Chapter 4 Leaving the Mansion

Morning light poured through the tall arched windows of the master bedroom, painting the marble floor in soft gold. The mansion was quiet, too quiet for a house that usually hummed with staff activity by seven. Evelyn had requested privacy; the housekeeper had nodded without question and quietly instructed the others to stay downstairs.

She stood in front of the vast walk-in closet, the doors thrown open to reveal rows of designer gowns, tailored suits, and shelves of handbags that could stock a luxury boutique. Most of it had been chosen by stylists hired by Victoria Knight, purchased with Alexander's credit card, and worn exactly once or twice to galas where Evelyn smiled politely beside her husband. None of it felt like hers.

She bypassed the couture entirely.

From the back corner she retrieved a single medium-sized black suitcase practical, understated, bought years ago during a university trip abroad. It was the only luggage she truly owned. Into it she folded the few personal items that mattered: soft cashmere sweaters she had bought herself, comfortable jeans, the worn leather jacket from her student days, simple blouses in neutral colors that no one here had ever seen her wear.

Next came the essentials she had hidden over time: the leather-bound portfolio from the nightstand drawer, the encrypted external drive, two passports (one in her maiden name), a small jewelry pouch containing only the pieces her late mother had left her, and a slim folder of financial documents for accounts Alexander knew nothing about.

She moved with calm efficiency, no frantic packing, no second-guessing. Every item placed in the suitcase felt like shedding a layer of someone else's life.

In the en-suite bathroom she gathered toiletries into a small dopp kit, nothing extravagant. She paused at the mirror, studying her reflection. Her hazel eyes were slightly red from the tears shed hours earlier, but her expression was steady. She pulled her long brown hair into a low ponytail, applied a touch of tinted moisturizer and lip balm, and declared herself ready.

No makeup armor today. No need to perform perfection for people who had never cared to look closely.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock in the foyer struck eight as Evelyn descended the grand staircase for the last time, suitcase in one hand, a lightweight trench coat draped over her arm. Maria, the longtime housekeeper, waited at the bottom, twisting her apron in her hands.

Mrs. Knight, ma'am are you really leaving? The older woman's voice cracked with genuine distress.

Evelyn offered a small, reassuring smile. Yes, Maria. It's time.

Maria glanced toward the upper landing as if expecting Alexander to appear and stop this absurdity. When no one came, she lowered her voice. He left for the office at six. Said he had early meetings.

Of course he did.

Evelyn nodded. Thank you for everything these past three years. You've been kind when few others were.

Maria's eyes filled. This house won't be the same without you.

Evelyn squeezed the woman's hand gently. Take care of yourself.

A black town car idled in the circular driveway arranged the night before through a discreet private service. The driver stepped out to take her suitcase without a word. Evelyn paused on the top step, turning once to look back at the mansion: its imposing stone facade, manicured gardens, the Knight family crest carved above the entrance.

Three years of memories, most of them lonely, flashed through her mind. Wedding photos taken on these steps. Quiet dinners in the cavernous dining room. Nights waiting up in an empty bed.

She felt no dramatic surge of grief, only a profound sense of closure.

With a final breath, she walked down the steps, slid into the back seat, and closed the door. The car glided smoothly down the long driveway, past the security gates that opened automatically, and onto the tree-lined avenue beyond.

Evelyn did not look back.

By noon, the mansion had transformed.

Sophia Langford arrived in a fire-engine-red convertible, top down, auburn hair whipping dramatically in the wind. She parked with a flourish in the exact spot Evelyn's car had occupied that morning, as if erasing any trace of the previous occupant.

Two staff members hurried out to greet her, unloading designer suitcases and garment bags from the trunk far more luggage than Evelyn had taken for a permanent departure. Sophia stepped out in sky-high heels and a fitted white dress that hugged every curve, oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a crown.

Victoria Knight waited in the foyer, arms open. Welcome, darling! Finally,

Sophia air-kissed both cheeks, her perfume clouding the air. Thank you, Victoria. I've been dreaming of this day.

Clara appeared from the drawing room, champagne flute already in hand despite the early hour. About time this place got an upgrade. All that beige was depressing.

Sophia laughed, the sound bright and victorious. Don't worry. I have decorators on standby. We'll modernize everything.

Victoria beamed. Alexander will be home by six. He wants to celebrate properly tonight.

Sophia's green eyes gleamed. Perfect. I brought the perfect dress.

The three women moved deeper into the house, Sophia's heels clicking possessively across the marble Evelyn had walked silently for years.

Upstairs, staff were already at work under Victoria's direction. Evelyn's remaining clothes that were left behind as too ostentatious for her new life were removed from the master closet to make room for Sophia's wardrobe. Toiletries cleared from the bathroom counters. The few decorative touches Evelyn had added (a small vase here, a framed photo there) boxed away.

Maria supervised with tight lips, directing younger maids to handle everything carefully despite the circumstances. She alone seemed to sense the shift in the house's atmosphere like a chill settling after a warm presence had vanished.

In the master bedroom, Sophia swept in an hour later, surveying the space with proprietary delight. She ran manicured fingers along the silk bedspread, opened drawers, tested the mattress with a bounce.

Spacious, she declared to Clara, who trailed behind sipping champagne. But it needs color. Red accents, maybe gold. Something bold.

Clara smirked. Evelyn always dressed this room like a convent.

Sophia laughed again, louder this time. Poor thing. No wonder Alexander got bored. Can you imagine living like a nun in a palace?

She crossed to the full-length mirror, striking poses. This will do nicely.

Downstairs in the sunroom, Victoria arranged fresh flowers herself, an unusual task for her selecting vibrant orchids and roses in deep crimson.

For Sophia's arrival, she explained to the florist over the phone. We want everything perfect.

By late afternoon, the transformation was nearly complete. Sophia's belongings filled the closets, her perfume lingered in the hallways, her laughter echoed where Evelyn's quiet footsteps once went unnoticed.

At six sharp, Alexander's Bentley pulled into the driveway. He stepped out looking every inch the conquering CEO, briefcase in hand, tie loosened just enough to suggest celebration.

Sophia met him at the door, wrapping arms around his neck and kissing him deeply right there in the open foyer where staff could see. Alexander didn't pull away.

Welcome home, darling, she purred.

He allowed a rare half-smile. The house looks lively.

Victoria and Clara appeared, glasses raised. To new beginnings! Victoria toasted.

Alexander accepted a glass, clinking with the women. For a moment, the victory felt complete.

Yet as he glanced around the familiar space now subtly altered, brighter, louder something tugged at the edge of his awareness. A faint trace of jasmine in the air, perhaps. Or the absence of something he couldn't name.

He dismissed it.

Sophia tugged his arm toward the dining room, where a private chef had prepared a decadent dinner for four. Candles flickered. Music played softly.

To us, Sophia said, raising her glass to him alone.

Alexander drank, letting the moment wash over him.

Upstairs, in what had been Evelyn's study, Maria quietly boxed the last of the forgotten items: a small sketchbook Evelyn had left behind, a coffee mug with a faded university logo, a single jasmine candle burned almost to the end.

She paused, running a thumb over the sketchbook's cover, then slipped it into her apron pocket instead of the discard pile.

Some things, she decided, didn't belong to the new mistress.

Outside, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn.

The mansion had a new occupant loud, triumphant, certain of her place.

But in the silence Evelyn had left behind, the walls seemed to hold their breath.

The invisible wife was gone.

And with her departure, the first faint cracks began to appear in the empire that had never truly been Alexander's alone.