Chapter 2

Natalie's POV

The next morning, I sat in the dining room as usual.

Ethan came downstairs looking refreshed, as if last night's late return and lies had never happened.

He naturally pulled out a chair and sat across from me, picking up his coffee and taking a sip with elegant, refined movements.

"Natalie, I need to discuss something with you."

Ethan set down his coffee cup, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather.

I cut into the fried egg on my plate without looking up.

"What is it?"

"A friend of mine just got back to the country and ran into some trouble. She doesn't have a suitable place to stay. I'm planning to let her move into the guest house behind our villa for a while."

Friend.

My grip on the knife and fork paused slightly. The blade scraped across the porcelain plate with a harsh screech.

I looked straight into Ethan's eyes.

"Which friend? Male or female?"

Ethan's brow furrowed slightly, as if displeased by my questioning, but he still answered patiently.

"Female. An old friend. Aria Sinclair."

He didn't even bother hiding the name.

Perhaps in his view, I was a canary he'd tamed for three years. I couldn't cause any trouble, and he didn't need to waste effort fabricating lies.

"Aria Sinclair?"

I pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"Your ex-girlfriend, your first love. You want her to move into our home?"

Ethan's expression darkened, his voice growing colder.

"Natalie, don't be unreasonable. Aria just got divorced and left with nothing. She's emotionally unstable right now, even showing signs of depression. As a friend, helping her is only natural. Weren't you always the most understanding one?"

Understanding.

So my three years of patience and accommodation were just bargaining chips he could trample over my boundaries with.

"I don't agree."

I set down my knife and fork.

"Ethan, I'm your wife. I will never allow your ex-girlfriend to live in my home."

"Natalie!"

Ethan slammed his hand on the table, his eyes showing undisguised irritation and coldness.

"I'm informing you, not asking your permission."

He stood up, looking down at me from above, tearing off that tender façade to reveal the dominance and tyranny of a capitalist at his core.

"The guest house doesn't get good light. Aria has mild depression and needs more sunlight. Clear out your translation studio on the second floor and turn it into a bedroom for her."

I was thunderstruck, staring at him in disbelief.

That translation studio was my workspace, filled with rare foreign books I'd collected and translation manuscripts I'd poured countless hours into.

And he wanted to destroy my private sanctuary just to make room for Aria Sinclair?

"That's my studio!"

My voice trembled slightly.

"Ethan, what gives you the right?"

"The fact that this villa is in my name."

Ethan coldly dropped that line, then turned to the butler standing nearby.

"Clear out the second-floor studio today and replace everything with French furniture Aria likes. If Mrs. Foster tries to stop you, move everything by force."

With that, he didn't even glance at me before striding out of the villa.

The door slammed shut with a bang that made my heart lurch violently.

I looked at the breakfast spread across the table and suddenly felt my stomach churning.

The butler approached with several servants, looking troubled.

"Mrs. Foster, about this..."

I took a deep breath and forced back the sting in my eyes.

"Move it."

I closed my eyes.

"Pack all my things and put them in the basement."

Since he wanted to make room, I'd clear everything out for him.

Not just the studio, but my place in this house as well.

Ethan Foster, you think winning your bet means you can trample my dignity at will?

You're wrong.

I, Natalie Sullivan, have never been anyone's substitute.