Chapter 166 - 0166: Make Her Leave

Chapter 166: Chapter 0166: Make Her Leave

Elena’s Point Of View

Matilda’s face twisted, her breath hitching in her throat like she’d been slapped - because she had been, not with my hand, but with my words. Her skin turned a violent, mottled crimson, the flush creeping up from the collar of her high-necked silk blouse to the roots of her perfectly coiffed silver hair.

Her voice trembled with outrage, her hand twitching at her side like she was actually considering raising it to strike me right there under the crystal chandelier. Decades of practiced composure seemed to crumble in an instant, revealing something feral and unguarded beneath the pearls and powder.

"What did you just say?" she choked out, her pearls rattling against her collarbone with every frantic rise and fall of her chest. "You... you ungrateful, common little leech! After everything this family has done for you..."

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t back down. I caught her wrist before she could bring her arm up, my grip iron, my fingers locking around her thin, age-spotted skin with zero hesitation. Her eyes went wide with sheer, unadulterated shock, her jaw dropping as she tried to pull back and realized she couldn’t move an inch.

For the first time in three years, I watched genuine fear flicker across her face, and something inside me settled at the sight of it, cold and satisfied.

"Don’t you ever pull this stunt again, Matilda," I whispered, my voice dark and deadly, my eyes burning into hers.

My fingers tightened just enough to make her wince, the delicate bones in her wrist straining beneath my hold. My voice remained low and controlled, each word a cold, calculated warning.

"I only respected you before because I thought you were the adult here." My laugh was cold, hollow, and my grip loosened as I shoved her hand back toward her chest. I stepped back, my gaze sweeping over her trembling frame like she was nothing more than dirt on the heel of my boot.

There was almost something pitiful about her now, this woman who had spent years making me feel small, reduced to clutching her own wrist like a wounded bird.

"I thought you ought to have some common sense," I continued, tilting my head as I watched her clutch her wrist to her chest. "I thought behind all those fake manners and charity galas, there was a woman who at least understood basic human decency. But I guess..." I shook my head, my lips curling into a slow, mocking smile that made her flinch. "I was wrong. And I rated you far too high."

"You monstrous little gutter girl!" Matilda spat, her voice cracking into a shrill, hysterical pitch as she staggered back against the edge of the velvet armchair. "Graham! Are you going to stand there and let this... this street walker lay her hands on your mother?! Look at her! Look at the way she’s acting!"

Lilian, oh, Lilian couldn’t resist. She saw an opening to play the dutiful, protective daughter-in-law, and she seized it eagerly, her eyes lighting up with the particular hunger of someone who had waited a long time for a chance like this.

She stepped forward, her designer heels clicking sharply against the white marble, one hand resting protectively over her swollen belly like a shield she knew I wouldn’t dare touch. Her voice dripped with false moral superiority, her eyes narrowing into cruel little slits as she took me in: my rumpled men’s shirt, my bare legs, my messy hair, the absolute defiance blazing in my gaze.

"You have no manners!" Lilian hissed, her voice shrill and judgmental, ringing through the high-ceilinged foyer. "A married woman, talking to her mother-in-law like that? Standing in the Sinclair family home dressed like you just crawled out of some random man’s bed and talking to your husband like that?" She shook her head, her top lip curling in absolute disgust. "You’re disgraceful, Elena. You’re an utter embarrassment to this name."

I stared at her, silent, unmoving, letting the seconds stretch until they turned unbearable. The air in the room froze solid. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, filling the suffocating pause with a rhythm that felt almost mocking.

Lilian lifted her chin, puffing out her chest, clearly thinking her little speech had silenced me, thinking she had won another round in a game she didn’t even understand she was losing.

And then, my hand lashed out.

CRACK.

The sound of my open palm striking her cheek echoed through the cavernous room like a gunshot. The force of the blow snapped her head violently to the side, sending her diamond earring skittering across the floor. Lilian let out a sharp, shocked gasp, stumbling sideways, her hand instinctively flying to cover the bright, burning red imprint taking shape on her skin.

The shock in the room was almost tangible, a collective intake of breath from everyone who had never imagined the quiet, agreeable Elena capable of such violence.

"Who the hell invited you into this discussion?" My voice was pure ice, pure venom, my fingers curling into tight, aching fists at my sides. "When people are talking..." I took a long, slow step into her personal space, bending down slightly so my breath brushed against her burning ear, "that doesn’t include you."

