Chapter 9 The Other Mrs. Pembroke

Aria

The rumble of my camper van echoed in the garage as I pulled in, the contrast between my almost run-down home-on-wheels and the luxury around me almost laughable.

I barely had time to turn off the engine before I caught sight of her-Mrs Pembroke-standing in the entryway, her lips slightly parted in disbelief. Her expression didn't just scream disapproval. It reeked of something deeper. Contempt.

I almost laughed.

I had expected this much from her considering every move she had pushed from the day Grant decided to marry me.

She determined the wedding venue which mostly consisted of just the immediate family, she made it look so shabby and almost disgraceful. but the jokes were on her, nobody especially me cared about that wedding.

Even her son, Hunter, Grant's brother, I heard had his own say in our wedding.

Everybody but Grant and I.

I was starting to think I had read Grant wrong, he might be the most docile one among them. But does it take my mind off him as my sister's killer? No, he certainly has the most charisma.

"Hi, Mrs Pembroke," I called out smoothly, stepping out of the van and stretching like I had all the time in the world.

"Aria?" she said, voice clipped as I moved toward her.

"My husband asked Mark to help with my luggage," I explained, my tone deliberately casual. "But it's drivable. I live in it."

Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. "Why does that not surprise me? Sometimes it's the ones at the bottom of the pyramid who forget their place," she said, voice cold as ice.

I tilted my head, letting her words settle in the air before responding, slow and deliberate. "Funny thing about the bottom of the pyramid, Mrs. Pembroke," I murmured, stepping closer, "sometimes it bites back."

Then, I lifted my left hand, wiggling my fingers so the diamond ring caught the light. "Oh, wait-Sierra, isn't it? We share a name now. I'm Mrs. Pembroke, too."

The shock on her face was delicious. I wasn't here to make peace. I was here to set the record straight. To make the people who deserved to suffer... suffer.

"Get that thing off my property," she snapped, her composure cracking just slightly.

I smiled. "I live here now. And there's nothing wrong with my van." My words dripped with the same tone as I brushed past her, making my way inside.

The house was just as extravagant as I remembered-soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, furniture so expensive it felt untouchable. But none of it fazed me anymore.

Meaningless. I wasn't here for the view. I was here for answers.

I strode toward the kitchen. If anyone knew the secrets of this house, it would be the employee. And I needed to know where my sister's baby was.

As I stepped inside, my eyes landed on two elderly women at the far end of the room. They noticed me instantly,

stepping forward with warm, welcoming smiles. The kindness in their faces was almost jarring-so different from the cold, calculating expressions I'd seen so far.

"Welcome, Mrs. Aria," they said in unison, their voices gentle yet knowing. Around the kitchen, other chefs paused to acknowledge me.

For the first time in a long while, I felt important.

"Thank you," I replied, meaning it.

"I asked Grant about your food preferences," one of them said, "but he wasn't very specific."

I chuckled. "You know men." I shrugged. "I eat just about anything, no strict diet."

They nodded approvingly. "Very good. I'm Lilian, and this is Agnes. Since we weren't sure, we kept it simple. A fresh burrata and heirloom tomato salad with aged balsamic for starters, Wagyu steak-medium rare-or roasted organic chicken with truffle mash for the main course, roasted fingerling potatoes with rosemary, and dark chocolate truffles for dessert. Does that work for you?"

I blinked. "Wow, Agnes. I trust anything you make. That all sounds amazing."

"We do our best," Lilian replied, but there was a flicker of something else behind her warm demeanor. Caution, maybe.

"Then I hope everyone is okay with that?"

"Everyone's preference is different"

I leaned in. "So, you cook different meals for everyone?"

"Your father-in-law and husband share similar tastes," Agnes explained. "You, too, actually. But Hunter-your brother-in-law-is the picky one."

Hunter.

There it was again. Like everything here revolved around him. I remembered Sierra shouting at a planner on why she didn't secure our little wedding reception at the bar Hunter liked.

"Interesting," I mused. "I might surprise my new family with a meal one of these days."

"This isn't the kind of house where people need to fend for themselves."

The voice cut through the air, deep and laced with condescension.

I turned, and there he was.

Hunter Pembroke.

He walked past me, his smirk as insufferable as the sharp lines of his suit. When he caught my stare lingering, he stopped, facing me fully. "No need to try so hard," he drawled. "Grant already married you. You won. No need to impress anyone else. Just focus on your husband."

The mockery in his voice was obvious.

I smiled sweetly. "Yeah, at least my husband is a whole world to focus on. So many layers."

Hunter's expression darkened. "And what's that supposed to mean?" He squared his shoulders, stepping closer.

I just laughed. "Relax, brother-in-law. I only repeated what you insinuated. And I don't appreciate being squared up like some kind of threat."

His face reddened, and I caught it then-his insecurity. The way his entitled demeanor masked something fragile.

Coddled. Spoiled.

"Watch your step in this house," he warned.

I didn't flinch. "I always do."

He turned on his heel and walked off, his movements stiff, and controlled, but there was something almost amusing about him. Everything about Hunter screamed... uncool.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Pembroke," Lilian said quickly. "He doesn't usually-"

"He does that all the time, doesn't he?" I interrupted, a knowing smile tugging at my lips. When she hesitated, I added, "It's fine. You don't have to apologize for him."

I glanced back toward the exit, where Hunter had disappeared.

Hunter Pembroke needed to be researched.