Every woman in Port Sterling saw Jim Caldwell as a man hopelessly in love, who had spoiled me into the enviable Mrs. Caldwell. Only I knew the truth—the agony behind that facade. Day after day, I watched numbly as he brought home one woman after another. His latest obsession was Pathy, a sharp-tongued housekeeper he allowed to turn our home upside down with bizarre rules, even for me. She canceled my credit cards, threw away my designer clothes, and limited my grocery allowance to ten dollars a day. I was forbidden from leaving after 8 PM. So when the hospital called at 8:01 PM, saying my mother’s life was hanging by a thread, Pathy’s bodyguards blocked the door without emotion. "My mother had a heart attack. I need to go now," I pleaded, voice trembling. Pathy didn’t even look up from her nails. "The rules say no one leaves after eight. Even if she’s dying—or dead." Shaking with rage, I begged Jim to let me go. He looked at me, cold and distant. "As long as you’re Mrs. Caldwell, you will follow Pathy’s rules." Staring at the man I loved for ten years, I felt like I was seeing a stranger. If this was the price of being Mrs. Caldwell, I no longer wanted the title. 1 The main entrance was sealed tight by the bodyguards, two unmoving statues of muscle and indifference. My legs felt weak, ready to buckle beneath me as I shakily dialed the hospital's number again. "Please," I sobbed into the phone, "please start the treatment for my mother. I'll be there as soon as I can." "But, ma'am—" Before I could hear the rest, a sharp smack sent my phone flying from my hand. "Another rule of the Caldwell house," Pathy's voice dripped with condescension, "no shouting!" The phone hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, the screen spiderwebbing into a black, lifeless void. I sank to my knees, cradling the shattered device as hot tears streamed down my face. "Who's that miserable face for?" Pathy sneered, pouting as she turned to Jim. "If your wife can't stand the sight of me, then I suppose I should just leave." "Don't be ridiculous," Jim murmured, pulling her into his arms and peppering her face with kisses. "My darling little tyrant. Who in this house would dare disobey you?" His words were for her, but his actions were for me. He tightened his grip on my chin, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Eliza. Smile." My mother's life was on the line; I couldn't afford to provoke him. I forced my lips into a grotesque imitation of a smile, a grimace that felt more painful than tears. "My mom... she's in critical condition, Jim. Please, let me go see her." My voice was a desperate plea. "She was in that car accident last year to save you. You can't just let her die alone…" For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps. He looked at Pathy, his tone softening. "My love, just this once?" "No!" Pathy wrenched herself from his grasp, crossing her arms as she plopped onto the sofa. "It's just a heart attack, not a death sentence. She's being dramatic." She glared at him. "You promised me when you brought me here that everyone in this house would listen to me! Everyone!" "If you let her go, you're not touching me tonight!" "Alright, alright," Jim sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. He scooped her up and settled her onto his lap, tickling her until she erupted into giggles. Pathy’s laughter was a sharp, piercing sound, and her triumphant gaze sliced right through me. Parading his mistress in front of me, grinding my dignity into the dust—this scene had played out in our home more times than I could count. The pitying stares from the household staff were like tiny needles pricking my skin. A wave of hopeless despair washed over me. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and drew a shaky breath. "Jim Caldwell," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, "let's get a divorce." If I wasn't Mrs. Caldwell, I could walk out that door. 2 The air in the room went ice-cold. A heavy silence fell over the living room, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock. Jim's expression hardened, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Eliza Vance, are you serious? You're threatening me with divorce?" He leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. "You seem to have forgotten how you got here. Remember when your father begged my family to take you in? You weren't so bold then, were you?" His words were like invisible hands, closing tightly around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. The past flooded my mind in a series of sharp, painful flashes. My father had been the Caldwell family's driver. Ten years ago, when old Mr. Caldwell was ambushed by rivals, my father threw himself in front of him, taking the bullet