CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 43
Mila
I looked around the room and felt it again....that familiar, suffocating sense of not belonging.
Of course I would feel this way.
Lance’s mother had invited me to a female socialites’ tea party, and I wasn’t naïve enough to pretend I didn’t understand her intentions. Anita never did anything without a purpose, and I was certain this invitation had nothing to do with tea, pastries, or pleasant conversation.
This was social humiliation for me, Or worse an execution.
The hall was dripping with wealth. Crystal chandeliers glimmered overhead, the soft clinking of porcelain cups filling the air alongside laughter that sounded too rehearsed to be genuine. Every woman here looked polished to perfection....designer dresses, flawless makeup, jewels that probably cost more than my entire networth if I had one.
I stood there, painfully aware of myself.
A nudge pulled me out of my thoughts.
I turned and found Isabelle standing beside me, smiling like we’d been lifelong friends. The kind of smile that never reached her eyes.
“What a shame,” she said lightly, lifting her teacup with irritating elegance. “You must be feeling… less of yourself.”
Her eyes dragged over me slowly, deliberately.
I ignored her.
Instead, I scanned the room again, hoping, stupidly, to catch a glimpse of Olivia. But I already knew better. I had a strong hunch Anita hadn’t invited her. Olivia was kind to me and treated me nicely.
And Anita hated that.
My gaze landed on her just then,
Anita.....walking toward me with that familiar expression on her face. Her eyes clashed between mockery and thinly veiled disgust as they appraised my dress for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.
“Is this all you think this is about?” Isabelle scoffed beside me. “Dressed like a peasant, standing there watching everyone like some kind of creep.”
I swallowed.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t even pretend to reach my eyes.
It was obvious I was faking it. I knew she could tell.
I didn’t care.
Before Anita could respond, Isabelle latched onto her arm like a leech, her demeanor shifting instantly into sweet devotion.
“Mother, don’t bother with her,” Isabelle said brightly. “I shipped in some new sets of expensive jewellery.”
She stressed expensive just to make sure I heard it.
I truly couldn’t be bothered.
“Let’s go have a look,” Isabelle added, already dragging Anita away.
I exhaled slowly.
“She hasn't changed one bit.”
I turned at the sound of the voice and froze.
The woman standing beside me was beautiful.. but not in the loud, desperate way most of the women here were. Her dress was simple, elegant, done in cool colors that complemented her skin perfectly. She wasn’t screaming look at me like Isabelle and the others.
She didn’t have to.
To think that the first time I met Isabelle, I had considered her beautiful. Now, standing here, I realized how wrong I had been.
No truly beautiful woman would send funeral wreaths to another woman… over a man.
“I’m sure I’m not as handsome as your husband,” the woman chuckled, raising her eyebrows teasingly.
I blinked, flustered.
“I—I’m sorry,” I said quickly. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring. “I just… I love your clothes.”
Smooth, Mila. Very smooth.
“Thank you,” she smiled, studying my expression with amusement. “I’m Jade.”
“I’m—”
“Mila,” she cut in gently, still smiling.
I frowned. “How did you—?”
She chuckled again. “Come on. Everyone here knows who you are.”
The words made something cold settle in my chest. Every single time this happens and I wouldn't lie it's a bit annoying
“Nice to meet you, Jade,” I said, suddenly losing interest in the conversation.
Everyone knows who you are.
It didn’t sit well with me. Not at all.
“I’m Lance’s friend,” she added, extending her hand for a shake.
“Oh…” I said slowly, my thoughts spiraling.
Why would such a beautiful woman be friends with my husband?
No. I wasn’t jealous.
Just curious.
“You look much more beautiful in person,” Jade said warmly, still holding my hand a second longer than necessary.
Before I could respond, an annoyingly familiar voice sliced through the moment.
“Sorry to break your little session.”
Isabelle.
“Mother wants you to come over,” she said, smirking at me.
But then I noticed something else, her expression darkened the moment her eyes met Jade’s. Grim. Tight.
Oh.
So they weren’t exactly buddies.
“Please excuse me,” I said quietly to Jade, offering her a small smile before following Isabelle.
We walked toward a table occupied by women who looked like wealth had been sewn into their skin. Everything about them screamed elite...their posture, their tone, even the way they laughed.
Anita noticed me immediately.
She didn’t bother hiding her displeasure.
“Make yourself useful,” she said sharply. “Serve tea to my friends.”
She waved me off like I was nothing.
Like I was staff.
I knew she had an agenda.
I sighed quietly and did as she said, reminding myself—over and over—that this would be the last invitation of hers I would ever attend.
“Isn’t this Lance’s wife?” one woman whispered loudly. “She looks…”
“Plain,” another cut in.
I didn’t miss the look of approval Anita gave her.
“The pictures were edited,” the first woman added, eyeing me critically.
“What are you standing there for?” Anita snapped.
I moved quickly, picking up the teapot and pouring carefully into their cups. They didn’t hide their displeasure—or their comments.
Each word was demeaning and I couldn't help but feel them, but I was determined not to give them their satisfaction. I wore my nonchalant look and continued.
I focused on my hands, determined not to spill a drop. But luck, as usual, wasn’t on my side.
One of them pushed me.
Deliberately.
The tea spilled.
Straight onto Isabelle.
“MILA!!!” she screamed, jumping up as the hot liquid soaked into her dress.
Her face twisted with rage.
Before I could react, she raised her hand.
To slap me.
I froze.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even think
.
I just closed my eyes and braced myself for the pain.
Except…
It never came.
I opened my eyes slowly—
And saw Isabelle’s hand held firmly in place by someone else.