003. Sour Juice

Valerie didn’t sign the papers. She couldn’t. Her pride was a shattered heap on the floor, but a stubborn, manic part of her refused to just vanish.

By the very next morning, the grand foyer of the Vance mansion looked like a high-end luggage department. Trendy pastel-pink suitcases and designer trunks were piled high against the minimalist white walls. Petra hadn't even waited twenty-four hours to completely take over.

"Damian said the master suite on the second floor has the best morning sunlight," Petra said smoothly, her heels clicking with an obnoxious, rhythmic tap as she strolled into the kitchen.

Valerie was standing by the counter, trying to brew a cup of tea to stop the violent trembling in her chest. She hadn't slept a single wink. Her mind was a chaotic, emotionally unstable mess, teetering dangerously between hot, burning rage and a suffocating despair.

Petra walked right up to the kitchen island, deliberately rubbing her flat stomach with a soft, practiced stroke. A smug smile played on her lips. "It’s much better for the baby’s development, you know. I hope you don't mind too much, Valerie. We really want to keep things peaceful around here for the sake of the heir."

Valerie’s grip on the edge of the marble counter tightened so hard her knuckles turned a stark, ghostly white. "This is still my home, Petra. You are a guest. An uninvited, parasitic guest."

"For now," Petra murmured, her voice dropping its sweet act for a split second, replaced by a cold, sharp edge. "But let’s be real, Valerie. Damian has already moved on. You’re just lingering like a bad smell."

The next forty-eight hours transformed the mansion into an absolute, unmitigated living hell. Trapped in the cramped, drafty servants' quarters at the back of the estate where Damian had exiled her, Valerie felt like she was genuinely losing her mind.

Petra didn't just sit back; she weaponized her pregnancy every single hour.

"Damian, sweetie, I tried to walk down the hall, but Valerie was just standing there, staring so darkly at my stomach," Petra would sob into his chest the moment he walked through the front door, her voice trembling on cue.

"I had a sudden, terrible cramp. I'm so terrified the negative energy is going to hurt our little angel. I really try to be nice to her, but she looks like she wants to kill me."

And Damian completely swallowed it. He didn't ask questions. He just ordered the staff to ensure Valerie remained entirely out of sight, treating his own wife like an infectious disease. If Valerie had to go to the kitchen for water, Damian would wait until she left before stepping into the room, actively making sure he didn't breathe the same air.

Valerie's emotional instability was eating her alive, tearing through her thoughts like a hurricane. One minute she would stand in that tiny, suffocating servants' room, her eyes blazing with a hot, dangerous rage, wanting to scream and smash the walls.

The next, the storm would pass, leaving behind a hollow, suffocating despair that kept her curled on the thin mattress for hours.

The only solace she had left was her work.

Locked inside her private third-floor design studio, Valerie poured all her agony and remaining sanity into her one true passion: jewelry design. For days, she had been secretly drafting a masterpiece blueprint for Vance Enterprises’ upcoming autumn collection, a custom platinum band featuring an intricate, interlocking leaf setting. This blueprint was her ticket out of this graveyard.

By the third morning, it was finally complete. It was a stunning, breathtaking piece of art.

Needing a glass of ice water to soothe her scratchy throat, Valerie stood up from her drafting table, pulled the heavy door shut, and walked down the hall to the dispenser. It took her less than two minutes.

But the moment she walked back into the studio, her heart completely stopped.

The door was swinging wide open. The lock had been forced.

Standing right beside her drafting desk was Petra, holding a tall glass of thick, dark orange juice.

"What are you doing in here?" Valerie asked, her voice dangerously quiet, though a wild panic was already clawing at her throat. "Get out of my studio. Right now."

Petra didn't startle. Instead, she slowly turned her head and met Valerie’s panicked gaze. Her lips stretched into a slow, wicked, terrifyingly smug smirk. Without a word, she locked eyes with Valerie, lifted her hand with agonizing slowness, and deliberately tilted her wrist right over the desk.

"No!" Valerie shrieked.

The sticky, acidic orange juice poured directly onto Valerie’s meticulous, hand-drawn blueprints.

The ink bled instantly. The beautiful, elegant lines of the interlocking leaf setting merged into a horrific, dark gray puddle. Days of sleepless nights and perfect shading dissolved into a ruined, unreadable smudge right before her eyes.

"What are you doing?!" Valerie screamed, her voice hitting a manic, hysterical pitch. She lunged forward like a wild animal, knocking her heavy wooden chair over as she tried to tear the ruined papers away from the dripping juice. "You did that on purpose! You psycho! You destroyed my work!"

The second Valerie's hands grabbed the wet paper, Petra’s demeanor changed instantly. The wicked smirk vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, theatrical terror. She shrank back dramatically, letting the glass slip from her fingers. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered into a dozen sharp pieces, sticky juice and glass spraying everywhere. Petra burst into loud, piercing, breathless tears.

"It was an accident! I swear it was an accident!"

Petra sobbed, covering her face. "I felt so dizzy because of the baby! The morning sickness just hit me and I lost my balance! Valerie, please don't hurt me!"

"You are a liar! I saw you! You looked right at me and poured it!" Valerie yelled, her vision tunneling with pure, unadulterated rage. She was shaking violently, clutching the wet, ruined blueprint to her chest. She was entirely out of control, blinded by a breakdown she couldn't stop.

"Get away from her!"

Damian’s furious voice boomed through the room like thunder.

