“That’s not the point.”
“It is exactly the point. You spoke to her like she was beneath you,” I said quietly.
“She is not from our background.”
“Neither were you,” I replied evenly. "But then you married Christopher Sterling."
Her eyes flew to mine, unable to hide the hurt there. Not many people knew she wasn't from a wealthy background, and those who did wouldn't dare say anything. I thought keeping her secret was the right thing to do, but after years of bearing hercondescending attitude, I realized I was wrong. She needed to be reminded that she was once the very woman she was looking down on, only she was more calculated in how she trapped my father.
It was no coincidence that their marriage anniversary was only a few months shy of my birthday.
There was a brief second where I thought I got through to her, that she understood and would stop interfering in my life. But that hope died as I watched her bury her hurt with what I could only describe as determination. Why she was so determined to do the wrong thing was beyond me.
“You’re willing to risk everything for her?” she arched a brow, daring me to agree.
“I’m not risking anything,” I replied. “I’m choosing my wife.”
“You could have anyone.”
“I could,” I said calmly. “I chose her.”
“You could divorce her and choose someone better.”
Something inside me snapped. I didn’t raise my voice even though my restraint felt like it was burning through my skin. “I won’t let you ruin this for me,” I mumbled just loud enough where I knew she heard me.
“Ruin what?”
My chest tightened. The answer felt dangerous even to admit to myself. “My chance at happiness.”
23- Evania
I got home much later than I expected because I left all my books, perfume, bags, and other things I'd bought at Elena’s apartment.
The drive back felt longer than usual. The excitement from using his card faded into something heavier. Earlier, I had laughed with my sisters as we sorted through everything: stacking novels, testing perfume, admiring the stitching on designer bags I’d only seen behind glass before. It felt thrilling. Liberating.
But when I had to look at everything piled together in my car, the guilt got too much.
I pressed my forehead briefly to the steering wheel.
“You said you’d spend his money,” I muttered to myself. “You’re just playing your role. Why are you feeling bad about it?”
Now here I was, setting my shoes by the door and slowly making my way across the dim hallway, heading toward the kitchen to get something to eat.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Maria must have retired for the evening. The house was dimly lit and quiet, intimidating in that way big houses often were. I held my shoes, and my bare feet made soft sounds on the hard floors. My stomach growled, but even hunger couldn't drown out the racing thoughts in my head.
Did I take it too far?
Was there a limit he hadn’t said out loud?
I was halfway to the kitchen, hunger finally overriding my guilt, when a throat cleared behind me.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I spun around and froze.
