Chapter 2

The peace lasted less than twenty-four hours.

The next morning, Brenda was "helping" me in the kitchen while I made coffee.

"That's a lot of sugar you put in there," she commented, watching me. "A woman has to watch her figure."

I ignored her, grabbing my mug and a file for a client meeting. As I was leaving, she called out.

"You know, Chloe, a wife should be home to cook a hot dinner for her husband. Liam works so hard."

I stopped in the doorway, my back to her. "Liam is perfectly capable of using a microwave."

I left without another word. The petty comments were like a thousand paper cuts, and Liam's refusal to see them was the salt rubbed into every wound.

The real escalation happened two days later. I had a major presentation for a multi-million dollar coastal property. I'd been up for two nights straight, finishing the final blueprints. They were custom-drafted, printed on expensive, oversized paper, and rolled carefully into a protective tube. I left the tube on the dining room table, ready to grab on my way out.

When I came down, I found Brenda "cleaning" the table.

The tube was open. The blueprints were spread out. And a large, dark pool of coffee was soaking through the most critical section.

"Oh, my heavens!" she gasped, clutching her chest as I walked in. "I am so clumsy. I was just trying to dust, and my hand slipped."

I stared at the ruined plans. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was not an accident. The mug was placed perfectly in the center of the main elevation drawing.

"You did this on purpose," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.

Her face crumpled. "How can you say such a thing? It was an accident! I'm so sorry!"

Liam rushed in, drawn by her wailing. He took one look at the scene, at my face, at Brenda's fake tears.

"Chloe, calm down," he said immediately. "It was an accident."

"It cost two thousand dollars to print these, Liam. My presentation is in three hours."

"I'll pay for it," he said, already pulling out his phone. "I'll transfer you the money right now. See? Problem solved."

He sent the money. I got the notification. He looked at me, expecting gratitude.

"That doesn't solve the problem," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "This isn't about the money. It's about respect. It's about her deliberately sabotaging my work."

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "Apologize to Brenda. You've upset her."

I looked from his angry face to Brenda's smug, tear-streaked one. I felt a profound sense of isolation, so sharp it was a physical pain.

I didn't apologize. I rolled up the ruined blueprints, walked out the door, and drove to my office. I called the client, apologized profusely, and managed to reschedule the meeting, costing me credibility and potentially the entire project.

The two thousand dollars sat in my bank account, feeling like a bribe. A payment to shut up and accept the poison in our home.

That night, I found her in my bedroom. She was standing at my vanity, a bottle of my favorite perfume in her hand. It was an exclusive French brand, a gift to myself after I won my first major award. She had sprayed it all over herself. The scent was suffocating.

"What are you doing in my room?" I demanded.

She jumped, startled. "Oh! I was just tidying up. This smelled so lovely, I just had to try a little bit."

"Get out," I said.

She scurried away. Liam found me minutes later, fuming.

"She was just curious, Chloe. It's perfume. For God's sake, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal, Liam, is that she has no boundaries. This is my private space. She goes through my things, she ruins my work, she criticizes my life, and you defend her every single time."

"Because you're overreacting every single time!" he yelled. "I'm tired of this. I'm tired of you making our home a war zone!"

He stormed out, leaving me in the cloying, stolen scent of my own perfume. I knew then that this was more than just a difficult housekeeper. Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.