Chapter 3 - The Mistress Arrives Early
By Wednesday afternoon, the greenhouse was stripped bare of its rare botanical treasures. What remained was merely the glass shell, the structural steel frames, and empty wooden tables—clean, cold, and silent. In their place, I had left a detailed commercial notice taped squarely to the entrance doors, stamped with the official corporate seal of Verdant Crest Holdings.
I was in the kitchen preparing Isabelle’s favorite dinner—homemade macaroni with sharp cheddar—when the sound of high heels clicking sharply against the front stone porch broke the quiet evening. The front door swung open without a knock.
Chloe stepped inside, wearing an oversized camel-hair coat, designer sunglasses perched on top of her bleached blonde hair, and trailing a cloud of sickeningly sweet designer perfume. Right behind her walked Gavin, carrying two shopping bags from an upscale home decor boutique.
They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me standing at the stove.
“Valerie?” Gavin frowned, clearly annoyed. “What are you still doing in the main kitchen? I told you Chloe and I were stopping by to look at the living room layout.”
Chloe took off her sunglasses, looking around the open-concept living area with a mixture of disgust and territorial entitlement. “Ugh, Gavin, you didn’t tell me the wall color was this awful beige. We need to strip this immediately. And that ugly dining table has to go. It smells like old wood.”
She then turned her gaze toward me, offering a toxic, saccharine smile. “Oh, hi, Valerie. I hope this isn't too awkward. Gavin and I just wanted to get an early start on visualizing our space. We really appreciate how cooperative you’re being about vacating. Not every discarded woman handles an upgrade with such poise.”
I slowly set my wooden spoon down on the ceramic rest. I took off my apron and folded it neatly across the marble counter.
“You’re standing in my house, Chloe,” I said calmly.
Chloe let out an exaggerated laugh, looking up at Gavin as if I had told an absurd joke. “Gavin, sweetie, didn’t you explain things to her? She actually thinks she has a say.”
Gavin’s jaw tightened. He took a step forward, trying to intimidate me with his height, just as he had done whenever money discussions came up during our marriage. “Don’t start, Valerie. You heard my mother yesterday. You have two weeks left. Chloe is here as my guest, and this house will be hers before the month ends. If you make a scene, I will personally throw your luggage onto the curb tonight and petition for emergency eviction.”
Just then, little Isabelle walked into the kitchen clutching her plush rabbit, her wide hazel eyes darting between Gavin, Chloe, and me. “Mommy? Who is that lady?”
Chloe visibly recoiled, stepping back toward the entryway as if a stray animal had wandered into the room. “Gavin, you said she would be upstairs. You know I can’t stand being around young children when I’m designing. It completely ruins my creative energy.”
Gavin didn’t even glance at our daughter. He didn't bend down to greet her. He didn't ask how her day at preschool was. Instead, he waved his hand dismissively toward the hallway. “Isabelle, go to your room. Valerie, take her upstairs before you ruin Chloe’s evening.”
Hearing him speak to our innocent daughter like she was a nuisance solidified whatever microscopic shred of mercy remained in my soul. I knelt down, picked Isabelle up in my arms, and whispered softly into her ear that dinner would be ready in a minute. I carried her back to her playroom, handed her a coloring book, and gently closed the door.
When I walked back into the living room, Chloe was running her fingers along my grandmother’s antique mahogany sideboard. “This piece is hideous. We’ll have the junk haulers take it on Friday.”
“Touch that sideboard again,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “and you will leave this property in the back of a police cruiser for grand larceny.”
Gavin scoffed, crossing his arms. “You’re losing your mind, Valerie. You don’t own anything in this house. Everything here was bought under my family’s name.”
“Is that what you truly believe, Gavin?” I asked, leaning against the archway. “You really haven't looked at your bank records or legal filings in the last three years, have you?”
“I don’t need to look at anything,” Gavin sneered. “My mother holds the master deed. My lawyer is preparing the divorce decree. You get nothing. You take your child, you take your little flower shop, and you disappear. Now go upstairs before I lose my patience.”
May you like
I smiled—a cold, terrifying smile that caused Gavin’s arrogance to waver for just a split second.
“Enjoy your little tour, Chloe,” I said smoothly. “Make sure you pick out your favorite curtains. You’ll want to remember exactly what they looked like.”
