Chapter 3

Maeve’s POV

“Maeve! Where’s breakfast?” Adrian’s voice shot through the air like a whip.

I blinked awake, still groggy, and found him standing in the doorway, irritation already pulling at his features.

“So this is your idea of working hard around the house? You can’t even manage breakfast now?”

I’d been up all night, filling out the paperwork for the Doctors Without Borders mission to Africa.

“Chop-chop,” he muttered, already turning away.

I exhaled, pushed the covers off, and rose.

I thought about telling Adrian about the program. But then I thought that he’d never let me go quietly—not without a fight.

So, I have decided that it was better to play the part until the moment I slipped those signed divorce papers onto his desk and walked out the door.

Until then, I’d be the wife he wanted. The mother Cam tolerated.

I washed my face, tied my hair back, and headed to the kitchen.

I brought the breakfast to the table like always—except today, Viola was there too. The secretary. Sitting at the dining table like she owned it.

Adrian didn’t seem to mind to have his secretary sitting at the head seat. Neither did Cam. They were too busy laughing at something she said.

“Auntie Viola, how do you know so much?” Cam beamed up at her like she hung the stars.

She gave him a playful pat on the head. “Just stay in school, sweetie. You’ll get there.”

“Learn from your Auntie Viola,” Adrian added, draping an arm casually over the back of her chair. “She’s been a great help to me.”

For a second, I stood there like a stranger in my own home.

My husband saw me as a burden. My son was ashamed of me.

And Viola? She’d slid into my place without so much as a second thought.

My fingers curled tight around the edge of my apron. Just a few more days, Maeve, you can do this.

…

After the breakfast, Viola and Adrian didn’t leave the house. They were getting ready for tonight’s annual mafia ball.

Adrian had stormed in earlier, frustrated all over about that ruined dress again, going on about how I’d ruined his day. He told me to find another dress—as if I had someone on call to hand-stitch a gown overnight. I didn’t. And he knew that. He said it to make me feel small and humiliated.

Knock, knock.

The door opened without waiting for a response.

“Sorry,” Viola said, too sweet. “Adrian said I could use your powder room to get ready.”

I moved aside. “Go ahead.”

She swept in, followed by a small team of makeup artists. They headed straight into the powder room.

I could still hear Adrian’s voice the day we moved in, “This will be your beauty room, Maeve. You’ll be the most stunning Donna in the city. I’ll take you to every gathering. The other Dons will be jealous.”

I never used it. Not once.

Now Viola sat at the vanity, laughing easily as the artists touched up her lips and smoothed her hair while I stood in the hallway, watching.

Maybe it did make sense—that Adrian chose to bring her. That people mistook her for his Donna.

She looked the part, maybe even sounded the part.

And me? I looked down at my hands—wrinkled from years of cleaning. My clothes were stained, worn from chores I never had time to replace. I couldn’t remember the last time I wore something that fit me right.

I couldn’t compete with someone like her.

And for the first time, I realized I no longer wanted to either.

…

In the end, Viola brought her own dress. It earned her immediate praise from Adrian.

“Compared to someone who does nothing but cause trouble,” he said coolly, “you saved the night again. Thank you, Viola.”

As he turned away, I caught the briefest curve of a smile on her lips—gone before I could be sure it was ever there.

“Oh, Don, that’s not fair,” Viola said gently. “Maeve has been a great help around the house. I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm by trying on my dress, right?”

Her eyes flicked to me.

I didn’t respond.

Adrian turned, his gaze sharp, warning.

“I’m sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. “About the dress.”

Viola brightened. She reached behind her and produced a garment bag. “Adrian mentioned you liked the dress very much. So I sent it to my tailor and had it altered to your size.”

She handed it to me.

My cheeks burned as I took it. The gesture looked generous—thoughtful, even. But I knew better.

The careful emphasis on your size. The way she presented it, like a favor bestowed. A kindness I had no choice but to accept.

A dress that had never been mine… Ruined by me. Now returned to me—reshaped, corrected.

I couldn’t tell whether I should feel grateful… or humiliated.

“Why don’t you wear it and come with us tonight, Maeve?” Viola asked lightly.

“No!”

“No…”

Our voices overlapped. But Adrian’s came faster—sharper, almost panicked.

Viola froze.

“She’s never been to that kind of party,” Adrian said quickly. “She wouldn’t know how to handle it.”

Then he turned to me. “Why are you still standing there? Go put Viola’s generous gift in your wardrobe. Those ugly clothes of yours could use something pretty mixed in.”

My fingers tightened around the handle of the bag.

I was so close to speaking. So close. But I didn’t have the strength for another lecture.

So at the end, I just nodded and walked back to the bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I dropped the bag onto the floor. The dress spilled out—silk pooling softly against the tiles.

I let it sit there for a long moment. Then I knelt and picked it up.

It was beautiful. The most beautiful dress I’d seen in years.

I stood in front of the mirror and held the dress up against myself.

Even altered to my size, it didn’t feel belong to me.

My reflection from the mirror stared back—bare face, unstyled hair, a woman worn thin by years of being overlooked. And suddenly, my mind drifted back to last night.

How foolish I’d been. How arrogant, even—to believe, for one fleeting second, that the dress might have been meant for me.

The dress had never been mine. And neither had the life I’d been trying so hard to keep.