Elena POV:
The door swung open completely. The sight inside the guest room burned itself into my retinas.
The elegant, minimalist decor I had carefully curated was gone. In its place, the room had been trashed with cheap, aggressive pink decorations. Tacky wall decals, a massive plastic baby gym, and fluffy pink rugs. It was a complete violation of my space, an absolute destruction of my order.
Standing in the center of the room was a young girl. She was wearing Nathan's oversized gray hoodie. She had her back to the door, clumsily rocking a wooden crib.
Hearing the door open, she assumed it was him.
"You're back early, babe," she cooed, turning around with a pout.
I stared at her face. She was young. Barely in her twenties, with round cheeks full of collagen and big, harmless eyes. She had the kind of face that screamed innocent vulnerability.
When she saw me, her eyes widened in shock. The plastic rattle in her hand slipped from her fingers and hit the carpet with a dull thud.
I didn't step back. I took a step forward. Even barefoot, I carried the commanding presence of a woman who destroyed corporate executives for a living.
She swallowed hard, taking a step back. "Wh-who are you?" she stammered, her voice thick with a Southern drawl.
I looked at her, my expression completely flat.
"In this house, which belongs entirely to me, you are asking who I am?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.
Her jaw dropped. She looked at me as if I had just spoken a foreign language.
Behind her, the baby in the crib started crying again. The loud, demanding wails filled the room.
The girl panicked. She scrambled to the crib, awkwardly scooping the infant into her arms.
My eyes locked onto the child. It was a baby boy. And on his head was a patch of thick, unruly curly hair.
Nathan's exact curls.
An invisible hand reached into my chest and crushed my heart into powder. The air left my lungs. I couldn't breathe, but I refused to let my face show a single crack.
The girl held the baby tight against her chest, glaring at me with the defensive posture of a mother hen protecting her chick.
I took a deep breath, pushing the agonizing pain down to the pit of my stomach. I pointed a steady finger at the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing.
"Take that off," I said coldly.
She flinched. Her hand instinctively flew up to clutch the collar of the hoodie. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears, brimming over her lower lashes.
"I... I can't," she whimpered, her voice trembling with manufactured victimhood. "Nathan left it for me. He said I could use it as a nightgown."
I let out a harsh, mocking laugh. I stepped closer, invading her space, forcing her to look up at me.
"Who exactly are you?" I demanded.
She bit her lower lip, clutching the baby tighter. "I'm Misty," she declared, as if the name gave her some sort of divine right to be here.
I searched my brain. Misty. The name meant absolutely nothing to me. Nathan had hidden her flawlessly.
Misty's tear-filled eyes scanned my tailored trench coat, my expensive watch, and the sheer authority radiating from me. A spark of realization hit her dull eyes.
"Wait," she whispered, her tone shifting from scared to self-righteous. "Are you... are you the ex-wife? Elena?"
The words *ex-wife* struck me across the face like a physical blow.
A dark, twisted rage boiled up in my throat, but I forced it into a chilling smile.
"Who told you I was an ex-wife?" I asked.
Misty lifted her chin, looking at me with pure, unadulterated ignorance. "Nathan told me. He said you guys broke up and got divorced two years ago because your marriage was dead."
I stared at her stupid, earnest face. The reality of the situation crashed over me. This wasn't just infidelity. This was an orchestrated, pathological fraud.
"Is that right?" I murmured.
"Yeah," Misty continued, gaining confidence. "He said you went bankrupt. He said he only lets you come back here sometimes out of pity, because you have nowhere else to go."
I almost wanted to clap. Nathan's script was a masterpiece of delusion. The woman who bought this multi-million dollar villa in cash was somehow the bankrupt charity case.
I didn't argue with her. Arguing with an idiot was a waste of breath.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I raised it and snapped a clear, high-resolution photo of Misty standing in my guest room, holding Nathan's bastard child.
The flash went off.
Misty shrieked. "Hey! What are you doing?!" She lunged forward with her free hand, trying to grab my phone.
I easily sidestepped her clumsy grab. I locked the screen and slipped the phone back into my pocket, staring at her with eyes like arctic ice.
"Go ask your good man who is paying the property tax on this house."
