3

Ethan's gaze lands on me, his expression steeped in irritation, as though blaming me for the mishap.

Dora strides into the kitchen, her commanding presence accentuated by her piercing blue eyes and the elegant cascade of silver strands in her perfectly styled hair. 

Clad in a tailored suit that exudes sophistication, she announces, "Good morning," her gaze landing on me with an unmistakable intensity. "What's this? You're a mess, girl," she remarks, her tone dripping with disdain, leaving me feeling small and insignificant.

"I accidentally spat on her because the coffee was bitter. I will clean it all up," Mariah says.

"No need. Someone will take care of it later," Ethan intervenes, his indifference cutting deeper than any insult.

"Go clean yourself up," Dora orders me, her voice laced with contempt, "and call someone to clean up this mess." Her command reinforces my sense of worthlessness, leaving me to silently comply.

I rush out, but Dora's words pierce through me like knives. "In three years, she hasn't learned to make a decent coffee? She's not fit to be a Banks, darling."

"I am sorry for the mess, Mrs. Banks. Ethan was so kind to let me stay, and look at the mess I made on the first morning," Mariah's voice echoes with false remorse.

"Oh, love, I would never blame you! How could you have known the coffee was bitter?" Dora's tone drips with sympathy.

"I couldn't," Mariah replies softly, her words adding to the weight of my humiliation.

"Stay for as long as you need," Ethan says, his tone polite and accommodating, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor with me.  "I am off."

"Can I go with you?" Mariah asks.

"Can you get ready in 15 minutes?" Ethan responds, his tone still courteous.

"Of course!" Mariah's reply is filled with eagerness, and I can't help but feel the weight of my own inadequacy in comparison.

As Mariah's excited footsteps fade away from the kitchen, I flee to my room. 

With trembling hands, I lock the door behind me, collapsing onto the bed as tears stream down my cheeks.

I know, damn it, I know I betrayed their trust 3 years ago. I know I was a snake and they didn't deserve it. I know, I know. But I miss Dora's affection, Ethan's attention. I miss being part of the family.

God, can't he see my regret?

I glance at the miniature racing car intended as his birthday gift. Meanwhile, my phone rings. I am not accustomed to receiving calls, especially from unknown numbers, so I wipe away my tears and answer.

"Blair Banks," I murmur, my voice trembling as I fight back tears. 

"Mrs. Banks..." comes a male voice, heavy with years of unsaid words.

That voice. The voice I had buried deep, only to find it resurfacing with a startling clarity. 

"Drake," I whisper, the name catching painfully in my throat. 

My emotions collapse into silence, leaving me unable to articulate the turmoil inside.

"I know I promised not to call. You made your decision, and I respect that. I truly do. But something has happened."

"Tell me," I say, my gaze fixed on the door, ensuring that no one has entered.

"With Jean's death..."

"I don’t want to talk about Jean," I cut him off sharply.

"Blair..." His sigh is heavy, laden with unspoken history. "Do you think I don’t remember? Do you think I’ve forgotten the things you asked me?"

I swallow hard, "What’s wrong with Jean?"

"Jean was your father," he says, his voice steady yet laced with bitterness. "I know you still carry that hatred, even now that he’s gone. Jean left you nothing but scars."

"Say it louder, Drake!" I demand, my frustration boiling over. 

"Jean left you a fortune, Blair," he continues, the words tinged with a bitter irony. 

I laugh, a harsh, hollow sound. "You want me to hold on to his tainted money?"

"We both know it wasn’t tainted money. He was a monster to you, yes, but his wealth wasn’t ill-gotten. It was the only thing he ever gave you."

"You spent three years avoiding me, and now you call to talk about Jean. I expected more from you."

"If you want to let that fortune rot in Jean’s accounts, be my guest. But know this, Blair, I think you’re making a fucking mistake."

"I don’t care about your opinion."

"Yes, you do," he insists, his voice firm. "And you’re going to hang up that phone and reconsider the inheritance you’ve been given. Think about it, Blair. Call me later."

**

"Ethan Banks was spotted kissing model Mariah Donovan. Is the former couple back together?"

I repeatedly read the news, each word cutting deeper than the last, tears streaming down my face with each glance. The magazines and gossip websites have already spread the word about Ethan and Mariah, their relationship plastered for all to see.

It seems like the only one who didn't know was me.

I meticulously touch up my makeup, the mascara wand brushing against my lashes for the third time this evening. Standing before the mirror, I await the inevitable, the looming event of the night: Ethan's birthday celebration.

With a heavy heart, I glance at myself in the mirror one last time, trying to mask the pain behind a facade of composure. The weight of betrayal sits heavily on my shoulders as I prepare to face the world outside, where everyone seems to know my husband's secrets before I do. 

And I can't even complain, because I had my secrets too.

The ache in my chest intensifies with every beat as I realize the charade I've been living, the lies I've been swallowing to maintain the illusion of a happy marriage. 

The heavy thud of Ethan's footsteps reverberates through the room, each step sending a jolt of apprehension coursing through my veins. My heart pounds in my chest, the sound of its rapid beats filling the silence.

As he draws nearer, the tension in the room becomes palpable, almost suffocating. I can sense his presence behind me before I even see him.

When I catch his reflection in the mirror, my breath catches in my throat.

Ethan couldn't be more elegant!