Chapter 2

2.

Clutching the fake certificate, I walked like a zombie back to that mansion on Long Island.

The air was thick with a strange mixture of disinfectant and expensive aromatherapy.

It was the smell of a futile attempt to mask decay.

In the medical wing, his mother's private nurses were changing shifts.

Seeing me, one reported in a low voice, "Mrs. Sterling was in a very bad mood today. She refused physical therapy and threw her entire lunch on the floor."

I nodded calmly, walked into that oppressive bedroom, and began cleaning up the mess the nurses were afraid to touch―a family photo frame she had shattered with all her might.

For the past five years, I not only had to manage her medical team but also act as her therapist, soothing her increasingly volatile temper fueled by her son's neglect.

I had single-handedly held up this empty shell of a dynasty for five whole years.

It was because of me that Eamon could stay far away from the drama at his mother's bedside, free of all worries, to play the part of the formidable business emperor.

I never imagined that he, who was too busy to even give me a wedding, had become a model husband to someone else behind my back.

And that woman was Clarice, who had once called me "Elara" with a face full of sincerity.

I gave a scornful smirk.

I was about to reply to her Amazon review with, "So proud of being the other woman? You can only show off your happiness to strangers online," but I found that all the comments and photos had been deleted in a second.

Then came a commanding iMessage from Eamon:

【The senior execs are coming to the house for dinner tonight. Have the staff tidy up Mother and prepare a few extra main courses.】

【And make sure you supervise the kitchen with the Beef Wellington. Make extra; I want to pack some to go.】

Beef Wellington.

If I remembered correctly, that was the dish Clarice had clung to my arm and cooed about, saying it was her absolute favorite.

At the time, I thought she was genuinely complimenting my taste and even had the chef give her the best center cut.

Looking back now, it was utterly laughable.

I hadn't even realized his mistress had already staked her claim in my own home.

But five years ago, Eamon and I were seen by New York's elite as a match made in heaven.

I was the most promising M&A lawyer at a top-tier firm, and he was the youngest, most capable heir in the defense industry.

He pursued me for three years, promising me a partnership based on love and equality.

So when did it all change?

Was it when he wanted to discuss a new acquisition for his group, but I was busy dealing with the mess his mother made after chasing away yet another nurse?

Was it when he wanted to fly me to St. Barts for a vacation, but I was in a meeting with the legal team, fending off another warning letter from his uncle for "inadequate guardianship"?

Was it when he came home late, wanting to share a glass of whiskey, but I was so exhausted from managing the estate's affairs that I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow?

"Elara, you just don't understand the pressure I'm under."

Eamon had said that to me once, his eyes full of disappointment.

I didn't think much of it then. I was only focused on finding a more authoritative neuro-rehabilitation specialist for his mother and helping him solidify his position within the family.

But now, I finally understood what he meant.

He resented that I was no longer the legal eagle fighting by his side, yet he completely forgot that I was the one who gave up a partnership at my firm to shoulder the burden of his family's infighting for him.

The antique clock on the wall had long stopped, its second hand just quivering in place.

Listening to that faint but persistent sound, I suddenly felt so tired.

Five years. I had given almost everything.

I had gone from a brilliant, sharp-witted lawyer to a haggard estate manager, yet he had never truly seen me as his partner.

If that's the case...

Then I don't want this so-called home anymore.