finger at me. Her voice wavered, laced with false pain. “Lulu… she threw detergent at me. She lost it after seeing the pictures from Paris! I didn’t mean to upset her, but she—she just couldn’t handle it!”
Scott turned to me, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes—something cold.
“Is that true, Lulu? Have you completely lost your bloody mind?”
I stepped forward, desperate. “Scott, she’s lying! She set me up!”
He let out a humourless laugh. “Of course, you’d say that. You always refuse to see the truth. And frankly, I’ve had enough of your delusions. You’re nothing but an ungrateful wretch. I gave you everything, but you still act like the whole world is out to get you.”
I froze. His words were like knives, slicing deep into my chest. But the worst part wasn’t the insult. It was the sheer disdain in his voice.
“Scott, you’re making a mistake—”
The sharp sting of a slap cut me off. My head snapped to the side, a fiery pain blooming across my cheek.
I blinked, momentarily stunned. Scott had just hit me.
I slowly turned my gaze back to him, my vision swimming with unshed tears. “You really believe her over me?” My voice trembled, laced with disbelief. “Fine!”
He said nothing. No remorse, no hesitation. Just that same empty stare.
A hollow laugh bubbled from my throat. I wiped at my throbbing cheek, shaking my head. “I don’t know what else to do anymore. If my life is just going to be filled with pain and betrayal, maybe I should just die.”
Scott didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.
“Then do it,” he said coldly. “See if I give a damn.”
The world around me shattered. I had hoped—deep down, desperately—for even the slightest flicker of concern. A moment of hesitation. A sign that I still meant something to him.
But I found nothing.
Scott had never loved me.
For a brief second, panic threatened to choke me. My heartbeat quickened; my breath uneven. But I forced it down. I would not let them see me break.
I was done.
Without another word, I turned and walked out of the room. I didn’t want to see Scott. I didn’t want to hear Leia’s pitiful, fake sobs.
I just wanted to leave.