Before Valerie could even process his movement, Damian stormed into the studio. He just grabbed Valerie by the shoulder and fiercely shoved her away from Petra, his grip tight enough to leave deep, dark bruises through her clothes.

Valerie stumbled backward, her spine crashing hard against the sharp edge of the drafting desk.

"Damian! She tried to push me!" Petra wailed, immediately throwing herself into Damian’s arms, burying her face into his expensive suit jacket. "She was screaming at me just because I wanted to look at her pretty drawings! I got dizzy and dropped my juice, and she went crazy! She said she was going to kill my baby!"

"She is lying, Damian! She came into my studio and poured juice all over my blueprints!" Valerie cried, holding up the stained, dripping, ruined papers.

Tears of pure, helpless agony finally broke past her eyes. "She destroyed my final designs for the autumn line! This took me days! It's all I had left!"

Damian didn't even glance at the papers in her hand. His eyes were completely cold, filled with absolute, murderous disdain.

"Your designs? Don't be pathetic, Valerie," Damian said, his voice flat, brutal, and entirely devoid of human empathy. "You don't have a line anymore. I already pulled your digital drafts from the company server yesterday and registered the intellectual property under Petra’s name. Vance Enterprises will be launching this line as the 'Petra Legacy Collection' next month. It belongs to her now."

Valerie’s jaw dropped. The breath was completely knocked out of her lungs. "You... you what?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "You stole my designs? For her?"

"Everything you make while under this roof belongs to me, according to our contract," Damian said with a cruel, dismissive finality.

Petra snuggled closer to his chest, looking up at Valerie with wide, tear-filled, innocent eyes. "Valerie, I'm so sorry... I didn't know Damian did that. But since it's for our baby's future, I accept it. You shouldn't be so angry."

Valerie couldn't take it anymore. "You disgusting, fake—"

"Shut up!" Damian roared. He stepped over the shattered glass, his face dark with fury. "Apologize to Petra. Right now."

Valerie stared at him, her jaw tight, her chest heaving. "I will never apologize for something she did on purpose."

Without a second thought, Damian raised his hand and struck her. The sharp crack of his hand against her cheek resonated through the studio. Valerie’s world spun, and she collapsed against the desk, the burning pain radiating across her face.

"I told you to apologize," Damian hissed, leaning over her, his presence utterly terrifying. He grabbed her jaw, twisting it brutally. "Listen to me carefully, Valerie. If you ever raise your voice at Petra again, or if you stress her out for even a second, I will make sure you completely disappear from this city. You are nothing. Do you understand me?"

He let go of her face with a harsh shove, leaving her gasping for air. He wrapped his arm tightly around Petra’s waist, pulling her protectively against his side, and led her out of the room.

Valerie lay against the desk, her cheek throbbing, the tears blinding her. But before she could even process the physical pain, the sound of heels clicking returned.

Petra stepped back into the room, ensuring Damian was down the hall out of earshot. The crying, fragile facade was entirely gone. A cold, victorious, venomous smirk twisted her beautiful features.

"Look at you," Petra taunted, her voice low and dripping with malice. "Lying on the floor like the dog you are. Let me tell you something, Valerie. Damian has always been mine. You were just a temporary seat-warmer. Did you really think a nameless, pathetic orphan like you could keep what belongs to me? I am the one carrying his blood. I am the queen of this house now. You're just a servant living in the back quarters where you belong."

Petra let out a sharp, mocking laugh, turned on her heel, and walked away, leaving the door wide open.

Valerie lay against the desk, her cheek throbbing, the tears blinding her. Slowly, numbly, she pushed herself up from the floor. She didn't cry anymore.

The sorrow had completely burned away, leaving behind a cold, hollow void of absolute, unadulterated madness. The emotional instability that had been clawing at her for days finally hardened into a terrifying, singular rage.

She gathered her trembling body, bypassed the main house entirely, and retreated to the dark, cramped servants' quarters.

When she pushed the door open, her breath hitched.

Damian and Petra were already inside her tiny room. Two estate security guards were ruthlessly tearing through her space. Her mother’s vintage jewelry box which was the only thing she had left from her childhood had been flipped upside down, its contents scattering onto the floor. Her personal sketchbooks and clothes were being stuffed unceremoniously into heavy black plastic trash bags.

"What are you doing?!" Valerie shrieked, her voice cracking as she lunged forward to grab her mother's photo from a guard's hand. "Stop touching my things!"

Damian didn't even look at her. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, completely nonchalant. "The movers are bringing in Petra’s seasonal wardrobe overstock. This room is being converted into a storage closet.”

Petra leaned against the doorway, casually cradling her stomach, a look of pure, sickening pity on her face. "Valerie, don't make a scene. It's just old junk anyway. Let the guards finish."

One of the guards shoved a heavy black trash bag into Valerie’s arms, while Damian carelessly tossed the heavy black file containing the divorce papers right on top of the plastic bag.

"You know what? I think you should leave," Damian said flatly. "You have overstayed your welcome."

Looking down at her mother's broken photo trapped under the weight of the divorce file, a wild, manic roar exploded in Valerie's chest. The final thread of her sanity snapped. The absolute humiliation turned into fury. She couldn't breathe in this toxic house for another second. She was entirely, completely done.

Holding the black file tightly against the trash bag of her ruined life, she looked Damian dead in the eye, her face twisted in a manic, dangerous smile.

"You're right," Valerie whispered, her voice dangerously calm, vibrating with an insanity that made even the guards freeze. "I am tired of this disgusting house. I am tired of looking at your pathetic faces. I am done."