"Your granddaughter-in-law?" I stared down at Mrs. Sterling, her frail hands clutching my wrist with surprising strength.
My head spun. First Arthur Sterling denying our marriage, and now his grandmother appearing at my doorstep, claiming me as family. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
"Yes, yes. Arthur's wife," she insisted, her eyes bright with certainty. "Don't pretend you don't know me, dear. I'm not that far gone yet."
I knelt beside her, gently helping her to her feet. "Mrs. Sterling, how did you find me? How did you get here?"
She waved dismissively. "I took a taxi, of course. Asked the nice driver to take me to my grandson's wife."
I blinked in surprise. "And he brought you here? To my apartment?"
"The nice man at your office told me where you live." Her brow furrowed. "Or was it your school? The details get fuzzy sometimes."
This was impossible. No one knew about my connection to Arthur except Victor, and he'd never reveal my address.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. A quick glance showed an unknown number.
"Mrs. Sterling, let me help you inside first." I unlocked my door and guided her into my modest apartment.
She looked around with curious eyes. "It's smaller than I expected. Arthur's being stingy, isn't he?"
I suppressed a laugh. If only she knew.
"Please, sit down." I led her to my couch. "Would you like some water or tea?"
"Tea would be lovely, dear."
As I filled the kettle, I answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Is she with you?" Arthur Sterling's voice was sharp, cutting straight to the point.
"Your grandmother? Yes."
I heard him exhale. "Don't move. I'm sending a car."
"Wait—"
But he'd already hung up. Typical.
I returned to find Mrs. Sterling examining a framed photo of me from college graduation.
"Such a pretty girl," she murmured. "My Arthur chose well."
My chest tightened at her kindness. No one had called me pretty in years—not since my mother decided I was a threat to Fiona.
"Mrs. Sterling, why did you come looking for me?"
She patted the couch beside her. "Because Arthur's been keeping you from me, hasn't he? He's always so protective." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "And call me Grandmother, dear. We're family."
I sat beside her, not having the heart to correct her delusion. "I made you some tea."
My phone vibrated again. A WhatsApp message from another unknown number:
"My grandmother needs specialized care. $50,000 has been transferred to your account for one week of looking after her. I'll collect her when I return from my business trip. - A.S."
I nearly dropped my phone. Fifty thousand dollars? Was he insane?
Before I could respond, another message appeared:
"This is not negotiable. She refuses to leave with anyone but you."
Mrs. Sterling's phone rang. She fumbled in her purse, pulling out an expensive smartphone.
"Arthur, darling!" she answered cheerfully. Her expression quickly soured. "No, I won't come home with your driver. I'm staying with my granddaughter-in-law."
I could hear Arthur's muffled voice through the phone, firm and insistent.
Mrs. Sterling's face hardened with surprising lucidity. "I'm not going to that empty house again. Either I stay with your wife, or I'll check myself into that retirement home you've been threatening me with."
More muffled arguing.
"Fine. One week," she finally said, then hung up. She turned to me with a triumphant smile. "I've always known how to handle my grandson."
I couldn't help but smile back. "It seems you do."
My phone pinged with another message: "One week. No excuses."
I was about to type a refusal when Mrs. Sterling suddenly reached out, her cool fingers touching my cheek.
"What happened here, dear? You're swelling."
My hand flew to my face where my mother had slapped me earlier. I'd forgotten about it in all the chaos.
"It's nothing," I lied.
Mrs. Sterling clucked her tongue. "Nonsense. I know a slap mark when I see one." She stood up with surprising agility. "Where's your kitchen? We need a cold compress."
I led her to my tiny kitchenette, touched by her concern.
"Sit," she commanded, and I obeyed, watching as she rummaged through my refrigerator.
"No eggs?" she asked.
"Bottom shelf," I replied, confused.
She took one out, filled a pot with water, and placed it on the stove.
"My mother used to do this for me," she explained, turning on the burner. "A boiled egg, still warm, pressed against a bruise. Works better than ice."
Ten minutes later, she gently pressed the warm, peeled egg against my cheek.
"Hold it there," she instructed.
Something broke inside me at this simple act of kindness. When was the last time someone had tended to my hurts? Mrs. Dubois had tried occasionally, but Genevieve always interfered.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick.
