Chapter 4 - The Facade Crumbles
Maya fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. She was exhausted. Her small chest rose and fell in a steady, shallow rhythm.
I sat in the armchair beside the bed for an hour, just watching her, making sure she was safe.
When I was certain she was in a deep sleep, I stood up, quietly closed the bedroom door, and locked it from the outside.
I walked down the grand staircase. The house was completely silent now. The jazz music had been turned off. The dining room was dark.
I found Eleanor in the main living room. She was sitting on the white leather sofa, holding a glass of scotch.
The expensive dress was gone, replaced by a silk robe. She looked up when I entered, trying to put on a mask of calm confidence.
“Richard,” she said, her voice smooth, though her eyes betrayed her panic. “Let’s sit down and talk like adults. You’re overreacting.”
I didn’t sit down. I stood in the center of the room, looking at her like she was a stranger.
“Overreacting?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she sighed, crossing her legs. “Maya is… she’s a difficult child, Richard. You don’t see it because you’re always traveling. She makes messes on purpose. She throws tantrums. She refuses to eat what the chef prepares.”
“So you fed her cold instant noodles on the floor of the pantry,” I stated, my voice deadpan.
“I was disciplining her!” Eleanor snapped, a flash of genuine anger breaking through her facade. “She needs to learn boundaries. This house is filled with expensive things, Richard. Artifacts, custom furniture. She treats it like a playground. She’s ungrateful.”
I stared at her. I saw the absolute lack of empathy in her eyes.
“She is nine years old,” I said quietly.
“And she’s acting like a wild animal,” Eleanor fired back. “I am trying to raise her properly. I am trying to give this family a respectable image. Do you know how hard it is to maintain our status when your daughter is constantly dragging us down?”
There it was. The truth.
She didn’t care about Maya. She didn’t care about our family. She cared about the image. The status. The wealth.
“Maya collapsed at school today,” I said.
Eleanor froze.
“The school counselor called me,” I continued, taking a slow step toward her. “They told me about the malnutrition. They told me about the laundry room.”
Eleanor’s face drained of color.
“She’s lying,” Eleanor whispered, her voice suddenly shaking. “Children lie, Richard. She just wants attention. She hates me because I’m not her mother.”
“Pack your bags,” I said. The words were simple. Final.
Eleanor blinked. “What?”
“I said, pack your bags. You have one hour to get everything you need out of this house.”
“You can’t be serious,” she scoffed, standing up. “We are married, Richard. This is my house too. Half of everything is mine.”
I let out a dark, humorless laugh. “You really didn’t read the prenuptial agreement closely, did you?”
Her eyes widened.
“You get nothing if the marriage is dissolved due to emotional or physical abuse of my dependents,” I quoted, remembering the specific clause my lawyers had insisted on. “And I have witnesses. The school. The hospital I’m taking her to tomorrow. And every single one of your high-society friends who just heard you call my daughter a 'leftover'.”
May you like
Eleanor’s glass slipped from her hand, shattering against the hardwood floor.
“One hour, Eleanor,” I warned, turning my back on her. “Or I will have security physically drag you out into the rain.”
