Chapter 3

~ EVANGELINE

A loud noise resounded through the house, and the sound was so jarring that it jolted me awake.

My heart pounded in my chest as I looked around with a slight frown on my face. What was that about?

I heard another crash, and this time, the noise came from downstairs. My frown deepened as I stood up and slid my legs into the slippers at the edge of my bed.

My robe was wrapped tightly around me, and fear trickled into my spine as I walked to the door.

Are we being robbed?

I felt slight panic as I walked out of my room and towards the sound of the noise. If there was an intruder in the house, then I needed to call Alexander immediately. I knew my husband wasn't home, but if this turned out to be a situation where I needed his help and he was no where to be found, I was going to be very disappointed in him.

The moment I got downstairs though, I realised that I really shouldn't have been worried about an intruder.

I should have been worried about something else entirely.

Margaret and her son.

The four year old devil stared at me with a smug expression on his face. Around him, the living room was in shambles.

Margaret's son was destroying the furniture.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” I asked as I paddled closer to the boy. And right before my face, he raised his legs and smashed it into my favourite coffee table.

A gasp slipped past my lips, and I reached out to grab him by the arm.

“What is your problem? Why on earth are you destroying the furniture? What is wrong with you?” I snapped, anger bleeding into my words.

The boy tried to yank his hand away from my grip, but I held him tighter, not easing my hold on him.

He kicked his legs up and his lips peeled back into a snarl.

“Let me go! Leave me alone!” he yelled.

I shook my head. What the hell is wrong with Margaret? How was she raising her son?

He was so young, and yet he was already a terror. Spoilt and rude and utterly disrespectful.

“Let my son go, you witch. Don't lay your filthy hands on him,” Margaret snapped as she walked into the living room.

I didn't let the boy go as I turned to face her. The anger I was feeling was evident on my face, and I knew she saw it.

“Why should I? Look at what he did to my house, Margaret. Your son just ruined all of my furnitures,” I spat at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged.

“What can I say? He's a kid. Boys play a lot when they are at his age. Very rough, these ones,” she clicked her tongue, and I gaped at her.

I couldn't believe my ears.

“Seriously? That is all you have to say? That he is just a kid?” I asked.

She shrugged again.

“Let my son go, Evangeline . Stop making this into such a big deal. Besides, this is not even your house. I don't really understand why you're shouting.”

My anger flared, and I let the boy go, turning around to give Margaret my full attention.

“What did you just say?” I asked, my hands curling into fists.

Margaret held my gaze and repeated her words. “You heard me. This is not your house. So stop being such a killjoy and shut the fuck up.”

The wave of anger that slammed into me was so heavy that my knees buckled beneath the weight of the rage.

“This is my husband's house, Margaret, so it's technically mine. Don't you ever repeat what you just said again,” I growled at her.

She just stared at me with such a bored look that it almost drove me mad.

I threw my hands in the air. Fine. Let her and her son do what they fucking want. I was about to turn around and walk back to my room when Margaret winked at her son.

I froze, my jaw hanging open.

She fucking winked.

I lost all sense of reason. Fine. If she wanted to play the dirty game, then that was fine.

Two could play at the game.

I turned to face the boy. “I don't care if you destroy the rest of the house, but whatever you do, don't you dare touch that painting. It is my absolute favourite, and it's mine. You already destroyed all of my things, and I won't have you ruining it the way you tore up my parents picture yesterday,” I warned.

Then without waiting for response, I turned and walked away, fighting the urge to look back.

When I got to the base of the staircase however, I turned back. And it was just in time to see Margaret's devil son pick up the painting.

He raised his eyes to mine, gave me a wicked grin, and smashed the painting on the floor.

A victorious smile spread across my lips, and an excited thrill shot down my spine. Margaret's son had played into my hands and did exactly what I wanted him to do.

“Mum. Why is she smiling like that? She's not yelling at me,” the boy said to Margaret, and I shook my head at him.

“You see, you are very predictable. That painting you just destroyed doesn't belong to me. Darling, you have no idea how much trouble you just got yourself into,” I stated calmly.

Margaret stepped closer to her son and narrowed her eyes at me.

“What are you talking about?” she quipped.

I stepped closer before I responded.

“Guess who that painting belongs to? It is a souvenir that used to be owned by Alexander's father. My husband's father left it to him as a souvenir, a reminder. And your foolish son had just destroyed the one thing that should never have been touched in the first place.”

Margaret paled at the words, and her hands started to tremble.

“You're…you're lying,” she said, her voice shaky. I cocked my head to the side.

“Am I? Why don't I call Lisa and tell her about it? I'm sure Alex's mother will be thrilled to hear that her husband's painting has been smashed to pieces by your son.”

And without waiting for a response, I immediately dialed my mother in law's contact.

Margaret had gone totally pale. If there was one person in the whole world that Margaret was scared of, that person was Lisa.

Lisa hated Margaret, and the older woman made no effort to keep how she felt about her eldest son's wife a secret.

And everyone also knew that it didn't matter how much Margaret had tried to get on Lisa's good side, because none of her efforts ever worked out.

Lisa listened patiently as I explained what happened to her, and by the time I hung up the phone, my mother in law was positively enraged.

“How…how could you have done that?” Margaret whispered, and there was tears in her eyes.

I crossed my hand over my chest.

“If you had trained your son, if you had educated him well enough for him to know right from wrong, then all of these wouldn't have happened. This is all your fault!” I snapped.

She glared angrily at me.

“No. No it's not. It's yours. You didn't have to call Lisa just because of this. It wasn't even a big deal!” she countered.

I snorted.

“It is a big deal. Why won't you just admit that your son is rude and disrespectful?!” I bellowed.

And before either of us could say anything, the boy rushed forward. He raised his hands and pushed me.

Startled, I lost my footing and fell on the floor.

“See what I am talking about? You don't know how to raise a child. But that's fine. Lisa will be here soon, and you're going to answer to her,” I deadpanned as I stood up.

As I made my way back to my room, I glanced back at Margaret.

She had gone very very pale, and her fear was almost visible.

A small smile played on my lips. She had wanted to play dirty.

All I did was flip the game on her.