The Vendetta of the Returned Wife

             Emilia stepped out of the car, her eyes going over the large mansion in front of her. It was still the same, down to the color. As if they painted it every day to make it look brand new. Once upon a time, she’d called this place home. Had thought that if she tried hard enough, the people she thought of as a family would learn to accept her and eventually even love her. How wrong she’d been.

A sliver of panic crawled up her spine, trying to turn her into a coward, but she shoved it back down. Now was not the time to be weak or display any fear. After nine long years, she was back at the place that had given her as much happiness as pain. Any sign of weakness and the carter family would swallow her whole. She couldn’t afford that. She needed to finish what she'd set out to do, or staying away for so long would have been for nothing. Schooling her features, she moved toward the entrance.

She’d been planning that moment for years. In her head, it was always different. Sometimes she'd chicken out and run back to the hole she'd crawled out of and sometimes she'd fly in like Wonder Woman taking back what was hers. Or she would meet with a certain witch who'd scare her off. What she didn't expect was the place to be so deserted. Had they moved? No.

Last she checked, which was a week ago, they still lived there. So where had everyone gone? It would be so like Lisandra to convince the Carters to move before she arrived. Emilia wouldn’t put it past her. But the sound of soft classical music coming from the backyard proved her wrong. Was there a party going on? Thea had told her that she needed to make a grand entrance, but a party wasn’t on the list. Were there guests?

“You won’t embarrass yourself. You’re beautiful, hot, sexy…Shit. Maybe I should…”

“No. Don’t stop. You’ve got this, Em.” Sawyer’s voice whispered in her head, “And we’ve got your back, so don’t be afraid to do anything”

“Even murder, honey,” Hendrix added.

A slow smile spread over her lips before she pushed the front door open and walked in. She guessed the people going around dressed in black and white attire carrying trays of food and drinks were the staff hired for the day. Despite being rich, Genevieve didn’t like strangers in her house. The white marble floor was sparkling clean that she had to take small steps to ensure she didn't slide and fall flat on her face. And to think she couldn't even walk in heels when she'd first arrived in that house.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when she'd bounced through the doors in her excitement to meet her husband's family. The girl, once happy, cheery, and bubbly, now seemed like someone from another world. It saddened her to think she was never going to go back to being that Emilia because the world had changed her. That naïve girl was long dead. And the woman walking towards the door that led to the backyard was Mrs. Carter.

A scorned wife, ready to topple her husband’s mistress. That bitch’s happy days were over.

Pushing the sliding doors apart, she looked at the people milling around in her backyard. They were all immaculately dressed, each holding a glass of wine or champagne and chatting happily. She took a moment to study them. To one side, a group of women had surrounded someone, oohing and aahing at something the person said. Another stood by a table, their heads bent toward each other while talking privately.

Without realizing what she was doing, her eyes ran over the crowd, searching for him. But instead, her gaze landed on someone who made bile rise in her throat. She swallowed. Lisandra Brown. The bane of her existence. That bitch hadn't changed. She was still stunning, with sharp features, a curvy body, and long legs that went on forever. Those who didn’t know her true nature would be fooled into thinking she was an angel. To Emilia, that woman belonged in hell.

Moving her gaze from the unwanted sight, she continued scanning the faces until she spotted him. Her breath stalled in her lungs. Tall, dark, sleek, masculine. He, too, hadn't changed. But he looked better, more handsome than she remembered. Time had been kind to him. While she was slowly dying inside all those years, he had been happy and content to live without her. Emilia knew he wouldn’t wait for her to go back when she was the one who'd left, but couldn’t he at least look sad or bored or something that wasn't happy and glowing? Fucking ass.

As if feeling her gaze on him, or had he heard her curse him inwardly? He turned and locked eyes with her.

Everything around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them. Memories she'd long buried resurfaced, making her heart beat a wild rhythm. The first day she'd met him. The first kiss. The first time he’d made love to her. When he proposed. When they got married. The days they'd spent together tangled in sheets, covered in sweat while they were on their honeymoon and how they’d decided to spend two entire weeks in their room. In bed. It was all too much for her to remember. And she had to blink away the tears that were threatening to fall.

Damn him.

She wasn’t ready.

Maybe she should have waited for a few more days? Weeks? Years?

No. She stilled those thoughts. It was now or never. Breaking their eye contact, she let her heartbeat slow down and then started forward. Gradually, guests started noticing her and almost half of them did a double take, as if trying to convince themselves they weren't imagining her or seeing an apparition. Plastering a smile on her face, she kept walking. Heading straight to where her husband was. He still hadn't looked away from her, but pure rage had replaced the shock on his face.

Okay, so he was mad that she'd disappeared. Good. At least he wasn’t indifferent. Stopping in front of him, Emilia widened her smile saying "Hello Max"

In a flash, Lisandra was by his side and Emilia couldn’t help being impressed by the speed with which she’d moved. "Who the Fuck invited you?" she snarled, her face contorting in anger.

Typical mistress reaction.

"I don't need an invitation to my house, Lisa," Emilia baited her in a sweet voice. Her nostrils flared in anger and she yelled,

"This is not your house!"

"Last I checked, half of what my husband owns is mine. Which means you have no right to kick me out or even talk to me. So go kneel somewhere and wait for your turn"

"You Fucking...." she started toward her, but Max pulled her back and shoved her behind him. Then his hand was on her neck, squeezing, but not so hard that it hurt. Not the welcome she was hoping for, but it was better than she could have imagined.

"Why the fuck are you here?" he bellowed, prompting the crowd to go silent and watch the drama unfold. Rolling her eyes, Emilia thought that the first thing she was going to do was wash their mouths. The F word had been uttered one too many times in the last five minutes alone, and that wasn't okay. Granted, she’d done it too, but it was in her head. Not out loud.

“Now, Max, are you about to commit murder in front of all these witnesses?” Dropping her voice, she added, “Or are you wishing you could bend me over this table and fuck me the way you used to?”

If Lisandra could explode, she would be a poodle at their feet. Because judging by Max’s sharp intake of breath, he was now visualizing it.

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