Revenge Wears Red

CHAPTER THREE: THE CRACKS WIDEN

Annabel spent the night at Ariella’s place, refusing to let her friend endure another silent night alone. They had curled up on the couch, watching a late-night romantic drama with a bowl of popcorn between them, neither truly invested in the plot but desperate for distraction. Eventually, they had fallen asleep there, heads resting on opposite ends of the couch, wrapped in a silence only true friends understood.

By morning, the two women were in the kitchen, preparing breakfast with soft laughter as the scent of coffee and toasted bread filled the air. A warmth had returned, if only briefly.

“I still can’t believe he died for her,” Annabel said as she buttered a slice of bread, her voice rising in disbelief. “And I am sure she would just moved on and marry someone else. I hate endings like that.” “That’s how love is sometimes,” Ariella replied quietly, flipping the eggs with delicate concentration. Annabel snorted. “Then love is foolish. I wouldn’t die for any man. Not even my husband. Life is too precious to me.” Ariella smiled faintly, though her eyes held sadness. “Sometimes, love doesn’t give you a choice.”

As they moved around the kitchen, setting the table and pouring juice, a familiar sound made them pause—the deep, throaty purr of Vincent’s Maybach as it slid into the garage.Annabel leaned closer to Ariella, whispering, “Your husband’s here.” Ariella froze momentarily, then inhaled deeply. “Let’s just act normal.”

Vincent stepped into the house moments later. He looked rested, indifferent, as if nothing had happened. His gaze scanned the kitchen briefly, but he said nothing at first and left .The women continued setting plates, arranging breakfast for themselves and the children.

“Where’s my food?” he asked flatly. Neither Ariella nor Annabel responded. He raised his voice. “I said where’s my food?” Ariella turned slowly, her tone ice cold. “Didn’t you eat wherever you were coming from?”

Before the tension could thicken, small footsteps thundered from upstairs. “Daddy! Daddy!!” Diana and Elena rushed into the room, beaming with joy. Their tiny arms wrapped around Vincent’s legs as they clung to him. His cold demeanor melted instantly. He crouched to their level, hugging them tightly and lifting them into the air with exaggerated joy. Their giggles filled the room.

Then he glanced at Ariella, still holding his daughters. “Your mummy doesn’t want to give me food.” Elena pouted, her tiny voice soft and confused. “Mummy, give my daddy food.”

The manipulation hit like a slap. Ariella and Annabel exchanged a look, both startled by how easily Vincent used their daughters’ innocence to get what he wanted. Ariella knelt beside Elena and kissed her cheek, her voice sweet. “Okay baby. Mummy will give him food.”

In the kitchen, as they dished out the meal, Annabel hissed under her breath. “He’s using them now? That man’s behavior is beyond disrespectful.” Ariella exhaled slowly, staring down at the steaming plate. “I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

They returned to the dining room. The family sat together, physically united but emotionally torn. The silence was thick and the only thing to be be heard was the children playing with each other.

Vincent ate his food with aggression, as if each bite was a battle. His eyes flicked up now and then, watching Ariella. She avoided his gaze, her focus fixed on the children, laughing softly at their jokes to diffuse the tension. Annabel sat stiffly, chewing with measured slowness. Her eyes burning in disdain as she stared at Vincent.

Once the table was cleared and the girls ran upstairs to continue their play, Ariella leaned toward Annabel. “Please take them to their room,” she whispered. “Turn the TV up. I need to talk to him.” Annabel nodded. “You sure?” “Yes Belle.”

Minutes later, the girls’ laughter echoed faintly from upstairs, softened beneath the hum of cartoons. Ariella turned to Vincent, who was just pushing his chair back to get up. “How could you do that?” she asked. He frowned. “What did I do?” pretending to be oblivious if what she was talking about. “Using our daughters to get back at me, that's what you did.” Vincent shrugged dismissively. “I just told them the truth. You didn’t welcome me!” Ariella’s voice wavered with disbelief. “You haven’t spoken to me with any warmth for weeks, Vincent. You have been ignoring me and giving me the cold shoulder. How do you expect me to welcome you like nothing happened? And if I am to ask, where the heck have you even been?” “I’ve been around,” he muttered. “‘Around’?” Her voice cracked. “You’ve been gone for days. No calls. No messages. What does ‘around’ even mean?” She hesitated, then asked the question that had haunted her all night. “Are you by any chance cheating on me?” The words came out as a whisper, but they echoed like a scream.

Vincent stood abruptly. “I’m not. Stop acting paranoid!”

Just then, Annabel came downstairs, her expression anxious. “Keep your voices down. The kids can hear you. " And who are you to tell me to be quiet in my own house?" Vincent fired at Annabel. Annabel looking at him with the earlier disdain she had in her eyes "And to you Vincent what was the meaning of all that nonsense?” Vincent turned sharply. “Get out of my house. This is between me and my wife.”Annabel narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if you were being the husband she deserves.” He scoffed. “Go fix your own marriage and he the wife your husband deserves before lecturing me about mine.”

That was the final straw. Without hesitation, Annabel stepped forward and slapped him, the sound crisp and raw in the quiet room. Ariella gasped. “How dare you say that to me,” she choked, her eyes wet with tears. She turned and stormed out. Ariella lingered just a moment longer, staring at Vincent shaking her head in utter disbelief as though she no longer recognized him. “You’re unbelievable,” she echoed, then followed her friend out the door, her heart breaking all over again.