meant for his boss. On his deathbed, Mr. Caldwell asked him what he wanted. With his last, shallow breaths, my father whispered, "Please... take care of my daughter." Back then, Jim and I were inseparable, childhood sweethearts. When he heard my father had died, he held me in his arms as I cried, his own tears mixing with mine. "Don't worry, Eliza," he had promised. "I'll take care of you for the rest of my life. As long as I'm here, no one will ever hurt you." That promise, once my sanctuary, was now just a bitter echo, scattered to the wind. Jim, I thought, a silent scream trapped in my chest, you're the one hurting me the most. My gaze drifted to the two of them, so comfortable and intimate on the couch. A pain like a physical blow struck my heart. I fought back the lump rising in my throat. Seeing my silence, Jim reached out and stroked my hair, the way one might soothe a pet. "Until the divorce papers are signed, you are my wife. And you will always be my wife." I knew what that meant. As long as he refused, no one in Port Sterling would dare grant us a divorce. I was trapped. With no other choice, I made a break for the door. Crack! The sound echoed through the room as Pathy's hand connected with my cheek. My face exploded with pain, instantly swelling. "I told you," she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury, "no one breaks the rules in this house!" Her smug, triumphant smile was the final straw. I lunged at her, my hands finding her hair, yanking with all my might. "Who the hell do you think you are?" I shrieked. "If anything happens to my mother, I swear I will end you!" My fingers closed around her throat, but before I could tighten my grip, a brutal kick from Jim sent me flying. My head slammed against the sharp corner of a coffee table, and the world dissolved into a dizzying vortex of pain and darkness. "Lock her in the cellar," Jim's voice was devoid of all emotion. "Let her think about what she's done." Two guards dragged me away like a carcass and threw me into the damp, musty cellar. I pounded on the heavy oak door until my knuckles were raw and bloody, but no one came. Defeated, I slid down the door, my body wracked with sobs. The image of my mother, frail and struggling for breath in that hospital bed, shattered what little composure I had left. Knock. Knock. Knock. A gentle rapping on the door. I looked up to see a small window slide open. A wrinkled hand reached through, holding a piece of bread and a bottle of water. "Ma'am," a soft voice whispered. "You need to eat something." It was Anna, our old housekeeper. She'd been with my family since I was a little girl, and had always treated me like her own daughter. "Anna, please," I begged, scrambling to my feet. "Please, just let me out. I need to get to the hospital…" "I can't, ma'am. I'm so sorry, but I can't." There was a deep helplessness in her voice. She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a latticework of thin, angry red marks on her arm. Punishment. "...Thank you, Anna," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. I didn't want to cause her any more trouble. I sank back to the cold, concrete floor, staring at the stale bread and water in my hands. Ever since Pathy had arrived, this had been my reality. She had set my daily food budget at ten dollars. Bread and water were my new staples. Meanwhile, she had Jim wrapped around her finger, taking her to Michelin-starred restaurants every night, showering her with extravagant gifts. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The wife of Port Sterling's wealthiest man, living worse than a stray dog on the street. 3 I didn't sleep a wink. The moment the cellar door was unlocked the next morning, I raced to the hospital, my heart pounding with a frantic, desperate rhythm. My mother was lying in the hospital bed, her breaths shallow and labored. Tears blurred my vision as I rushed to her side, gripping her cold, fragile hand. "Mom, I'm here... I'm so sorry." "Ms. Vance, you're finally here." The attending physician entered the room, his face etched with concern. "We managed to stabilize your mother's condition last night, but she's taken a turn for the worse. She needs surgery, immediately." "Then do it! Whatever it takes, just do the surgery!" The doctor let out a heavy sigh. "The problem is, the funds in your account have been frozen. We can't proceed without payment, and the surgery requires a deposit of at least two hundred thousand dollars." His words hit me like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis, and a cold sweat slicked my skin. I couldn't believe it. To indulge Pathy in this twisted "housekeeper" game, Jim had actually cut off my mother's medical funds. He had left her to die. My mother must have seen the