Chapter 2

Sophia didn't waste a moment. Less than an hour after she'd put her bags down in the guest room, my phone buzzed with a notification. It was an Instagram post.

She had taken a selfie in the grand living room, lounging on my velvet sofa. Behind her, the floor-to-ceiling windows showed the perfectly manicured gardens of the home I had paid for.

The caption read: "New beginnings. Finally feel like I' m where I belong. #Blessed"

A quick look at the 'likes' confirmed my suspicions. The first one was from my husband, Ethan Miller.

I felt a flicker of the old pain, the familiar sting of betrayal, but I pushed it down, replacing it with cold, hard strategy. She was arrogant. Good. Arrogant people make mistakes.

That evening, the housekeeper announced that dinner was ready. I walked to the dining room to find Sophia already seated, not in a guest's chair, but in the seat to Ethan's right, the one that was traditionally mine. Ethan was beaming at her, and Liam was sitting next to her, looking up at her with pure adoration. They already looked like a perfect family.

They all stopped talking when I entered.

"Olivia," Ethan said, a little too brightly. "Come, sit." He gestured to a random chair further down the long, polished table.

I ignored him. I walked slowly, deliberately, to the head of the table, the seat of power in this house. The seat my father had always taken, and the one I had claimed after buying this estate.

I looked at our live-in housekeeper, Mrs. Gable.

"Mrs. Gable, it seems we have a guest tonight. Please set a place for Miss Davis." I paused, then added, "Over there, at the far end. We wouldn't want her to feel uncomfortable sitting with the family on her first night."

The air grew thick with tension. Sophia's face flushed with anger. Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but I shot him a look, a silent, ice-cold warning that made him snap it shut. He knew who paid the bills in this house. All of them.

Mrs. Gable, ever professional, simply nodded. "Of course, Madam."

She gracefully picked up the fine china and silverware from my place and moved it to the end of the table, isolating Sophia completely. Sophia had to stand and make the walk of shame to her new, lonely seat.

Dinner was served. The cook had prepared my favorite, pan-seared scallops and a rich risotto. A special, non-alcoholic drink was poured for me. Ethan and Liam were served as well.

Sophia waited. And waited.

Finally, she couldn't take the silence. "Um, am I getting any food?" she asked, trying to sound lighthearted but failing.

I took a delicate sip of my drink. "Oh, Mrs. Gable, I completely forgot. Miss Davis must be hungry. But we didn't plan for a guest. Could you see what's left in the kitchen? Maybe some bread and a salad?"

The humiliation was palpable. Mrs. Gable returned a few minutes later with a small plate holding a simple green salad and a single bread roll. Sophia stared at it, then at the lavish meal the rest of us were eating. Her eyes blazed with hatred.

I smiled sweetly. "Enjoy, Miss Davis."

The next day, as I expected, they retaliated in the only way they knew how: with my money.

I received a string of alerts from my credit card company. A $5,000 charge at a designer boutique. A $2,000 charge at a high-end electronics store. A final, galling charge of $8,000 from a luxury jewelry store.

Ethan, Sophia, and Liam had gone on a revenge shopping spree.

I pulled up the account details on my laptop. Ethan had his own supplementary card, linked to my primary account. An account funded entirely by the tech company I had built from the ground up.

He thought he was a partner in my success, but he was nothing more than a glorified employee I had foolishly given the title of CEO to. He had no assets of his own. The house, the cars, the liquid cash-it was all mine. He was completely, utterly dependent on me. And that was his greatest weakness.

A plan began to form in my mind, sharp and precise.

That evening, I was resting in my bedroom when Ethan walked in without knocking.

"Olivia, we need to talk."

I didn't open my eyes. "I'm resting."

"This is important," he insisted. "It's about the master bedroom."

I waited.

"Sophia... she's having trouble sleeping in the guest room. The bed is too small. And since she's going to be here to help with you and the baby, it makes more sense for her to be closer. More convenient."

He finally got to the point.

"I think you should move your things to the guest room for now. Sophia can take this room."

He was actually trying to kick me, the pregnant owner of the house, out of my own bedroom for his mistress. The audacity was breathtaking.

In my first life, this was the moment I had completely lost my temper. My screaming and throwing things had only made me look unstable, giving him the perfect excuse to paint me as the villain.

This time, I opened my eyes and sat up slowly. I looked at him, my face a perfect blank mask.

Then, my eyes moved to the doorway, where Sophia was standing with Liam, a smug, expectant look on her face. She was waiting for the explosion.

I stood up from the bed, my movements calm and measured. I walked over to a beautiful, heavy crystal vase on a side table, one Ethan had given me for our anniversary. I picked it up.

Ethan's eyes widened slightly, thinking I was going to throw it at him. Sophia even took a small step back, pulling Liam behind her.

But I didn't look at them. I walked calmly towards the doorway, right up to where Sophia was standing. Her smug look turned to one of confusion, then alarm.

With a flick of my wrist, I didn't throw the vase. I simply dropped it.

It shattered on the polished hardwood floor, a half-inch from the toes of her brand-new, thousand-dollar shoes. Crystal shards sprayed across the floor, creating a glittering, dangerous barrier between her and my room.

I looked directly into her shocked eyes.

"Oops," I said, my voice dripping with false sweetness. "Clumsy me."

I then looked at Ethan. "Tell the housekeeper to clean this up. And tell your guest to be careful where she steps."

I turned, walked back to my bed, and lay down, closing my eyes as if nothing had happened. The message, however, had been sent. This was my room. This was my house. And she was not welcome in either.