“You’re a pauper,” sniffed my mother-in-law, oblivious that she stood on the threshold of my luxury mansion.
“Christopher, darling, you simply must keep your wife in check,” remarked Tabitha dryly, her voice laced with icy fury, not even glancing at me. Instead, she inspected her gloves with exaggerated care, as if they held the secret to all existence. “We’re not in some shabby café or your pitiful little dinerthis is the home of truly important, respectable people. One must conduct oneself with dignity.”
I stood with my hands clasped behind my back to hide the tremors running through my fingers. Each word struck like a precise, silent blade, sliding effortlessly into my heart. Beside me, Christopher cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his shirt collar as though it had suddenly tightened around his neck.
“Mum, must you do this again?” he attempted to defuse the situation, but his voice wavered, betraying his unease. “Eleanor understands perfectly well. Truly.”
“Understands?” Tabitha scoffed, finally tearing her gaze from her gloves to fix me with a look of such withering disdain, as if I were a stain on the pavement. “That dress is straight off the high street! Ive seen better on mannequins outside Primark. And to think it ended up on a person.”
She wasnt wrong. The dress was simplebut deliberately so. Understated, elegant, restrained. I knew any other choice would have invited a barrage of mockery and sly remarks.
We stood in the vast, sunlit foyer, where footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors, and golden light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air carried the crisp freshness of post-rain ozone, mingled with the delicate fragrance of exotic flowersinvisible yet unmistakable.
“And how does your employer tolerate this?” Tabitha pressed, addressing Christopher but keeping her eyes locked on me as if I were an embarrassing domestic scandal. “Keeping someone like her on staff youre humiliating him just by association.”
Christopher opened his mouth to defend me, but I gave a barely perceptible shake of my head. Not now. Not here. Not with her.
Instead, I stepped forward, breaking the heavy silence hanging between us like river mist. My heels clicked softly against the flawless marble, as if afraid to disrupt the harmony of the place.
“Shall we move to the drawing room?” I suggested, keeping my voice smooth, almost pleasant. “I believe were expected.”
Tabitha pursed her lips but followed, her every movement radiating condescension. Christopher trailed behind like a schoolboy caught smoking behind the bike sheds.
The drawing room was even more impressive than the foyera sprawling white sofa, sculptural armchairs, a glass coffee table bearing a vase of freshly cut lilies, their scent weaving through the air like a delicate melody. One wall was entirely glass, revealing an immaculate garden beyond, where a crystal-clear pond reflected the sky, and stone pathways wound beneath manicured hedges.
“Well, well,” Tabitha drawled, running a finger along the back of an armchair with the scrutiny of an art critic. “Some people know how to live. Unlike others, stuck in a mortgaged two-bed flat their whole lives.”
She shot Christopher a loaded glance. It was her favourite blowa stab at his pride, a reminder he deserved more than his modest salary and rented flat. And of course, it was all my fault.
“Mum, we agreed,” Christopher sighed, tension thickening the air.
“And what exactly did I say?” she challenged, arching a brow. “Just stating facts. Some build palaces, while others cant even provide the basics.”
She wheeled on me, something cold and feral flashing in her eyes.
“A man needs a woman who lifts him up, not drags him down. Someone whos worth something. And you?” Her gaze raked over me from head to toe. “Youre a pauper. In spirit and in fact. And youre pulling my son straight to the bottom.”
She said it quietly, almost casually, but each word pierced like ice. Christopher paled and stepped toward me, but I stopped him with a slight raise of my hand.
I simply looked at her. Straight in the eye. And for the first time in all our years of acquaintance, I felt nothing but a strange, cold calm.
She stood in my home, completely unaware. And that was the sweetest part.
“How long must we stand here like statues?” Tabitha finally broke the silence, flopping into the armchair she had just criticised. “Where are the hosts? Couldnt they be bothered to greet their guests?”
She behaved as though she owned the placecrossing her legs, smoothing her hair, surveying the room like an inspector.
“Mum, we arrived far too early,” Christopher tried to smooth things over. “Your host invited us for seven; its barely six.”
“So? They couldve made an effort for someone like me,” she sniffed.
Wordlessly, I walked to the discreet touch panel by the door and pressed it.
“What are you doing?” Tabitha demanded suspiciously. “Dont touch anything! Youll break it, and well be paying it off for years.”
“Just summoning staff for refreshments,” I answered smoothly, not looking at her. “Its impolite to sit without offering anything.”
A minute later, a woman in a crisp grey uniform appeared soundlessly. Her hair was pinned neatly, her expression unreadable.
“Good evening,” she said, addressing only me.
Tabitha immediately seized control.
“Right then, dear,” she began imperiously, waving a hand. “Fetch us some brandy. The good French stuff. And some proper canapésnone of those cheap crisps. Caviar, if you have it.”
The woman didnt so much as blink. She kept her eyes on me, awaiting instructions.
Christopher squirmed on the sofa, visibly mortified.
“Mum, thats not how”
“Quiet!” Tabitha cut him off. “I know how things are done. Were guests, and this is staff. They work for us.”
I turned my head slightly toward the woman.
“Emma, my usual, please. Whisky on the rocks for Christopher. And for Tabitha” I paused, giving her a cool glance. “A glass of water. Chilled. No ice.”
Emma nodded once and left as silently as she had come.
Tabithas face purpled.
“What was that?” she hissed. “How dare you, you insolent little You think you can order people around here? Who do you think you are?”
“Just ensuring you stay hydrated, Tabitha,” I replied evenly, though my blood simmered beneath the surface. “You seem rather overheated.”
“You wretched girl!” she exploded. “Christopher, did you hear that? Your wife is insulting me! In someone elses home!”
Christopher looked between us, utterly lost. His indecision stung more than her venom.
“Eleanor, why would you” he stammered.
“Why, Christopher?” I met his gaze, the first hint of reproach in my voice. “Because shes spent the last half-hour belittling me? And you just sat there?”
Emma returned with the traymy crystal-cut tumbler with rosemary, Christophers whisky, and a sweating glass of water.
She set it down and withdrew with a bow.
Tabitha glared at the water as if it were a personal affront.
“I wont drink this!” she declared. “I demand respect! Im your husbands mother!”
“Youre a guest in this house, Tabitha,” I said, taking a sip from my glass. Juniper and citrus cooled my throat. “Act like one. Or your evening will end much sooner than planned.”
She froze, astonished by my audacity. Confusion flickered in her eyes. She couldnt reconcile this confidence with the “pauper” she thought I was.
“Are you threatening me?” she shrieked. “Youd throw me out? Who do you think you are?”
“I am the owner of this house,” I said calmly.
The words hung in the air. Tabitha went still, then burst into harsh, grating laughter.
“You? The owner? Good heavens, girl, have you lost your mind? Christopher, your wifes lost the plot from envy!”
Christopher gaped at me, shock and disbelief warring in his eyes.
“Eleanor is this true?”
I didnt answer him. I kept my gaze on his mother.
“Yes, Tabitha. This is my home. Bought with money I earned myself. While you called me worthless, I built a business.”
“A business?” she sneered. “What, selling Avon from your kitchen?”
“A tech firm,” I corrected. “With offices in three countries. And Christophers boss, the man you were so desperate to meet? He reports to me.”
I gave a bitter smile.
“I thought this would be civilised. Clearly, I was wrong.”
Tabithas face cycled through shades of ragecrimson, then mottled, then a sickly grey.
She scanned the room as if seeing it for the first time. The polished floors, the soaring windows, the bespoke furniture
