Chapter 3

My phone shrieked from the breakfast island. It shattered the morning quiet.

The caller ID flashed Sylvia’s name.

I let it ring three times. Then, I slid my finger across the screen.

I couldn't even say hello. Her shrill voice pierced my eardrum.

"Mara! What on earth is going on with my accounts?" Sylvia demanded. Her tone dripped with entitled outrage.

"The front desk just told me about my services.My premium suite, private dining, and exclusive massage therapist appointments have all been canceled!What are you doing?"

I took a slow, deliberate sip of my black coffee.

The panic in her voice tasted sweeter than the caffeine.

"Nothing much, Sylvia," I replied. "I was just auditing our expenses. I decided those extra luxury add-ons were a waste of money."

"A waste?" she gasped. Her voice pitched up in sheer disbelief. "That is the quality of life I deserve!"

"Grant is working himself to the bone. You’ve always managed these small domestic duties. Fix it immediately!"

Small domestic duties. She meant my fifteen-thousand-dollar quarterly handouts.

"Not anymore," I said.

"I will continue to cover your basic housing and medical expenses. But as for the luxury services... our relationship isn't exactly what it used to be. I am no longer obligated to foot the bill."

Dead silence hung on the line. I could practically hear the gears grinding in her head.

"Are... are you and Grant fighting?" she probed. A sudden nervous edge replaced her arrogance.

"No."

"Well, if you aren't fighting, then stop throwing a tantrum right now!" she snapped.

The commanding matriarch mask slipped back into place.

"Your fifteenth anniversary is days away. Do not distract Grant with this nonsense. As long as you are living in that house, it is your job to carry these burdens."

I stared at my knuckles. I gripped the edge of the counter until they turned white.

As long as I am living in that house.

She spoke as if I were a squatter. She completely ignored the fact that the house belonged to me.

That afternoon, Grant came home early. He brought the stench of his fake devotion with him.

He tossed a thick stack of heavy, gold-foiled envelopes onto my desk. It was the guest list for our massive anniversary party.

"Cross-check this for me," he ordered. "Make sure we haven't missed any VIPs."

He didn't even look at me. His eyes were glued to his phone as his thumbs flew across the screen.

I looked at the stack of paper. Yesterday, I would have spent three hours ensuring every name was perfectly calligraphed. Today, it looked like garbage.

I placed my index finger on the top envelope. I smoothly slid the entire stack right back to his side of the desk.

"They are your guests, Grant. You invite them."

His thumbs stopped typing. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"You never used to care about doing this."

"I didn't used to," I met his gaze dead-on.

I watched the impatience flicker behind his eyes. It was the irritation of a master whose servant had suddenly refused a command. He was becoming a stranger to me.

That evening, Grant locked himself in his study. He was supposedly working late.

Meanwhile, I walked into my study. I pulled out the manila envelope. I slipped the second document inside.

Piece by piece, I was stripping away every single thing I had built for this man.

I knew he was getting restless. His usual arrogant confidence was beginning to crack. It cracked under my sudden changes in behavior.

I walked past his study. I noticed the heavy wooden door was slightly ajar.

Grant was pacing in front of the window. His phone was pressed tightly to his ear.

"Calm down, Mom," Grant hissed into the receiver. "I’ll pay for your damn massage."

Then, he let out an exhausted sigh. "Don't worry. She doesn't know."

I froze. The breath trapped in my lungs turned to ice.

She doesn't know.

I stood in the dark hallway. The shadows wrapped around me like a shroud.

The last flicker of warmth I had for his family was instantly snuffed out. It was replaced by a cold, terrifying clarity.

Sylvia knew. What exactly did they think I didn't know?

It wasn't just Grant cheating on me. His mother knew about Paige Sutton.

She knew her son was legally married to another woman. And all this happened while I paid her luxury spa bills.

How many other people knew? How deep did this rot go?

They had all been laughing at me in the dark. They treated me like a blind, bottomless ATM.

I didn't push the door open. I didn't scream. I just turned around and walked silently back into the shadows.

If they wanted to play a game of secrets, I would give them a finale. They would never survive it.