I was just back from the market, grocery bag in hand, when I spotted them—over a dozen sleek luxury cars crowding the old Hamilton house’s driveway. I hadn’t seen anything that flashy in years.
Laughter and whispers floated over the gates as I got closer.
“It’s been three years. Bet that ‘heiress’ looks like a total backwoods mess now.”
“She’s no heiress. Just an orphan mooching off the Hamiltons. Does she really think she’s something?”
“Exactly. She’s not even related to the Hamiltons by blood. Without them, she’d be begging in the street.”
Then a soft voice—delicate, calculated—cut through their trash talk. “Audrey was just young and immature back then. I’m sure three years have taught her something.”
Ivana Schit. Lex’s precious little damsel.
Three years ago, she’d shown up at the Hamiltons’ after her dad’s accident, all soft-spoken and helpless. And me? I got packed off to the countryside like a problem no one wanted to deal with.
I still heard Lex’s voice, clear as day:
“Ivana’s lost her family, and you’re still so cruel to her. She’s always been kind to you—do you even have a conscience?
“You’ll come back when you’ve learned how to behave. Until then, stay out there. For your own good, Audrey. If you can’t change, forget about being my wife.”
For my own good?
What a nice-sounding excuse.
“For my own good” meant backing Ivana no matter what.
“For my own good” meant dumping me in the countryside and leaving me to rot.
He knew I was barely holding it together.
Now, hearing it all again? It was almost funny.
“Ivana was kind enough not to hold it against her. If it were me, I’d have sent her straight to jail,” someone sneered.
