Chapter 2
1172 Words
Hazel’s POV
Bryce agreed to give me the villa almost too easily, amused, certain I'd crawl back to him once the anger cooled. He didn't know that the house had been a gift from the Sterling family long before it ever passed into Ellington hands. It had been mortgaged and sold off years ago when the Ellingtons hit financial trouble, sold off back then because I'd been willing to give up everything I owned to help him.
What a waste that had been, betting everything on the wrong person and calling it love.
He touched my hair like he meant it, murmuring that I'd always be Mrs. Ellington if I'd just be reasonable, and I felt only disgust. Six years of silence between us, and now, with Madison moving into our house, he wanted to promise me a future.
Madison's voice cut the moment short from the hallway when she asked about Layla's dress, and he dropped his hand from my hair so fast you'd think I'd burned him. He was terrified of what she'd think. I almost laughed.
My best friend Valerie came by that afternoon with divorce papers and every curse word she owned for Bryce. Somewhere between the two, she asked why now, after six years, I'd finally decided to leave and whether I still loved him too much to think straight.
I told her the truth: it wasn't love, not really, not anymore. When I'd married him, it was mostly gratitude, and maybe some misplaced feelings left over from the first time he'd pulled me out of a burning building, years before either of us had a ring on our hands.
By the time his mother pressured him into the marriage, I'd already buried that feeling so deeply I barely recognized it as mine. What I felt now was simpler. We'd never once slept together as husband and wife, not in six years, and I was done pretending that didn't matter.
Valerie went quiet, then furious, then promised I’d get the papers by morning. Only after she’d left did I let myself think about what she'd said before all of that—that Ryan was coming back soon.
I hadn't let myself think of that name in years. Ryan Sterling. The family that had taken me in after the Westbrooks threw me out, treating me like something precious for three good years before I'd stubbornly insisted on going home to people who never wanted me.
"The Sterling family did enough for me already," I told her, and meant it. I'd caused enough trouble between Ryan and his grandmother back then; my staying near him only gave his rivals more ammunition. The farther away I kept myself, the better for him. He had his own life now, wherever he was. I'd lost the right to be part of it a long time ago.
I took the papers for Sunnyvale Villa straight to Ellington Industries the next day. I'd worked there myself for years, quietly helping Bryce secure contract after contract without anyone in the building knowing I was his wife. They liked me there. They had no idea.
Layla had already turned the lobby into her personal playground. There was a mini kids' playground, lots of snacks, and an entire staff whispering about "Mr. Ellington's daughter" while Bryce built blocks with her between meetings.
I heard them pity me before I even reached the elevator, one of the staff saying, “Real love's come back with his daughter, no less. Can't blame him for choosing her.”
Layla found me before I could escape it. "Hey, bad lady. Uncle Bryce doesn't want you. He bought Mommy a heart-shaped necklace, all diamonds. It’s the one you said you liked, remember?"
I remembered. I'd mentioned it to him myself weeks ago.
"How does that feel, you ugly, unwanted nobody?"
I crouched to her level instead of answering. "You have food in your teeth. And ladies like me have ways of handling little girls who don't know their place. Keep talking and you'll find out."
She burst into tears instantly, her voice loud enough to summon half the people in the building, and I walked away before Bryce could even finish accusing me of scaring his precious guest. "Pull the security footage," I told him, and left it at that.
He watched it within the hour and had the decency to look ashamed when he found me again, his voice softer than before. "She's still a kid. I'll talk to Madison."
I didn't have the energy to remind him that a child's age wasn't a free pass for cruelty. I handed him the transfer instead. He signed without reading twice.
Then he asked me to come to the Manor before the anniversary. His mother Kate wanted to see me, and Serena was throwing Madison a welcome dinner. I agreed, if only for Kate.
At the Manor the next day, I found my old design sketches scattered on the table downstairs, and Layla holding one up like a trophy. "Look, Grandma. It’s me, Mommy, Uncle Bryce, and you!"
It was a family portrait, drawn in crayon on the back of a wedding gown sketch I had designed for Bryce and myself years ago, before I understood what I actually was to him. My whole life's work was now scattered across a coffee table like scrap paper for a child to scribble on.
"Who gave you permission to touch my things?"
Madison blinked, looking wounded and innocent. "I thought they were scrap paper."
Serena, who had never once liked me, told me not to make a fuss over a few old drawings, and Bryce, who was always gentle towards other people apart from me, agreed with her.
"You're right," I said slowly. "It's nothing. That piece Layla's holding was meant to be Serena's gift. Fashion Weekly offered eight million for it. It would have been the only one of its kind in the world. What a shame."
Serena's face went white. Bryce offered to wire me the money on the spot, already asking me to cut Madison and her daughter more slack, as if I had any left to give.
"Fine," I said, feeling strangely and perfectly calm, calmer than I'd felt in years. "In one month it's our anniversary. I have a gift for you on that day."
Hearing that, Bryce actually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing like he'd won. He mentioned, almost as an afterthought, that he'd prepare a gift too, for my adoptive father's birthday party, since I still carried the Westbrook name even after everything.
I only nodded.
He had no idea that the gift I meant wasn't a gift at all. In thirty days I would finally stop being Mrs. Ellington, and he’d never again get to pretend this was our home while treating another woman like she belonged in it.
He thought he'd won. He didn't know the countdown had already started, and this time, nothing he said was going to stop the clock from ticking.
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