Chapter 3
The silence in the grand foyer stretched out, heavy and suffocating, broken only by Martha’s soft, intermittent weeping from the armchair and Elena’s sharp, rhythmic breathing. Julian stood towering over Chloe, his chest heaving as the sheer magnitude of her deception crashed over him wave after wave. He could see the faint pulse beating in the hollow of her throat beneath the dark red satin, a rare sign of life in a woman who currently looked carved out of stone.
Chloe didn't look away from his accusing gaze. Instead, a slow, dark shadow crossed her features, replacing the playful innocence she had worn just moments before. She let go of the wooden broom, letting it clatter loudly against the marble floor. The sharp sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room like a gunshot. She lifted her hand and casually tucked a stray lock of long dark wavy hair behind her ear.
“You want to know who he is?” Chloe’s voice dropped its honeyed sweetness, turning cold, sharp, and utterly devoid of remorse. “His name is Marcus. He is the man who actually pays attention to me when you are off flying across the country for your precious business deals. You built this gilded cage, Julian, and you expected me to sit inside it like a decorative bird while you ignored me for weeks at a time.”
Julian felt a hot surge of adrenaline rush to his temples. He wanted to scream, to shake her until her teeth rattled, but the sheer shock of her unapologetic confession paralyzed his vocal cords. “You cheated on me,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. “In our home. And at the same time, you abused Martha? What did she ever do to you? She treated you like her own daughter!”
“She knew,” Chloe spat back, her eyes flashing with sudden venom. “The old bat saw things she shouldn't have seen. She threatened to call you, to ruin everything. So I made sure she stayed out of my way. Locking her in the pantry for a few hours built some character.”
Behind them, Elena gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Martha let out a fresh sob from the velvet armchair, clutching her bruised arm tighter against her chest. Julian took a half-step forward, his fists clenching so hard his fingernails dug deep into his palms. The man who had rushed through the front door just minutes ago—ambitious, successful, and blindly trusting—was completely gone. In his place stood a stranger consumed by a cold, quiet wrath.
“It’s over, Chloe,” Julian said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding terrifyingly calm. “Pack your things and get out of my house before I call the police and have you dragged out in handcuffs.”
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Chloe threw her head back and let out a sharp, mocking laugh that bounced off the marble walls. “Call the police, Julian? Go ahead. But before you do, you might want to check whose name is actually on the deed to this estate.”
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