Lilian’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, her breath coming in ragged, terrified hitches. She stared at me through a film of sudden, shock-induced tears, her hand still pressed flat against her reddening cheek like her brain couldn’t process the physical reality of what had just happened.

"You... you hit me..." she whimpered, her voice tiny and broken, all her smug confidence instantly evaporating into thin air. "Graham... she hit me! I’m pregnant! She laid hands on me!"

"You... talk to me about manners?" My voice rose into a low snarl, my gaze raking down her body, taking in the fake lashes that were starting to lift at the corners, the overfilled, trembling lips, the desperate, pathetic grasp at a life she’d stolen out of my trash. "You’re talking to me about manners?"

My laugh was bitter and mocking, echoing off the wood paneling as I stepped closer, forcing her to lean back over the arm of the sofa. Every inch she retreated felt like a small victory, a tiny piece of the power she’d stolen from me finally returning to where it belonged.

"When you’re the one who slept with a married man? When you’re the one who sneaked into my house, into my bed, into my life while I was out working to build a reputation you’re currently leeching off of?"

I leaned in closer, my voice dropping into a deadly hiss, my eyes burning into her terrified ones.

"You gold digger. You pathetic, desperate slut."

My gaze flicked down to her swollen belly, my lips curling in unadulterated disgust before snapping back up to her face.

"You failed surgery mess. Look at you. Even your before face would look at you right now and cry at the disaster you’ve become."

Her breath hitched sharply, a pathetic, broken sob escaping her lips. Tears finally spilled over her lashes, tracking through her heavy foundation as her hand trembled violently against her cheek.

For a moment, buried beneath the years of resentment, I almost felt something like pity for her, this woman who had built her entire identity on the ruins of a marriage that was never truly hers to take.

"So," I whispered, every word sharp enough to draw blood, "don’t you dare open your mouth and talk to me about manners again." I smiled, a dark, terrifying thing that made her shrink even further into the cushions. "You should be the last person living on this earth to do that."

Lilian stumbled back another step, her breath coming in shallow, frantic wheezes. She clutched at the polished wood of the sofa frame like it was a lifeboat in the middle of an ocean, her knees shaking so badly she looked ready to collapse right onto the marble. The humiliation was settling deep into her bones, the sudden, terrible realization dawning on her that I was no longer the quiet, agreeable wife who took beatings in silence.

The room went dead silent again. The tension was thick enough to suffocate a man, crackling like static before a lightning strike, every person present holding their breath as if the smallest movement might shatter something irreversible.

And then, Graham’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding, laced with a false, desperate authority he had no right to wield anymore.

"Elena, stop this madness!"

He marched toward us, his heavy leather shoes pounding against the floor, his face dark with a mixture of rage and panic. He stepped between me and Lilian, towering over me, his broad shoulders squared, his hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists. For a fleeting second, I remembered how that same posture used to make me feel safe, back when I still believed his strength was meant to protect me rather than intimidate me.

I turned to him slowly, taking my time, sweeping my eyes up from his polished designer shoes, up his tailored Italian suit, to the vein throbbing dangerously in his neck. My lips curled into a smile, slow, dangerous, utterly mocking.

"Ohh..." I breathed, my tone turning sickly sweet, my head tilting just enough to make his eyes flicker with a sudden, instinctual hesitation. "I’m mad?"

My laugh was soft and bitter, a sound that carried the heavy weight of three years of swallowed insults, of quiet crying in dark bathrooms, of endless, lonely nights spent waiting for a man who was out sleeping with someone else.

"So you’re just noticing now?" I took a step toward him, my voice dropping to a harsh, lethal whisper, my eyes burning straight into his soul. "Awwwn, husband."

The word tasted like sour ash on my tongue, and I spat it out with every ounce of contempt I possessed.

"You’re the one who should control your wild dog and put her on a leash," I said, pointing a thumb over my shoulder toward Lilian, who was currently cowering behind his back, sobbing quietly. "Instead, you bring her into my home to bark at me."

Lilian flinched hard at the word dog, her breath hitching as she clutched the back of Graham’s suit jacket. "Graham, please," she wailed softly, her voice muffled against his back. "Look at what she’s doing to us! She’s out of her mind! Make her leave!"

