Chapter 3
Less than five minutes later, the study door opened.
Charles stepped out.
He was dressed in a perfectly tailored lounge suit, the eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses looking sharp and impenetrable. He hadn't come from the front door.
He had been here the whole time.
He had been sitting in his study, listening to every word, every insult his "wife" and "daughter" hurled at my family, and he hadn't done a single thing.
The moment he appeared, Lexi and Olivia rushed to him as if he were their savior.
"Darling, you're finally out! You have to do something! Look at how they're bullying us!"
"Dad! It's her!" Olivia shrieked. "She's saying horrible things, and she's trying to tear our family apart!"
His gaze went right over their heads and locked with mine.
His expression was calm, distant, and intensely scrutinizing. For a long moment, the air was thick with unspoken tension.
After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice betraying no emotion.
"Dr. Foster, what are you doing here?"
Dr. Foster? The name landed between us like a ten-foot wall.
Alisa froze. Ethan stared, bewildered. They had both met Charles. They knew he was my husband. And now, he was addressing me with the cold formality he would use for a business associate.
I looked at him, and the last flicker of hope I had, that this was all some terrible misunderstanding, was extinguished. He wasn't a victim here. He was the architect.
"Charles," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Are you blind? Or have you forgotten who I am?"
"How dare you!"
Lexi snapped before he could reply.
"How dare you speak to my husband like that! Who do you think you are?"
Charles held up a hand to silence her.
"Dr. Foster, I suggest you watch your tone. Sinclair Holdings has a significant partnership with your research institute. I respect you as a scientist, but that does not give you the right to come into my home and accost my family."
He stressed the word "family," a deliberate jab meant just for me, to remind me who the outsider was.
Watching him stand there, shielding Lexi, was so absurdly twisted. We had been married for a decade, and here he was, desperate to disown me for some woman who had appeared out of thin air.
"Your family?"
I couldn't help but laugh, a bitter laugh that made my eyes sting.
"Say it again, Charles. Who, exactly, is your family?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He avoided my eyes and turned to Ethan, his tone shifting to one of condescending authority.
"Ethan, I don't care what misunderstanding you and my daughter have had. But storming into my home with your family is unacceptable.
"For your sister's sake, I'm willing to overlook this. Apologize to my wife and daughter and leave. We'll pretend this never happened."
He delivered the lines with such magnanimous grace, as if he were the benevolent king and we were the unruly peasants.
Ethan, the boy I had always known to be quiet and almost meek, was locking his gaze on Charles with a fierce fire kindling in his eyes.
"I did nothing wrong," he said.
He squared his shoulders, his voice sounding hard as he retorted, "They are the ones who need to apologize."
"Fine," Charles clipped out, his mask of composure finally cracking. A flicker of rage crossed his face. "Have it your way. Don't say I didn't give you a chance."
He leaned in, letting out a low hiss meant only for me.
"Grace, don't push me. You know that project? It's nothing but a pile of worthless paper without my funding. Your brother's entire future is in your hands.
"Swallow your pride. It's better for everyone."
His words were a whisper, but they felt like a blade twisting in my chest. He was threatening me with my own brother's career.
I lifted my chin and met his cold gaze, saying, "Charles. Aren't you afraid this is going to blow up in your face?"
He scoffed with a look of utter disbelief on his face, "Blow up in my face? Grace, has all that time in the lab made you delusional? Do you actually think I need you?"
He took a step back with a look of disgust on his face as if my proximity repulsed him.
"This is your last chance. Apologize and get out."
He turned away, as if the mere sight of me was sickening. He believed his victory was assured. He believed I would cave for my brother.
But he had forgotten one thing.
I, Grace Foster, had never been anyone's pawn.
My heart, which had been simmering with rage, turned to ice.
"'Get out?'"
I repeated the words, and a low laugh escaped my lips.
"Charles, this house is listed in our prenup. It is, in no uncertain terms, my personal property.
"The only people getting out are you and whatever it is you dragged in here with you."
My voice was soft, but every syllable landed with the force of a hammer blow. The entire room went rigid.
Charles whipped around, his carefully constructed composure finally shattering, replaced by sheer shock.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," I said, crossing my arms and holding his gaze.
"The prenup. There are three copies: yours, mine, and our lawyer's. It states, in black and white, that all our assets are separate.
"My patents, my investment income, and this house all belong to me. They have nothing to do with you."
"So tell me," I said, my voice dropping even lower. "By what authority are you telling me to get out?"