Chapter 2

An hour later, David finally unlocked the door. He must have grown tired of the neighbors staring. When I stepped inside, dripping water onto the polished hardwood floor, he didn't even look at me.

"Clean up your mess," he said, gesturing to the puddle at my feet before walking back to the living room. There was no apology, no concern. It was the tone someone would use with a disobedient pet.

I didn't say a word. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and wiped the floor clean. In the past, I would have cried. I would have asked him why he was so cruel. Tonight, I felt a strange calm. I was an observer in my own home, cataloging every injustice, every drop of poison.

He came into the kitchen a few minutes later, holding a small, velvet box. Ethan trailed behind him, clutching a new video game, a gift from Olivia, no doubt.

"Ethan is upset," David said, his voice laced with accusation. "You made a scene. He thinks you don' t love us anymore."

Ethan wouldn' t look at me. He just stared at the floor, his shoulders hunched. David was using him as a shield, a tool to inflict guilt.

"He smashed his piggy bank," David continued, his voice cold. "He said he doesn' t want any of the money you saved for him. He wants the money Olivia is going to make for him."

My heart ached for my son, for the boy he was before they turned him against me. But I didn't let the pain show. I looked at David.

"What do you want, David?"

He pushed the velvet box across the counter toward me. "This needs to go. It' s from your old life. It' s cluttering up my office."

I opened it. Inside lay the 'Phoenix Tail' pin, a custom-made brooch I received when my fund hit its first billion dollars. It was a masterpiece of platinum and rubies, a symbol of everything I had achieved. It was my token of love to myself, a reminder of my power.

"Throw it out," David ordered. "It represents a past that has nothing to do with this family. Your place is here."

I closed the box. My fingers traced the velvet. He didn' t know its true value, not just in money, but in what it represented. He saw it as junk from a past life he wanted to erase. He had no idea that the connections and the reputation this pin represented were still very much alive. He thought he had taken everything from me. He was wrong.

In the past, I would have obeyed. I would have sadly thrown away the last piece of my former self to prove my devotion.

Not anymore.

"No," I said. The word was quiet, but it hung in the air like a steel barrier.

David looked up, shocked. I never said no to him.

"What did you say?"

"I said no," I repeated, my voice firmer now. "This is mine. It doesn' t belong to you, and it has nothing to do with you. I' m keeping it."

A flicker of anger crossed his face, followed by a dismissive smirk. He changed tactics, trying to play the part of the concerned husband. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a container of leftovers.

"You must be hungry," he said, his tone suddenly soft. He put a plate of seafood pasta in the microwave. "Here. I saved you some dinner."

He placed the steaming plate in front of me. The smell of shrimp filled the air. He knew I was severely allergic to shellfish. A single bite would send me to the hospital. He hadn't forgotten; he just didn' t care enough to remember. It wasn't a kind gesture. It was a test of my subservience, or worse, just a thoughtless act that proved how little I mattered.

I pushed the plate away. "I' m not hungry."

His face tightened again. My refusal was an act of rebellion he couldn't stand. "Fine. Starve, for all I care."

He turned and left the kitchen, with Ethan following him like a shadow. A few minutes later, I heard the front door open and close. I looked out the window. David was buckling Ethan into the back seat of his car. Olivia was in the passenger seat, turning to smile at David.

They drove off, a perfect little family heading out for ice cream or a movie, leaving me behind in the silent house. I wasn't a wife or a mother anymore. I was just the housekeeper, the live-in help who was currently on probation.

I stood there in the quiet kitchen, the velvet box clutched in my hand. He thought he had marginalized me, pushed me into a corner where I had no power. But he had only given me space. He had only given me time.

And I was going to use it.