despair on my face. She tugged weakly at my sleeve. "My darling girl," she whispered, her voice raspy, "don't... don't go begging him for my sake..." "No," I sobbed, shaking my head frantically. "You're all I have left, Mom. I'm going to get you that surgery. I promise." Through the curtain of my tears, I didn't see the anguish in her eyes, the way they followed my retreating form with a look of profound, heart-wrenching love. I drove back to the mansion like a woman possessed. When I burst in, Jim was in the dining room, patiently coaxing Pathy to eat her breakfast. The table was laden with an obscene amount of food, a feast for a queen. There was everything from simple toast and fresh-squeezed juice to imported caviar and filet mignon. The stark, brutal contrast between this scene and the image of my dying mother sent a surge of white-hot fury through me. "Jim Caldwell!" I screamed, my voice raw with rage. "How could you? How could you cut off my mother's medical payments?" Jim looked up, a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. "What are you talking about? I never—" "I did," Pathy interrupted, daintily wiping her mouth with a napkin. She looked at me, her eyes gleaming with smug superiority. "Mrs. Caldwell, your daily allowance is ten dollars. If your mother needs money for her treatment, I suggest you go out and earn it yourself." I was trembling from head to toe, my entire body vibrating with a rage so intense I thought I might shatter. I turned to Jim, my voice a desperate whisper. "You're just going to let her do this? You're just going to stand by and watch?" "Pathy," Jim began, a hint of unease in his voice. "Maybe we should—" "Maybe you should what?" Pathy shot back, cutting him off. "Indulge her again?" She slammed her hands on the table and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You promised me! You promised that everyone in this house would listen to me! If one word from your wife can undermine all my rules, then what's the point of me being here? I'll just leave!" "No, no, of course not," Jim said quickly, pulling her back into his arms. "You know I'll always listen to you." I stood there, frozen, watching this grotesque performance. My heart felt like it was being methodically ripped to shreds. This was the man I had loved for a decade. My mother and I were nothing more than props in his game, tools he used to appease his new favorite toy. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips as I gestured to the lavish spread before them. "You preach frugality to us, Pathy, but look at you. Isn't that dress you're wearing a runway piece that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars?" Pathy just pouted, completely unfazed. "The rules are for the Caldwell family. I'm not a Caldwell." "Do you have any idea how hard people struggle just to survive?" I pressed on, my voice rising with every word. "The coffee you're sipping, the food on your plate—that's probably more than what some people make in a month!" The sight of her, draped in couture while my mother wasted away, finally broke me. I lunged at her, my hands outstretched, aiming for her throat. The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my cheek. Jim had struck me with the full force of his strength, sending me sprawling to the floor. He didn't even glance at me, his attention solely on Pathy, his hands gently rubbing the skin on her neck where my fingers had been. He turned to me, his eyes dark and menacing. "I told you, Eliza. No one is allowed to hurt Pathy." Pathy, ever the victim, glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. "You want money? Fine. Go earn it." She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh, and dragged me out of the house and into one of their luxury cars. "Tonight," she said with a cruel smile, "you have special permission to come home after eight." 4 She took me to a place I recognized instantly—an exclusive, high-end club, the preferred playground for Port Sterling's elite trust-fund kids. Pathy saw the color drain from my face and her smile widened. "A person should earn their keep, don't you think? Go on. Serve some drinks, pour some tea, maybe polish a few shoes. You might even earn some tips." She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. "When you've scraped together enough cash, then you can go save your dear old mom." Before I could protest, her bodyguards shoved me into the club's main lounge. For my mother, I swallowed my pride. I did what I had to do. I knelt on the cold, hard floor, my hands trembling as I polished the expensive leather shoes of men who looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. One of them nudged my chin up with the toe of his shoe, while another mockingly fanned my face with