LAYLA
I was shellshocked, the world tilting on its axis as Aven's words echoed in my skull like an annoying line.
"Celine's gonna be my mommy. That woman? She's not my mommy."
My knees buckled, weak as a newborn fawn's, threatening to spill me onto the cold marble floor right there in the shadowed hallway. Silent tears carved hot, salty paths down my cheeks, blurring the opulent wallpaper into a watery haze. I wanted to curl up and disappear, to let the estate swallow me whole but more than that, I couldn't face him. Not after that.
Celine was going to be his mommy. The thought clawed at my throat, sharper than any knife. Nathan had found her replacement, parading her like a trophy in that gaudy crimson gown, but that betrayal paled next to my own son's rejection. It didn't hurt nearly as much as hearing Aven declare I was nothing to him. Again, nvisible. Unwanted. Erased.
Now, everything made sense, his sullen pout when I had hugged him earlier, the way he'd stiffened in my arms like I was a stranger, the months of curt phone calls where his voice grew distant, echoing with nannies' interruptions. He'd been groomed, poisoned against me by this gilded prison of a family. Ten months of carrying him, birthing him, loving him with every fiber of my being reduced to "that woman in the ugly clothes."
I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth to stifle a sob, the corridor spinning with the faint strains of party music drifting from the ballroom.
I couldn't stay there, where the children could come out and see. Dragging herself upright on wobbly legs, I stumbled down the hall until I found a guest bathroom, its door mercifully open. I slipped inside, shutting it with a decisive click, and collapsed against the porcelain sink. The mirror reflected a ghost: mascara-streaked eyes, blotchy cheeks, cream skirt suit rumpled like yesterday's laundry.
'This is what they see,' I thought bitterly. The outsider. The failure.
I splashed cold water on my face, shocking my skin awake as I scrubbed away the evidence of my breakdown. A towel rasped roughly against my cheeks, drying the last traces, when the door swung open without a knock. Celine swept in like she owned the place, her crimson gown rustling like whispered threats, heels clicking with predatory precision. The air thickened with her floral perfume cloying and overpowering.
I stiffened, spine rigid, refusing to acknowledge her. Let her preen in silence.
"I hear you were in charge of the decorations," she said coolly, turning on the tap with manicured fingers. Water gushed as she washed her hands, glancing at me sidelong in the mirror. "They're pretty... quaint, really. But you really should not have come."
Her words landed like barbs, casual cruelty wrapped in silk. I met her gaze in the reflection, forcing a taunting smile despite the ache in my chest. "How lovely. I finally get to meet the real Celine. No cameras rolling, no filters to hide behind."
I had always known she was shady, a saintly influencer facade masking the viper beneath. What kind of woman knowingly moved in on another woman's family like that. Her social media glowed with sponsored perfection, but whispers from the maids painted a different picture: tantrums on sets, demands for freebies, a trail of discarded "friends."
Not wanting to be drawn into her web of whatever petty drama she craved, I straightened and moved for the door, done with her games.
A manicured hand shot out, grabbing my arm in a vise grip, nails digging like talons through my sleeve. I froze, staring down at Celine's pale fingers, then up into her face. Her sweet mask had cracked, revealing cold calculation, lips curled in a hiss.
"Nathan and Aven don't need you," she spat, voice low and venomous, breath hot against my ear. "They don't even like you. You've seen it, Aven barely tolerates you. You're a ghost haunting their lives. Leave them alone. Go back to your factory drudgery and stay gone."
Rage ignited in my veins, hot and primal. I roughly wrenched my arm free with a sharp twist, glaring daggers at her. "Don't ever speak to me about my son. You don't know the first thing about him or me."
I turned to leave, heart pounding, but Celine's eyes flashed with malice. Suddenly, she let out a piercing scream that shattered the air, flinging herself backward onto the tiled floor with theatrical flair. Her gown pooled around her like spilled blood, and she clutched her arm, sobbing hysterically, tears springing forth on command.
"What... what are you doing?" O demanded, voice laced with disbelief, stepping back from her.
"Don't hurt me, please!" she wailed, curling into a fetal ball, makeup already smudging artfully for maximum effect. "I just wanted to talk!"
In the next heartbeat, the door burst open with a bang, slamming against the wall. Nathan flew in like an avenging angel, his tailored suit disheveled, green eyes blazing with fury. He scooped Celine into his arms in one fluid motion, cradling her like fragile porcelain, scanning her "injuries" with frantic concern. Only then did he turn to me, his gaze hardening into pure accusation.
"What the hell did you do?" he roared, voice thunderous, echoing off the tiles.
"Nothing!" I protested, irritation flaring into desperation as I raised my hands in innocence. "I didn't touch her, I swear on everything. She's lying, she threw herself down!"
Celine buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled but perfectly pitched. "I only wanted to apologize for earlier... about the gifts. She got so angry, pushed me hard. I hit my head..."
She gestured weakly to a nonexistent bruise, milking the moment. I rolled her eyes, incredulous, stepping toward the door. "This is ridiculous. I was defending myself from her grip."
Before I could escape, a small figure darted in, tiny tuxedo askew, face flushed from play. Aven. He ran straight to Celine's side, kneeling beside her with wide, worried eyes. Then he whipped around, pointing a chubby finger at me like a damning verdict.
"You made Celine cry!" he accused, voice high and trembling with betrayal. "You're bad! I don't want to see you anymore! Go away!"
His words hit harder than any slap, a fresh wave of agony ripping through me. Those green eyes, so like the ones that had gazed at me with newborn love now burned with rejection. The room spun, my vision tunneling. Nathan's arm tightened around Celine protectively, his silence deafening judgment.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. What could I say to a five year old brainwashed against me? To a husband who had condemned me long ago? Defeated, I backed away, chest heaving.
"Fine," I whispered, voice cracking. "If that's what you all want."
I fled the bathroom, the slam of the door echoing my fracturing heart. Behind me, Celine's sobs morphed into soft reassurances from Nathan, Aven's small voice murmuring comforts only she deserved. Outside, the party laughter mocked me. A stranger in my own son's life.
But as I stumbled into the night air, a cold resolve hardened in my gut. They wanted me gone? Fine.