But Graham didn’t move. He didn’t turn around to comfort her. He just stood there, his face pale, his jaw locked so tight his teeth were grinding, his dark eyes wide with something ugly and raw: disbelief, shame, the sudden, terrifying realization that the woman standing in front of him wasn’t his property anymore. Something like grief passed behind his eyes, as if he was only now beginning to understand what he’d truly lost.

"What has taken over you, Elena?" His voice came out hoarse, broken at the edges, like he genuinely couldn’t grasp reality. He reached out a hand, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to grasp my shoulder, but he stopped short, afraid I’d bite. "Look at you. Look at how you’re speaking, how you’re acting. This isn’t you. Who are you right now?!"

I shrugged, the movement careless and light, utterly dismissive, as if his entire existence was nothing more than an inconvenience to my morning.

"Nothing," I said, my voice sweet and light, completely devoid of the warmth he used to take for granted. My gaze swept over him, taking in the perfection he tried so hard to project to the world. "Just realizing how ugly you actually are."

My laugh was hollow, scraping the bottom of my throat.

"The real you, Graham. Not the charming billionaire prince you play for the press. Not the devoted son you play for your mother. Just the ugly, pathetic coward underneath."

"Elena, that’s enough!" Matilda shouted, finally finding her voice as she shuffled over, keeping a safe five feet of distance between us. "You are talking to the head of this family! You are talking to the man who gave you everything! You were a nobody before he picked you up! A nobody with a failing family business and a broken name!"

"Shut up, Matilda," I said, not even bothering to look at her, my eyes staying locked on Graham’s. "The adults are talking."

"Why, you..."

"I said shut your mouth!" I turned my head just enough to glare at Matilda out of the corner of my eye, and the sheer fury in my face made the old woman freeze mid-sentence, her mouth snapping shut like a trap.

"My God..." The words escaped my lips in a soft, heavy exhale. My chest ached, a sudden, sharp pang of mourning passing through me, not for him, but for the time I’d wasted, the years I’d spent trying to be enough for a man who was entirely hollow inside.

I thought of all the nights I had rehearsed apologies for things that were never my fault, all the mornings I had swallowed my pride just to keep the peace, and the memories now felt like they belonged to a stranger.

The air between us felt heavy, thick with the lingering stench of his betrayal, of my own blind naivety, of the life I’d allowed him to carve away piece by piece until there was almost nothing left of me.

"What was I thinking?" I murmured, looking at his eyes, searching for even a ghost of the man I had once fallen in love with, and finding only a stranger. "What was I actually thinking all those years?"

Graham took another step closer, his hands coming up in a rare gesture of appeal, his composure completely shattering. His voice was shaky and desperate, the smooth confidence he usually radiated collapsing under the weight of my coldness.

"You don’t know what you’re doing, Elena," he pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. "You’re hurt. You’re angry about last night, you’re angry about the baby, and you’re trying to destroy everything because you’re spiraling! But this... this scene you’re making? You’re going to regret this the second you calm down. You’re throwing away your life!"

I laughed. It started deep in my chest, a cold, bitter sound that scraped its way up and burst out into the grand foyer, bouncing off the high ceilings and the marble floors. I laughed until my ribs ached, until Graham’s desperate expression turned from panic to utter confusion.

There was a strange freedom in that laughter, a release of everything I had buried for three long years, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt something close to lightness.

My gaze locked onto his, unwavering, unafraid, stripped of every shred of doubt or hesitation.

"I know exactly what I’m doing, Graham," I said, my voice dropping into a register so steady and

crystal clear that it cut through the room like a razor blade. "I just regret not doing it sooner."

My fingers flexed at my sides, my nails digging hard into my palms, grounding me in the reality of this moment, the moment I finally took my life back.

"Because I should have done this a long time ago," I continued, taking one last step forward until I was standing toe-to-toe with him, looking up into his pale, desperate face. "I should have walked out the first time you made me feel small. I should have walked out the first time your mother insulted my family. And I definitely should have walked out the moment you brought that cheap little girl into our lives."

"Elena, please," Graham whispered, his eyes searching mine frantically. "Talk to me. Just come upstairs. Let’s talk about this privately. We can sort out the papers, we can sort out the arrangements..."

"There is nothing to sort out, Graham," I said, my voice ringing out cold, hard, and final. "You made your choice a long time ago. And today, I’m making mine."