a wad of cash, the crisp bills stinging my already swollen cheek. "Well, well, if it isn't the famous Mrs. Caldwell. How the mighty have fallen." "What a waste. Can't even keep her own husband interested. I guess you can put feathers on a crow, but it'll never be a phoenix." "You guys haven't seen Jim's new flame, have you? I heard last week he went on a ten-billion-dollar shopping spree at an auction, bought out the entire catalog just to make her smile. Didn't even bat an eye…" Every word was a poisoned dagger, twisting in the raw, gaping wound of my heart. So that's what my mother's life was worth to him. Nothing. I moved from one spoiled heir to the next, a hollowed-out shell of a woman, but no matter how much I debased myself, the two hundred thousand dollars remained an impossible dream. The world began to swim before my eyes; I was on the verge of collapsing. Then, a familiar pair of stilettos stopped right in front of me. "Oh, look at you," Pathy cooed, crouching down to my level. She patted my cheek, her touch condescending. "Still working so hard for your short-lived mother?" "You know, for being such a good, diligent girl, I think you deserve a little show. I'm sure you'll love it." I didn't understand what she meant, but a cold dread began to seep into my bones. She produced a small, ornate box from her purse. Opening it, she scooped up a handful of grayish-white powder. Then, with a theatrical flourish, she tossed the powder into the air. "Let's call this show… confetti," she chirped. A terrible premonition tightened its icy grip around my heart. The pain was so sharp, so sudden, it felt like a physical blow. "Pathy," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What is that?" She feigned a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise, though her eyes danced with malicious glee. "Oh, darling, I thought you two were so close. Don't tell me you can't even recognize your own mother's ashes!" "Look how pretty it is," she giggled, "just like confetti." She grabbed another handful and flung it in my face. The fine dust filled my nose and mouth, and I choked, coughing violently. "You should thank me, really," she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. "I'm helping you and your mother have a reunion." My mind went blank. My hands, acting on their own, fumbled for my broken phone. It wouldn't turn on. I snatched a phone from a nearby table and dialed the hospital, my fingers numb and clumsy. Every second of the ringing felt like an eternity, a slow, torturous crawl through a nightmare. My vision blurred, tears forming a thick veil over the world. When the nurse finally answered, my voice was a distorted, trembling wreck. "The doctor… my mother… where is she?" There was a moment of hesitation on the other end. "Mrs. Caldwell? Your mother was cremated this morning." The nurse's voice continued, distant and muffled, as if coming from the other side of a long tunnel. "She passed away from cardiac arrest last night. We tried calling you and Mr. Caldwell, but no one answered. Finally, Mr. Caldwell's secretary picked up. She told us to… to proceed with the cremation as quickly as possible." My gaze snapped to the box in Pathy's hand, to the fine gray powder clinging to her fingers. A wave of unimaginable grief and rage crashed over me, so powerful it brought the bitter taste of blood to my mouth. That box… it really was… my mother. Pathy met my horrified stare, and then she threw her head back and laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. "You and your mother are both such idiots! All I did was show her a little video of you on your knees, polishing shoes for these men. The old hag got so worked up, her heart just gave out. Pathetic." She leaned in close, her voice a triumphant hiss. "Honestly, you two belong together. In the ground." A primal scream tore from my throat, a sound of pure, animalistic agony. "PATHY! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" The grief, the rage—it all converged into a singular, blinding focus. I lunged at her, my hands closing around her neck, my only thought to extinguish the cruel, mocking light in her eyes. If what she said was true… I couldn't bear to imagine it. My mother, the person who loved me more than anyone in the world, seeing that video… the shame, the heartbreak… it would have shattered her. "Jim! Help me! She's trying to kill me!" Pathy shrieked, her hands clawing at mine. The next instant, a powerful force slammed into my side. I was thrown backward, tumbling across the floor until my head cracked against the leg of a table. The world spun violently, stars exploding behind my eyes. "Eliza, have you lost your mind?" Jim's voice thundered above me.
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