Chapter 3
In the days that followed, Andrew had completely moved into the guest room.
The house that once echoed with Lily's laughter and smelled of home-cooked meals had turned into a battlefield with clear boundaries—each of us staying in our own zones.
The air was quietly thick with tension.
Yet Vanessa's provocations only grew bolder.
She seemed to take Andrew's hesitation at the dinner table as an insult, and she was desperate to reclaim her victory in front of me.
That evening, Andrew was unusually home for dinner, probably forced by Richard and Margaret.
The atmosphere at the table was unbearably tense. Everyone ate in silence, the only sound coming from the occasional clink of silverware.
I came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of steaming soup, its milky-white broth giving off waves of heat and making the whole room smell amazing.
Just then, Vanessa just so happened to knock her fork to the floor with a sharp, deliberate clatter.
Instead of picking them up herself, she cooed at Andrew in an exaggeratedly sweet voice that everyone at the table could hear, "Andrew, will you pick it up for me?"
She waved her hand, her freshly done nails flashing under the lights. "I just got my nails done today. It cost a fortune. I don't want to mess them up."
Andrew stiffened noticeably. His hand holding the fork froze midair.
He glanced at me quickly, panic and embarrassment flashing across his face like a kid caught doing something wrong.
He hesitated for a second, lips moving slightly.
Finally, under Vanessa's impatient, urging gaze, he bent down slowly, his back slightly stiff.
At that exact moment, I walked up right next to Vanessa with the soup in my hands.
I set the bowl steadily in front of Vanessa, making a subtle but deliberate clink.
I lowered my eyes, watching the back of Andrew's head as he bent, noticing the messy swirl of his hair.
My voice was calm but firm, cutting through the silence of the dining room. "Ms. Grant, your nails are really exquisite."
My tone was as casual as if I were talking about the weather. "No wonder Andrew's been climbing the ladder so fast."
I lifted my gaze, letting it settle on Vanessa's frozen face, a faint smile curving my lips. "Looks like those hands of yours really helped him get there."
[Savage burn! Charlotte's words cut right through her.]
[Charlotte, you queen! That sarcasm was brutal.]
[Vanessa's face just turned green. Serves her right!]
[Andrew's over there hesitating to pick up the fork—what a loser. I can't stand him.]
[Come on, fight already! I'm living for the drama.]
The table went dead silent.
You could hear a pin drop.
Richard gave a loud, awkward cough and reached for his cup to hide his face.
Margaret lowered her head, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly as she fought to hide a smile.
Susan wasn't as restrained—she snorted right out loud. Her laughter rang through the silence, sharp and merciless.
Andrew froze, still holding the fork halfway in the air. His face flushed crimson all the way down his neck, making him look like a boiled shrimp.
He gripped the fork tightly, clearly torn between picking it up and putting it down.
Vanessa's carefully made-up face twisted in an instant. Her scarlet-polished fingers clenched the tablecloth until her knuckles went white.
Her beautiful eyes burned with pure venom as she glared at me, as if she could tear me apart on the spot.
The thrill of clapping back lasted barely a second—just a ripple in the deep before it faded into nothing.
What followed was a deeper exhaustion, and a cold emptiness.
Trading barbs like this was pointless—just made the wounds uglier and this fake calm even harder to stand.
*****
The real gut punch didn't come until a few nights later, in the dead of night.
My phone went off on the nightstand, buzzing nonstop—it's droning so sharp in the silence, like a warning I didn't want to hear.
I shot up like a panicked animal, clawing my way out of a thick, foggy sleep.
I fumbled for my phone, wincing as the icy glow from the screen stabbed straight into my eyes.
Vanessa's name flashed across it, along with a video call request.
My heart clenched like it was in a cold, iron grip, and a wave of dread crashed over me, freezing me to the core.
My fingers trembled uncontrollably as they hovered over the screen.
Those few seconds felt like an eternity.
In the end, that pathetic, desperate need to know the truth won out over my better judgment.
I hit the answer button.
The screen lit up, the image shaky and blurry.
The lighting was dim, but I could make out the curtains in the bedroom at Andrew's apartment.
Those dark green velvet curtains—I'd chosen them myself.
Then the camera whipped around, catching two bodies tangled together on the bed.
The sheets were a wreck, skin and bare shoulders in plain view.
Vanessa's face filled the screen, locking eyes with the camera, her lips twisting into a cruel, gloating grin, every ounce of her triumph and malice laid bare.
Her bright red lips moved soundlessly, but I read every word crystal clear: "Get a good look, old hag?"