Chapter 3

Fiona fell silent.

I pressed her further, "Do you even realize how many ways I could enjoy myself with the cash James gives me after I cook his meals and toss his clothes into the washing machine?"

I held up my fingers, counting them off one by one.

Fiona's face froze in shock. "You measure your marriage to James in terms of money?"

"Why not?"

"You're desecrating the love you two once had!" Her eyes widened, almost bulging like a startled cow.

To be honest, I was starting to lose my patience. I gave her a sharp warning. "Don't you dare use your so-called love with him to interfere in my marriage unless you can offer me a better price."

I rubbed my fingers together in a gesture that made my point clear. I wasn't entirely unreasonable, after all.

Fiona stormed off in a huff, unable to respond.

So much for your grand love story, huh? Can't even match this figure? Honestly, I was unimpressed.

James made no effort to keep his affair discreet. He brought Fiona home to spend the night, and by the next morning, everyone knew. It was no secret that I was fully aware of it. What's worse, my humiliating act of making the bed for my husband and his mistress became the talk of the town, thanks to Fiona's dramatic retelling.

At first, the wealthy housewives pitied me. Affairs like James's weren't unheard of in their circle, and they could sympathize with my position. They saw me as a foolish but innocent woman, clinging to an illusion while dutifully delivering James's lunch to his office every day. Behind my back, they whispered about my naivety.

But this time, my actions turned their pity into mockery. The news of me preparing the bed for Fiona spread like wildfire, and the ridicule was relentless. They gathered in their little circles, shaking their heads in disbelief at my supposed stupidity.

"She's really dense, isn't she?" one of them scoffed. "Who would tolerate something like that? If it were me, I'd file for divorce on the spot!"

"Apparently, James has been trying to divorce her for ages, but she's the one refusing."

"What's she holding onto? Why doesn't she just let go?"

"Money and status, obviously. Do you know her background? Eliza isn't like us. She can't afford to leave. Marrying into the Harrington family was her one stroke of luck."

They weren't entirely wrong. I came from a modest, working-class family. My parents held ordinary jobs, and we lived in a world far removed from the elite circles of Vineyard Haven. But my parents sacrificed everything to send me to an exclusive private school, where I met people who came from wealth and power.

It was during one of our school's concerts that James Harrington first noticed me. I was performing a piano solo, and he claimed it was love at first sight. Later, he fell for me, and I married him. James threw me a lavish wedding, a spectacle covered by all the elite media outlets. From that moment on, people never stopped talking about my background. Some called it a Cinderella story, while others sneered and said I didn't belong.

I never cared about their opinions—back then or now.

That afternoon, a massage therapist arrived at the house to give me my usual treatment. Just as I was settling in, my phone rang. It was Felicity. Felicity Morrow and I had been best friends since we sat next to each other for six years in school. She was fiercely loyal and had warned me more than once about James's infidelity, urging me to prepare for the worst.

When news of James bringing Fiona home reached her ears, she was livid. "Fiona, huh? I'll deal with her myself!" she fumed.

On the other end of the call, I tried to calm her down.

"Eliza, I just don't get you!" she snapped. "How can you stay so composed while that woman prances around your house like she owns it? You used to have a backbone. You were never someone people could push around so easily."

I shook my head, though she couldn't see me. "Let them do what they want. I don't love James anymore."

"If you don't love him, then divorce him! Who cares if you leave with nothing? You'll always have me..."

I glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. It was time for me to deliver James's lunch, as usual.