Chapter 2 - The Edict of the Queen MotherBy 11:30 AM, the kitchen was alive with the frantic clatter of hired catering staff. Ryan had spared no expense—using corporate accounts from my father’s old subsidiary, of course—to bring in a private chef to prepare a multi-course French luncheon to welcome his mother into her new domain.
I descended the grand staircase slowly, my footsteps muffled by the thick silk runner. I wore a high-necked, long-sleeved ivory cashmere dress that hugged my frame, its modest cut doing nothing to hide the faint yellowing bruise creeping up toward my jawline.
Ryan was standing in the foyer, adjusting his cuffs, barking orders at the head caterer. When he turned and saw me, his jaw tightened instantly.
“Ava,” he hissed, striding across the marble floor to grab my elbow—right over the bruised skin. I didn't flinch, though the pressure sent a sharp spike of pain up my arm. “What did I tell you? You didn't use the concealer! Are you trying to invite a scene?”
“The concealer didn't match my skin tone, Ryan,” I replied smoothly, my voice level and unnervingly quiet. I gently pulled my arm from his grip, stepping back. “And besides, wouldn't it be rude to hide how hard you tried to convince me this morning?”
Ryan’s face flushed a mottled, dangerous crimson. He raised a hand instinctively, checking to see if the caterers were watching, then dropped it, his eyes narrowing into venomous slits.
“You listen to me,” he whispered fiercely, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. “If you ruin this lunch for my mother—if you so much as twitch the wrong way when she asks about the downstairs suite—I will make sure your life in this house becomes an absolute living hell. You are nothing without me. You’re just a quiet orphan who lucked into a pretty last name.”
Before I could answer, the heavy double front doors swung open.
Victoria Harrington swept into the foyer as if she were inspecting a conquered province. She was draped in heavy vintage furs despite the late-spring weather, her face caked in expensive powder, her nose permanently tilted upward as if detecting a foul odor. Behind her trailed a personal assistant carrying three oversized leather garment bags.
“Ryan, darling!” Victoria trilled, ignoring me entirely as she swept past to offer her cheek to her son. “The drive from the country club was simply dreadful, but this estate… oh, it simply takes my breath away every single time. That foolish girl you married has no idea how lucky she is to live in a masterpiece like this.”
Ryan beamed, his posture swelling with manufactured pride. He shot me one last warning glare before turning to his mother with a dazzling, practiced smile.
“Welcome home, Mother,” Ryan said smoothly, gesturing grandly toward the sprawling living room overlooking the lake. “Everything is ready. The guest wing has been cleared out, and Ava has personally prepared herself to greet you.”
Victoria finally turned her icy gaze toward me. Her eyes scanned my face, lingering for a fraction of a second on the swollen cheek and the split lip. A flicker of cold satisfaction crossed her features—the look of a woman who enjoyed domestic cruelty as a spectator sport.
“Well,” Victoria drawled, her tone dripping with condescension. “It looks like you finally learned how to listen to your husband, girl. Though goodness knows, no amount of makeup can fix that unfortunate posture.”
I didn't cower. I didn't look down. I walked forward, stopping just two feet away from her, my expression an absolute mask of serene indifference.
“Welcome, Victoria,” I said, my voice carrying a strange, metallic clarity that made her pause mid-step. “Make yourself entirely at home. After all, it’s not every day you get to enjoy a meal in a house you don't own, managed by people who are about to evict you.”
May you like
Victoria blinked, her painted eyebrows drawing together in sudden confusion. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I smiled, my eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying stillness. “Just wishing you an unforgettable afternoon.”
