The Billionaire and His Heiress Wife

AVELYN Flour dusted the air like soft snowfall, settling on my cheeks, my hair, the front of my apron. I probably looked ridiculous — messy, domestic, too eager — but Scarlett loved when I baked after school. She said the house smelled “like warm hugs.” And I lived for that. For her tiny arms around my waist. For the way her eyes lit up when she saw the cooling rack. I wiped my forehead with the back of my wrist, leaving a streak of flour across my skin. Perfect. Just perfect. I glanced at the clock. 2:47 PM. I needed to leave in thirteen minutes if I wanted to beat the school traffic. I reached for the oven mitts, pulling out the last tray of cookies. Golden edges, soft centers. Scarlett’s favorite. I smiled to myself, imagining her excitement. My phone buzzed on the counter. Jeremy. I dried my hands on a towel before answering. “I’ll pick up Scarlett,” he said, not bothering with hello. “Oh.” I blinked. “I already—” “I’m closer,” he cut in. “I’ll get her.” “Alright,” I whispered, but he’d already hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment, the warmth in my chest dimming. He used to ask. He used to sound like he cared about the small things. Now it was just… logistics. Efficiency. A schedule. I turned back to the cookies, arranging them neatly on a plate. Maybe it was silly, but I wanted today to be good. Scarlett had been distant lately, and I kept telling myself it was just a phase. Kids go through phases. They get influenced by friends, by teachers, by… other adults. I pushed the thought away. The front door opened at 3:12 PM — earlier than usual. I wiped my hands again, smoothing my hair, even though I knew it was hopeless. I probably looked like a bakery explosion. “Scarlett?” I called, stepping out of the kitchen with the plate of cookies. But it wasn’t Jeremy who walked in. It was Selene Ward. Tall. Perfect. Effortlessly styled in a cream dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her hair was glossy, curled at the ends. Her lipstick immaculate. She looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine. And she was holding Scarlett’s hand. My stomach dropped. “Oh,” I breathed. “I… didn’t know you were picking her up.” Selene smiled — the kind of smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “Jeremy asked me to. He was running late, and I was already nearby.” Nearby. Of course she was. Scarlett let go of her hand and ran toward me, but halfway there, she slowed. Her eyes flicked over my flour‑covered apron, my messy bun, the smudge on my cheek. Her excitement dimmed. “Mommy… you look… funny.” Selene laughed lightly, covering her mouth. “Oh, sweetheart, she’s just been… busy.” Her eyes slid over me, assessing, amused. “Very busy.” Heat crawled up my neck. I forced a smile. “I made cookies,” I said softly. “Your favorite.” Scarlett hesitated. “Can I have one later? I’m not hungry right now.” She was always hungry after school. Always. Selene crouched beside her, smoothing Scarlett’s hair. “We stopped for a little treat on the way home. Didn’t we, darling?” Scarlett nodded, leaning into her. My heart pinched. “Oh,” I whispered. “Okay.” Selene rose gracefully, brushing invisible lint from her dress. “You know, Avelyn, you should really take some time for yourself. A little self‑care. A little… effort.” Her gaze flicked to my apron. “It goes a long way.” I swallowed hard. “I was baking for my daughter.” She smiled again. “Of course you were.” The door opened behind her. Jeremy stepped in. His eyes landed on me — and immediately tightened. “Avelyn,” he said, frowning. “What happened to you?” I froze. Scarlett giggled. “Mommy looks silly.” Selene placed a hand on Scarlett’s shoulder, her voice soft and sweet. “She’s just… comfortable, sweetheart. Some people don’t mind looking a little messy.” Jeremy sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Avelyn, you knew we had guests tonight. Couldn’t you at least—” “I was baking,” I said quietly. “For Scarlett.” He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at the cookies. He just looked at me like I was an inconvenience. “I’ll go change,” I whispered. I turned before anyone could see the sting in my eyes. Upstairs, I closed the bedroom door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. My reflection in the mirror made me wince — flour on my cheek, hair escaping everywhere, apron wrinkled. I looked… tired. Soft. Human. Selene never looked human. She looked curated. I washed my face, fixed my hair, changed into a simple blouse and jeans. Nothing fancy. Just clean. Presentable. Acceptable. When I finally felt steady enough to go downstairs, I paused on the last step. Voices drifted from the living room. Selene’s. Scarlett’s. Jeremy’s low murmur. I shouldn’t have listened. But I did. Scarlett’s voice was small but clear. “Daddy… Selene is so pretty.” Jeremy chuckled. “She is.” “And she smells nice. And she dresses nice. And she knows how to braid hair.” Selene laughed softly. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re too kind.” Scarlett’s next words sliced through me like a blade. “I wish you were my mommy.” My breath caught. Silence. Then Jeremy’s quiet exhale — not shocked, not correcting her, just… tired. Selene’s voice was gentle, falsely humble. “Oh, darling, don’t say that. Your mommy loves you very much.” Scarlett huffed. “But she’s not pretty like you.” My hand trembled on the railing. Jeremy didn’t defend me. He didn’t say a word. And something inside me — something small and fragile — cracked.