Mrs. Sterling patted my hand. "That's what family does, dear."
I checked my phone again, staring at Arthur's message. The $50,000 would solve many problems—enough to pay the next installment on my patent application for the energy converter and still have plenty left over.
But it wasn't just about the money. This confused old woman had shown me more genuine care in ten minutes than I'd received from my own family in years.
I typed back: "One week. I'll take care of her."
Meanwhile, across town at the Dubois mansion, Fiona sat at her vanity, dabbing theatrical makeup on her unmarked cheek while her mother hovered nearby.
"You poor thing," Genevieve cooed. "That ungrateful wretch! After everything we've done for her."
Fiona sniffled dramatically. "She's always been jealous of me, Mother. But to physically attack me on my engagement day?"
The bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Dubois entered slowly, leaning on her walking cane. Despite her illness, Beatrice Hayes still carried herself with natural elegance.
"What's this I hear about Elara?" she asked, her voice weak but concerned.
Genevieve rushed to her side. "Beatrice, you shouldn't be up! The doctor said—"
"I've had enough of bed rest," Mrs. Dubois said firmly. "Tell me what happened with Elara."
Fiona turned, revealing her "bruised" cheek. "She slapped me, Mother Beatrice. Unprovoked. She was raging about my engagement to Caleb, saying horrible things."
Mrs. Dubois frowned. "That doesn't sound like Elara."
"Oh, you've always had a soft spot for her," Genevieve said bitterly. "But you didn't see her today. Like a wild animal, she was!"
Mrs. Dubois sank into a nearby chair, looking troubled. "Perhaps I should call her..."
"No!" both Fiona and Genevieve exclaimed simultaneously.
Fiona quickly recovered. "I mean, she needs time to cool down. And you need rest, Mother Beatrice."
Mrs. Dubois sighed. "I suppose you're right."
Fiona suddenly brightened. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something. You mentioned wanting to meet that brilliant scientist—Dr. Wilson—for your charity foundation?"
Mrs. Dubois nodded. "Yes, his work on renewable energy is revolutionary. Why?"
"Well," Fiona said with practiced innocence, "I've managed to get his contact information through a university connection. I was thinking... perhaps you could invite him here? As my graduation approaches, I've been contemplating which field to specialize in. His guidance would be invaluable."
"That's a wonderful idea," Mrs. Dubois said, her eyes lighting up. "I'll send him an invitation right away."
As Mrs. Dubois left the room, Fiona exchanged a triumphant smile with her mother.
"Dr. Wilson won't be able to resist a personal invitation from Beatrice Hayes," Genevieve whispered. "And once he's here, you'll dazzle him with your intelligence."
Fiona nodded, her expression calculating. "And if he agrees to mentor me, Elara will be devastated. She's been following his work for years, practically worships him." She laughed softly. "She'll learn that everything she wants will always come to me first."
Back at my apartment, I was making dinner for Mrs. Sterling when my phone buzzed with an email notification. The sender made my heart skip a beat: Beatrice Hayes.
I opened it immediately, concerned about her health.
"Dear Dr. Wilson," it began, "I apologize for the short notice, but I would be honored if you could visit my home this evening to discuss a potential collaboration with my foundation. Additionally, my daughter Fiona has expressed interest in your field of study. Your guidance would mean the world to both of us."
I nearly dropped my phone. This couldn't be happening.
Mrs. Sterling noticed my distress. "Bad news, dear?"
I swallowed hard. "I... I need to go out tonight. For work."
"Of course," she said understandingly. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine here."
I stared at the email again. Fiona was clearly setting a trap, but Mrs. Dubois's involvement complicated things. If she truly needed to see "Dr. Wilson," I couldn't refuse.
With trembling fingers, I typed my reply:
"Dear Mrs. Hayes, I would be delighted to meet with you this evening. I can arrive within the hour. Sincerely, Dr. Wilson."
I hit send, then rushed to my bedroom to prepare. Within my closet hung the carefully constructed disguise of Dr. Wilson—the horn-rimmed glasses, the silver-streaked wig, the precisely tailored suit.
Little did Fiona know she had just invited Elara Dubois into her own trap.