“Blimey, who the devil are you?” rumbled a deep voice from the bedroom as Emily pushed open the door to her flat.
“Rather, that’s my line,” she retorted. “What on earth are you doing in my bedroom?”
A platinum blonde in a silk dressing gown appeared in the doorway, lips curled in a haughty smirk.
“Ohhh, so you’re Emily!” she drawled. “Teddy’s told me loads about you. I’m Charlotte, your fiancé’s sister.”
After a gruelling shift at the hospital, all Emily wanted was a hot bath. Instead, she found her home invaded.
“Edward is my fiancé, not my husband,” Emily corrected icily. “And I don’t recall agreeing to this little visit.”
Over Charlotte’s shoulder peeked a sheepish young man.
“Oliver and I are on holiday,” Charlotte cut in. “Teddy said we could crash here for a week.”
Emily marched to the kitchen—chaos. Piles of dishes, takeaway containers strewn about.
“Funny, Edward didn’t mention guests this morning.”
“God, you’re so uptight!” Charlotte plucked a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Ted gave me keys ages ago. I assumed you’d discussed it. If not—well, hardly my problem.”
“We didn’t. And why are you in *our* bedroom instead of the spare?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Spare room’s tiny. Yours has a king-sized bed. Ted said you’d take the sofa bed for a night or two.”
A memory surfaced—Edward’s family, his snide mother and sister, their thinly veiled disdain at their first meeting.
“Sorry to disappoint, but this is *my* flat, *my* bedroom, and *my* bed,” Emily said firmly. “Edward lives here because I allow it.”
“Ah, so the rumours are true,” Charlotte laughed. “Mum said you’ve got Ted on a tight leash.”
“Listen, I’m exhausted. You can stay in the spare room—tonight. But our bedroom is off-limits.”
“We’ll see what Ted says. Bet he’ll have words about your rudeness,” Charlotte sniffed.
When Edward returned, his sister pounced.
“Teddy! Your bride-to-be wants to kick us out of your room!”
“Em, what’s going on?” he asked, baffled.
“Why did you give your sister keys to *my* flat?” Emily kept her voice steady.
“*Our* flat, Emily. I live here, remember?”
“I do. By *my* invitation. That doesn’t entitle you to hand out keys without asking.”
On the balcony, Edward sighed.
“What’s got into you? She’s family. I promised they could stay.”
“So they help themselves to our bed?”
“What’s the fuss? It’s bigger. We’ll manage in the spare room.”
“The *fuss* is you gave strangers access to my home.”
“Ollie’s not a stranger! He’s Charlotte’s bloke!”
“I’ve *never* met him! Or your sister, properly.”
“So you’ve decided to hate my family?”
From inside, Charlotte’s shrill voice carried: “Mum, this gold-digger’s trying to chuck us out! Ted’s setting her straight.”
“Em, be reasonable,” Edward pleaded. “It’s just a week. If we’re getting married, you’ll need to compromise.”
He strode back inside, leaving her alone. She watched him whisper something to Charlotte—laughing, ignoring her completely.
Something snapped.
Two years of love, sacrifices, support—gone in an instant.
“Get. Out. Of my flat.” Her voice was quiet, steel beneath.
All three gaped.
“What?!” Edward spluttered.
“I said *out*. All of you.”
“Ted, control your psycho,” Charlotte sneered.
Emily was already hauling Charlotte’s suitcase to the door, flinging dresses, makeup, heels onto the landing.
“Have you lost your mind?!” Charlotte shrieked.
“Quite the opposite.”
She shoved the suitcase out, then turned to Edward. “Your turn.”
“Em, please—”
“Nothing left to say.”
She emptied his wardrobe—shirts, trousers, his precious Rolex—all dumped unceremoniously outside.
“You’re mental!” Charlotte screeched, scrabbling for her things.
“You can’t just throw me out,” Edward finally rasped. “We were getting *married*.”
“Thank God we didn’t. I deserve a man, not a spineless git. You? You’ve got your sister.”
The door slammed.
Half an hour later, silence.
Emily ordered a curry from her favourite takeaway. When the deliveryman arrived, Edward and Charlotte were still loitering on the stairs, glowering.
She took her food without a glance, shut the door, and set the table. As she sipped wine, a realisation struck—no sadness, only relief.
“How odd,” she mused, “to lose a relationship and find yourself in the same evening.”
She toasted her reflection in the window.
“To me.”
“In love, respect is everything. Without it, even the greatest passion is fleeting.” — Balzac.
