The Scorned wife's revenge

Chapter 2

Beneath the Silver spoon

The next morning smelled like coffee and silence and I woke up before Damien, slipping out of bed quietly. The house was wide and spotless, and it was beautiful in the way expensive things always are, but never warm. My footsteps were small against the marble floor as I made my way downstairs, and the hem of my robe brushed softly at my knees.

I poured myself some coffee and watched the steam rise. Outside, snow was melting under a dull morning sun, and trying to remember what peace was supposed to feel like.

Damien came down minutes later, still in his shirt from work, and his hair tousled from sleep. "You're up early," he said with that lazy , heart melting smile.

"I couldn't sleep," I said quietly. "I kept thinking about what your mother said."

He sighed, then came up behind me, and wrapped his arms around my waist. "Forget her, she doesn't know you the way I do."

I leaned back into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "She's your mother, Damien. It's not that easy."

"I'll talk to her," he said. "But right now, let's just have breakfast."

We ate in quiet comfort with no arguments and pretence and for a while, it felt like the house truly belonged to us alone. And I felt I truly belonged here.

By evening, his sister Celeste called and her voice was bright and fake. "Mother wants us to come for dinner tomorrow. Family tradition, remember?"

I hesitated, staring at Damien. "Do you want to go?"

He rubbed his forehead. "If I don't, she'll think you're keeping me away."

I forced a smile. "Then, we'll go."

He kissed my forehead. "Don't let them get to you, okay? You're stronger than they think."

The next night, I wore a soft blue dress Damien had chosen for me. He'd said it made me look like the ocean. I tried to hold onto that thought as we drove to his mother's mansion.

The house loomed large, with golden lights spilling from its windows like arrogance made real. When we stepped inside, laughter echoed from the dining hall.

Mrs. Moreau stood by the table, elegant as ever, with her pearls gleaming against her dark gown. Celeste sat beside her, scrolling through her phone and barely glancing up.

"Damien," Mrs. Moreau greeted, with a thin smile. "You're late."

"There was traffic," he said smoothly. "You look lovely Mother."

Her gaze flicked to me, scanning from head to toe. "And you brought your wife."

"Good evening, ma'am," I said, trying to sound steady.

She nodded once, not warmly, not cruelly but just dismissively as if I were part of the furniture.

Celeste finally looked up. "Nice dress," she said with a smirk. "Is it from the charity store you used to volunteer at?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it.

"Celeste," Damien warned in an icy tone.

Celeste raised her hands in mock innocence. "What? I'm just making conversation."

Dinner began in a silence thick enough to choke on. The table was perfect with silver plates, gold cutlery, and crystal glasses. I tried to eat, but every sound from the click of the fork, the whispers of a napkin felt too loud out of place.

Mrs. Moreau talked about the company, Celeste complained about her designer. I nodded when someone looked my way, smiled when I had to. At one point, Damien reached for my hand under the table to calm me down.

Then Mrs. Moreau said, "We have an event coming up next month. Damien, you'll attend with Elara, of course. Though..." She paused, her tone dripping with sweetness. "You might want to remind her how to behave. We wouldn't want another... awkward impression."

My fingers tightened around my fork.

"Mother–" Damien started."

No, it's fine," I cut in softly. "I'll make sure I don't embarrass anyone."Mrs. Moreau smiled.

"Good girl."

Celeste chuckled quietly, as if we were entertainment.

Later that week, I went to visit my mother in her small apartment. It was far from the polished world of the Moreau, but it smelled like cinnamon, warmth and I felt at home again.

Mama smiled weakly when I walked in. Her illness had taken so much from her, but her eyes still held the same fierce tenderness. "You look tired, baby."

"I'm fine, Mama."

Her brow furrowed. "He's not hurting you, is he?"

I shook my head quickly. "No. Damien's good to me. It's just... his family."

She sighed. "Rich people think they own the world. But remember that they can never own you."

I smiled faintly and brushed her hair from her forehead. "I'm trying to remember that."

We talked for hours, about neighbors, old stories, and things that didn't hurt to remember. When I finally left, her words stayed with me as soft as prayer.

The following Sunday came with another dinner invitation. I almost said I was sick, but Damien insisted. "I'll be there," he said firmly. "I won't let them say a word to hurt you."

So I went and got there. Mrs. Moreau was pouring wine when we arrived. Celeste's laughter filled the air and sitting across the table was a woman I'd never seen before. She was tall, stunning, with red lips and diamonds at her throat.

"Oh," Celeste said sweetly. "Elara, you haven't met Valerie, have you? She used to date Damien."

"I blinked. "Oh... hello."

Valeria smiled, her charm all sugar and silk. "I've heard so much about you."

My stomach tightened. "Nice to meet you."Mrs. Moreau added, almost carelessly, "Valerie's father owns a Calloway shipping line. A very respectable family."

Damien's jaw flexed. "Can we not do this?"

But the damage was already done. As the evening dragged on, the conversation turned to business, travel, and lavish parties I'd never been invited to. Valerie laughed easily with Celeste and Mrs. Moreau and every laugh felt like a knife slicing just deep enough to hurt.

At one point, Valerie leaned toward Mrs. Moreau and whispered something. They both laughed and Celeste joined in.

I looked down at my plate, pretending not to notice until I heard it. One word is clear as glass shattering.

"Barren."

My fork froze mid-air and the laughter continued like nothing had happened, but that single word echoed in my mind. Damien glanced at me, frowning when he saw my face. "Elara?"

"I'm fine," I whispered. But I wasn't.

That night, I didn't say a word on the drive home. When we got back, I went straight to the bedroom, slipped out my dress, and folded it carefully with my trembling hands.

Damien followed me in, his voice was tight. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Elara, please. Don't shut me out."

I looked up, my voice breaking. "They compared me to her, Valerie and then I heard it."

"Heard what?"

My throat burned. "Barren."His expression changed instantly and he said out of anger, "Who said it?"

"It doesn't matter," I whispered.

"It does," he said, stepping closer. "Because whoever did is going to regret it."

"You can't fight every battle for me, Damien," I said, tears spilling before I could stop them. "They'll never accept me, and that's something I have to live with."

He cupped my face gently. "You're my wife. You're all I need."

My lips trembled into a faint smile. "Then hold me like you mean it."

He held me close, his arms tight around me as if the world could fall away and we'd still have each other. His lips brushed my temple, and his whispers were soft and real. I almost believed love was enough but deep down, I knew better that love wasn't the only thing being tested in that house. The cracks had begun to show and beneath the silver spoon and glittering smiles, something darker was waiting to surface.