The quiet afternoon was interrupted by three sharp electronic beeps coming from the front door. Someone had just unlocked it.
The quiet afternoon was interrupted by three sharp electronic beeps coming from the front door.
Someone had just unlocked it.
I didn’t move.
I stayed exactly where I was, leaning against the kitchen island, listening to the slow, confident rhythm of expensive heels crossing the wide oak floors of the foyer.
The sound wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t hesitant.
It was the kind of walk that belonged to someone who believed every room they entered already belonged to them.
Then she appeared.
A woman stepped inside without knocking, without hesitation, and without the slightest concern that she was entering someone else’s home.
She wore perfectly tailored cream trousers, a silk blouse that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent, and an expression of effortless superiority.
Everything about her was carefully designed.
Her flawless makeup.
Her delicate but unmistakably expensive jewelry.
The way she looked around the house—not like a visitor, but like someone inspecting a place she expected to claim.
Her eyes traveled across the entryway, studying every detail.
Then they landed on me.
My oversized gray sweatshirt.
My bare face.
My hair casually twisted up with a simple claw clip.
I watched the exact moment she made her decision.
She didn’t know me.
She didn’t ask who I was.
She simply decided.
And apparently, in her mind, I was someone beneath her.
“Oh, good,” she said casually.
She removed her fur-trimmed designer coat and tossed it toward me like I was standing there for that exact purpose.
“You’re here.”
I caught it before it touched the floor.
“Tell Elliot I’m waiting,” she continued, already turning away. “And be careful with that coat.”
She paused.
A small smile appeared on her lips.
“It costs more than you probably make in a month.”
I looked down at the coat in my hands.
The scent immediately reached me.
Jo Malone.
A fragrance I knew very well.
Because I was the one who bought it for Elliot last Christmas.
I folded the coat neatly over my arm.
“He’s still at a meeting,” I said calmly. “He hasn’t come home yet.”
She let out a dramatic sigh, like my answer had personally inconvenienced her.
Then she pulled a gold iPhone from her designer clutch.
“Yes, he has.”
She glanced at the screen.
“He texted me ten minutes ago. He said he was almost here.”
She didn’t wait for an explanation.
She simply waved her hand.
“Go find him.”
Then, as if giving instructions to household staff, she added:
“And make me an iced oat milk latte.”
She looked back at me.
“Two pumps of vanilla. Don’t add too much espresso.”
With that, she walked farther into the house.
My house.
The home I had spent months designing.
The kitchen I had chosen every marble slab for.
The space I had personally supervised during construction.
Her fingers brushed across the marble countertop as she looked around.
“Nice kitchen,” she said.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
“A little too traditional for my taste.”
She smiled faintly.
“But Elliot already promised me I could redesign the master suite after the divorce.”
For a second, I said nothing.
Then I smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was almost unbelievable.
“Did he?”
She looked up sharply.
Clearly, she hadn’t expected me to respond.
“I wasn’t asking for a conversation.”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied me again.
“What was your name?”
A pause.
“Maria?”
Another pause.
“Rosa?”
I stared at her.
“Victoria.”
I placed her expensive coat carefully over the back of a barstool.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I didn’t rush.
I didn’t apologize.
I didn’t shrink.
And maybe that bothered her more than anything else.
Before she could say another word, a deep engine sound rolled through the quiet afternoon.
Both of us turned toward the massive front windows.
A black luxury sedan entered the driveway and came to a smooth stop outside.
Her entire expression changed instantly.
The arrogance remained, but now it was mixed with excitement.
She straightened her blouse.
Ran her fingers through her hair.
Then checked her reflection in the dark screen of her phone.
“Finally,” she whispered.
She looked back at me.
That same practiced smile returned.
“Go open the door for him, Victoria.”
May you like
She walked closer to the window, completely confident in the scene she had created.
“And don’t forget my latte.”
