Chapter 41 - 40 A Masterclass in Ruin

Chapter 41: Chapter 40 A Masterclass in Ruin

Valentina stood completely still for a beat, processing the comeback.

"Interesting," Valentina said. "Laziel usually has better taste in women. You must be the first employee he’s ever mistaken for entertainment."

I kept my chin up.

Before I could fire back, Anastelle tugged gently on my skirt, tilting her head up with wide, innocent eyes.

"Mommy," Anastelle piped up. "Why is that mean lady calling this Uncle Laziel’s house her house?"

Dead silence.

Valentina’s expression fractured for a fraction of a second. Her composure wobbling. She didn’t have an answer. Because technically, everyone in the business world knew Laziel hadn’t lived with her as a husband in years.

Valentina’s jaw tightened. She smoothly recovered, changing strategy entirely. She stopped the insults and the class commentary, replacing them with demeanour.

"How long have you known my husband?" Valentina asked, her tone shifting to that of a prosecutor in a courtroom. "How exactly did you move into his estate? Did he invite you?"

She wasn’t looking for answers. She was measuring me.

I looked straight back at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an explanation.

"If you’re looking for answers about your marriage," I said quietly, "I think you’re asking the wrong woman."

Valentina’s eyes narrowed into slits. The mask finally slipped completely, revealing the fury underneath. She took a slow step forward, leaning in close so only I could hear.

"Whatever game you think you’re playing... you picked the wrong family."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away.

By the time Valentina reached the privacy of her black Rolls-Royce parked outside the front gates she finally snapped.

She slammed the door shut, and the second she was locked inside, she screamed—tearing off her diamond watch and throwing them in the passenger seat.

Who does this nobody think she is?

Mireya Brenner. A common, ordinary pest. A retail-store reject who thought she could walk into a Monroe property and talk back to a De Luca.

Valentina’s chest heaved as she caught her breath. She had dealt with women trying to get close to Laziel before. None of them lasted. She was the mastermind behind every single one who had ever quietly vanished from his orbit. She had never needed to get her hands dirty directly—money, power, and influence bought cleaners, ruin, and silence.

She didn’t care that she and Laziel lived separate lives. Nobody took her position as Mrs. Monroe. Nobody.

Her fingers shook slightly as she grabbed her phone from her bag and punched in a direct number.

The call connected on the second ring.

"Madam," a low, cold voice answered from the other end.

Valentina stared out the tinted window, her eyes locked on the gates of the estate, venom dripping from every word.

"I want everything," Valentina ordered, her voice deathly quiet.

"What do you need investigated, Mrs. Monroe?"

"The child," Valentina said, "And find out if there’s a father hiding anywhere in the background. I don’t care how much it costs, and I don’t care what it takes to bury them."

There was a brief pause on the line.

"Which one first, Mrs. Monroe?"

Valentina smiled—a dark, merciless thing.

"The child."

"Children are always the easiest way into a mother’s life."

The call ended.

Inside the car...

A war had just begun.

......

Every servant waited until she had disappeared beyond the hedges leading toward the main house.

Only when the sound of her heels faded completely did the garden seem to breathe again.

"Mommy?"

I looked down.

"Hm?"

She frowned, genuinely confused.

"Is that scary lady Uncle Laziel’s girlfriend?"

I blinked.

"No."

"Then... who is she?"

I hesitated.

"...She’s his wife."

Anastelle’s little forehead scrunched.

"Wife?"

"Yes."

She looked toward where Valentina was standing.

"But..."

She lowered her voice like she was about to reveal the greatest mystery in history.

"If she’s his wife..."

"...why doesn’t she live here?"

I stared at her for a full three seconds. Then I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

One day.

One day this child was going to be the reason my blood pressure reached dangerous levels.

"I don’t know, sweetheart."

"But wives are supposed to live with their husbands."

"I know."

"So..." She tilted her head. "...did Uncle Laziel forget he has one?"

I nearly laughed. Nearly. Instead, I covered my face with one hand.

"I am not having this conversation with a four-year-old."

"No, Mommy. I’m 5 now. My birthday is—" She began to count her fingers. "This month. So I’m almost 5."

"Okay, baby."

Anastelle pouted. "I was just asking."

"I know."

"But sometimes..."

I sighed. "...grown-ups make very complicated decisions."

She thought about it, then nodded seriously. "Grown-ups are weird."

"...Yes."

"They really are."

One of the older housekeepers walked over, her expression tight with lingering anxiety as she glanced toward the gates.

"Miss Brenner... are you alright?" the housekeeper whispered.

I nodded, lowering my hand. "I’m fine."

The housekeeper let out a shaky breath, glancing around before leaning in closer. "You’re the first person who’s ever spoken back to Mrs. Monroe."

A few other staff members, lingering near the edge of the terrace, began to murmur quietly among themselves now that the danger had passed.

"She looked like she wanted to slap you."

"I thought someone was going to die out here."

"Mr. Monroe is going to hear about this by the end of the hour..."

The entire group suddenly went quiet again.

Almost guilty.

As though they’d already said too much.

I looked around at all of them.

People who had lived in this house longer than I had.

People who genuinely looked frightened.

Not of Laziel.

Of Valentina.

I looked down at Anastelle.

She tugged my hand.

"Mommy."

"Hm?"

"I’m hungry."

I laughed softly.

"Of course you are."

She smiled.

"Can we have sandwiches?"

"Yes."

"And fries?"

"We’ll negotiate."

She grinned triumphantly, already convinced she’d won.

As I took her little hand and walked toward the house, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.

Women like Valentina Monroe didn’t lose gracefully.

They made sure someone else paid for it.