“Enjoy the view while you can, sweetheart,” she hissed, her eyes locked on the city skyline. “Because sooner or later, I’m taking the keys to the castle.”
She didn’t wait for my reaction. She turned her back to me and sauntered toward the white sofa, her hand tilting the crystal glass a fraction of an inch too far.
Chapter 2: The Geography of a Stain
The atmospheric pressure in the room plummeted. Mark remained hovering near the entryway, a ghost haunting his own fabricated life, begging me with his wide, panicked eyes to simply play along. He wanted me to be the good, submissive housewife he had convinced his mistress I was.
Chloe threw herself onto my pristine white Italian linen sofa, dragging her stilettos perilously close to the delicate fabric. She crossed her legs, swinging her foot with a smug, rhythmic cadence.
“So, Elena,” she drawled, examining her acrylic nails in the warm glow of the chandelier. “What exactly do you do all day? Mark tells me you mostly just stay holed up in here. Must be a tough gig, burning through his credit cards while he’s out breaking his back.”
I remained perfectly still, analyzing her strategy. She was poking the bear, testing the perimeter fences of my patience. “I manage the household’s broader interests,” I answered, my tone infuriatingly level. “And I oversee my own private equity investments.”
“Investments,” Chloe snorted, a harsh, ugly sound. “Right. You mean shopping sprees and Pilates classes?”
She stood up abruptly, a sudden, erratic movement fueled by the heavy dose of aged scotch hitting her empty stomach. She swayed slightly on her heels, taking a deliberate, challenging step toward me. She held the crystal glass loosely, her wrist limp.
“Oops.”
