Chapter 1
The second I opened my eyes in this world, I stepped right into a dumpster fire.
In front of me, my five-year-old stepson, Hudson Meyer, was sprawled on the floor, wailing at the top of his lungs.
A bright red mark stood out on the back of his hand.
Standing nearby were Killian Meyer, my billionaire husband who had just returned from a trip, and Iris Delgado, the woman everyone called his "soulmate," as soft as silk and twice as fake.
"Eleanor, have you lost your mind?" Killian's voice was like ice as he pulled Iris protectively behind him. "Iris was kind enough to come check on the boy, and you pushed her?
"You're even targeting a child now. Do you have a single shred of humanity left?"
Iris's eyes were rimmed with red. She clutched her elbow, looking every bit the tragic martyr. "Killian, please, don't be hard on her.
"I'm sure Eleanor is just... insecure. She probably just didn't want me around."
The old Eleanor Vance would have dissolved into tears, begging for forgiveness and trying to explain herself.
But I wasn't her.
I was a corporate drone who had literally dropped dead at her desk after seventy-two hours of overtime.
In this den of vipers where everyone had a hidden agenda, I decided to trade my dignity for a little chaos.
I reached for the glass of milk on the table, drained it in one go, and then slammed the glass onto the floor.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room. Total silence followed.
I pointed a finger directly at Killian's nose, a smirk playing on my lips that was more villainous than anything Iris could dream of.
"You're right," I said. "I'm heartless. In fact, I'm feeling a little crazy. Divorce me. Now! Last one to sign is a coward!"
*****
After my little performance, I ignored their stunned faces, turned on my heel, and marched back to my room.
I slammed the door and locked it, shutting out that house full of lunatics.
To hell with the drama; I needed to sleep.
After my previous life's seventy-two-hour grind, even a body of steel would give out, let alone someone who had just technically died.
I expected to wake up to divorce papers on my nightstand.
Instead, I slept until noon the next day.
The house was eerily quiet.
I stepped out to find the massive villa deserted. Killian and the brat were nowhere to be found.
Good. Out of sight, out of mind.
I wandered into the dining room. The long mahogany table was empty except for the housekeeper, Martha Law, who stood there with a look of pure disdain.
"Oh, you're finally up? Mr. Meyer and the young master have already finished their breakfast," she said, her tone dripping with disdain.
She reached behind her and produced a plate with two pieces of dry, sad-looking toast. "This is for you."
I glanced down. The edges of the bread were fuzzy with green mold.
"Mr. Meyer gave orders to cut back on household expenses," Martha said, her lips curling into a smug grin. "He said you'll just have to make do."
It was a blatant power move.
I didn't say a word. I pulled out my phone, opened the most expensive food delivery app, and started tapping.
"Let's see... Wagyu steak, Atlantic lobster, black truffle risotto... and let's add the priciest bottle of Napa Valley red on the list," I said, listing them off.
I read the order aloud right in her face, then held out the phone. "Do you know how to enter the gate code for the courier, or do I need to walk you through it?"
Martha's face turned a shade of bruised purple. "Ma'am, Mr. Meyer specifically said—"
Before she could finish, I grabbed the moldy bread and stuffed it right into her open mouth. "Eat up. Don't let it go to waste.
"We're cutting expenses, remember? Lead by example."
Right then, my phone buzzed. It was Killian.
I hit the speakerphone, and his cold, detached voice filled the room. "I've frozen all your credit cards."
"Okay," I replied.
"You want them back?" He paused, sounding like he was savoring his revenge. "Take Hudson to film that reality show, Super Mom. Play nice, and don't embarrass the Meyer name."
"Not interested," I said, bored.
"Iris is the guest star." He dropped the bombshell. "Unless you want the whole country to watch her play the perfect mother to your stepson while you rot at home, I suggest you start listening."
It was a threat. Plain and simple.
Before I could snap back, a notification popped up from Iris's social media.
It was a photo of her wearing a massive diamond ring. The caption read: [Some things can't be stolen.]
The location tag? Killian's office.
I scoffed, screenshotted her post, and reposted it with my own caption: [Exactly. Trash belongs in the bin. You two are a perfect match. Stay together forever.]
Then, I spoke back into the phone. "The show? Fine. I'll do it."
They wanted to watch me fail?
Fine. Let's burn this whole thing down together.
Before the show officially started, the crew did a surprise livestream.
They cut to a famous actress's house—sweet, domestic bliss. Then to a pop star's home—warm, family bonding.
Finally, the camera cut to my place.
It was a war zone.
My most expensive luxury essence was smashed on the floor, the liquid pooling everywhere.
Hudson, my five-year-old nightmare of a stepson, was holding my brand-new designer lipstick, using the walls as a canvas for his "art."
He saw the camera, and then he saw me. Instead of stopping, he grinned and started grinding the lipstick into my limited-edition eyeshadow palettes.
The live chat exploded.
[Is that kid a demon?]
[That's thousands of dollars of makeup. I'm crying for her.]
[Eleanor is going to lose it. Watch, she's going to hit him! I smell a scandal!]
Hudson clearly thought so too.
He looked at me with pure provocation, waiting for me to blow up so he could run to his dad and cry victim.
Then he'd have the perfect excuse to bawl and go crying to Killian, playing the victim.
I looked at the wreckage of my makeup for three seconds.
Then, I reached into the mess and picked up a lipstick that wasn't completely destroyed.
I walked over to Hudson and knelt down.
He flinched, closing his eyes tight as he waited for the slap.
Instead, he felt something cold and waxy on his skin.
I used the lipstick to draw a circle on his left cheek, another on his right, a red dot on his nose, and gave him a pair of oversized, clownish red lips.
He looked like a ridiculous cartoon character.
"You've got a real eye for art, kid," I said, smiling sweetly. "Come on, let's keep going. It's my turn to paint you."
Hudson froze.
The chat froze.
[Wait... what is happening?]
[I thought she'd kill him, but she's... joining in?]
[Is she having a mental breakdown? That's her own makeup!]
I wasn't crazy; I was having the time of my life.
I looked at the camera and flashed a peace sign. "Type louder, guys. I can't hear the hate yet!"