Chapter 2

The next day, a junior flight attendant named Amber Hayes showed up at our house.

She said she was there to pick up Nathan's spare uniform. Around her neck hung the Cartier necklace I'd thrown into the rubbish bin the night before.

When she caught me looking at it, she deliberately ran her fingers over the pendant.

"Do you like it too, Mrs. Ashford?

"Nathan said this necklace looks better on younger women."

I turned to Nathan.

He was standing in the doorway to his study. He didn't say a word.

Amber wandered into the kitchen and started picking through the ingredients I'd prepared, chatting with a bright smile.

"Nathan takes such good care of me on flights.

"The last time we hit bad turbulence, I got so scared I started crying. He held my hand the whole time and even buckled my seat belt for me.

"He said girls are fragile and meant to be protected."

I swept everything she'd touched straight into the rubbish bin.

"Are you done?"

Amber blinked. "Mrs. Ashford, I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"This is my house. Get out."

Her eyes welled up instantly.

The next second, the cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

Nathan strode over and pulled her behind him. "Vivian, what the hell is wrong with you now?"

Amber clung to his sleeve and spoke up for me through her tears.

"Nathan, don't blame her.

"She's getting older. Of course she's going to feel insecure."

I pointed at the necklace around her neck.

"How does it feel wearing something that came out of the rubbish?"

Amber's face turned pale for a split second.

Nathan let out a laugh. "That necklace was always meant for her.

"I only borrowed it to calm you down last night. Since you didn't want it, it should go back to its rightful owner."

The blow landed square in my chest.

Amber lowered her head, but she couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Nathan looked at me, his voice filled with impatience.

"If you're smart, you'll be grateful you're still Mrs. Ashford.

"You live in this mansion. I give you money every month. Even the other women have to call you Mrs. Ashford. What else do you want?

"Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life looking at your face just to prove I've done right by you?"

My phone buzzed nonstop.

Clips from last night's livestream had climbed to the top of the trending list. My photos and personal information had been dug up and spread all over the internet.

"Menopausal lunatic."

"Captain Ashford took care of her for over twenty years, and she had the nerve to embarrass him in public."

"Old hags like her only drag men down."

Someone had even turned the photos from my arthritis treatments into memes, mocking my twisted hands and calling them claws.

Nathan glanced at the comments before sending me a statement.

It said I suffered from severe depression, that I'd been emotionally unstable during the livestream, and that I sincerely apologized to Nathan and the public.

"Sign it. Then post it."

I looked up at him. "Those troll accounts. Did you hire them?"

He neither confirmed nor denied it.

"Public opinion always needs someone to blame.

"You sacrifice a little reputation, and it saves my career and this family. That's a fair trade."

I deleted the statement. "I'm not signing."

Nathan watched me for a few seconds before pulling out his phone. "Fine.

"Let's see how long a housewife with no husband to support her can survive."

That afternoon, I was checking out at the supermarket when every bank card in my name was declined.

Under the impatient stares of the customers behind me, I put every item back onto the shelves, one by one.

A message from Nathan popped up.

"Sign the statement, and I'll unfreeze your cards."

I looked down at the 20 dollars left in my purse. For the first time, I understood what it really meant to be a "traditional wife."