Chapter 56 - 0056: Keep Feeding Her Pancakes

Chapter 56: Chapter 0056: Keep Feeding Her Pancakes

Elena’s Point Of View

I didn’t even bother changing into anything fancy. Exhaustion had already settled deep into my bones, the kind that came from performing an endless, suffocating role just to breathe inside this house. I pulled a long, deep-emerald silk robe over my nightwear, tying the sash tightly around my waist, and brushed my dark hair back into a sleek, low bun.

Nothing extra. No makeup. No diamond earrings. No mask. Just me... the barest, most raw version of the woman they all loved to mock behind closed doors.

My slippers clicked softly against the cold marble floor as I made my way downstairs, each step echoing like a countdown to something I wasn’t ready to face. The air in the grand hallway hung thick and still... no clatter of silver dishes, no gentle hum of morning conversation. Just a heavy, strained silence soaked in expectations I could never meet, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much of myself I sacrificed trying.

The scent of freshly brewed espresso hit my nose first, followed by the warm, buttery aroma of pancakes and soft-scrambled eggs. You’d think the smell of food would comfort me. It didn’t. It only reminded me of the mornings we used to sit across this exact table... Graham and I, laughing over burnt toast, teasing each other over who forgot to buy almond milk, back when love was real... or at least when he was still good at pretending.

I used to believe those mornings meant something. Now they felt like relics from someone else’s life, a life I’d mistakenly believed was mine.

As I approached the double archway of the dining room, the sounds began filtering in... soft, delicate laughter, the quiet tinkle of crystal against porcelain, the sound of someone pouring fresh orange juice. My stomach tightened with a dread I’d grown far too familiar with.

And then I saw them.

Graham. His mistress. His mother. All seated around the massive, sixteen-seat mahogany dining table like one big, picture-perfect family... a family I had never truly belonged to, no matter how many years I’d given them.

Lillian... the white lotus herself, wrapped in a soft, designer lavender maternity dress, glowing with insufferable smugness, sat in my position. My chair. The one directly to Graham’s right. The seat I had occupied for five long years, the one his mother had strictly insisted belonged exclusively to the lady of the Sinclair house.

So much for holy tradition.

Lillian even had the nerve to tilt her head at me as I entered, her glossy lips stretched into a sweet, saintly smile. She played the gracious, forgiving goddess beautifully, as if she weren’t sleeping with another woman’s husband in the very master suite down the hall.

Her dress was delicate and innocent, but there was nothing innocent about the way her sharp eyes darted to mine, heavy with silent judgment. She purposely angled her bare shoulder so the morning light bounced off the blinding diamond earrings Graham had undoubtedly bought her last week. She sat beside his mother like she belonged there. Like she owned the estate.

Like I was just a ghost haunting their dining room.

I swallowed down the violent surge of bile rising in my throat. I stood at the threshold for a second, my pulse hammering wildly beneath my silk robe, my mind screaming at me to turn around and flee back upstairs. Then, I lifted my chin, inhaled a deep breath of their poisonous air, and stepped fully into the room.

My mother-in-law’s sharp scoff sliced through the air first. "Oh, look. The barren wife finally decides to grace us with her presence."

The words didn’t just land; they echoed off the high ceilings, punching into my chest with agonizing precision. Each syllable was a deliberate, poison-laced blade, honed over years of practice on exactly this kind of cruelty. And I stood there and took it, just like I had taken every insult for the past five years, swallowing the hurt until it became a permanent resident somewhere beneath my ribs.

I clutched the fabric of my robe, my manicured nails digging into my palms so hard I was sure I’d draw blood. But I refused to let my face fall. I refused to give her the supreme satisfaction of watching me break.

Not today. Not after everything.

Before I could even open my mouth, Lillian placed her small, soft hand ever so gently over my mother-in-law’s wrinkled fingers, offering that same sickly sweet smile - the kind you see right before the villain poisons the tea.

"Mother," Lillian said, her voice dripping with soft, practiced restraint, "please don’t speak to her like that. It’s really not her fault."

She squeezed my mother-in-law’s hand affectionately, and the sheer performative disgust of it made my jaw clench tight.

"I’m sure she’ll have children of her own... eventually," Lillian continued, casting a soft, pitying glance up at me. "It might not be right now, but I’m sure God will grant her a little miracle someday."

It stung like raw lemon squeezed into an open, bleeding wound. She delivered it like a holy prayer... a quiet eulogy for my useless womb wrapped in a whisper of fake sympathy. I felt something inside me curdle, old grief mixing with fresh fury until I could hardly tell the two apart.

I let a bright, radiant, entirely fake smile spread across my face. "Oh, I hope so too, darling," I purred, my voice smooth as glass. "After all, someone needs to give your little bastard a proper, legitimate sibling to look up to, right?"

Lillian’s saintly smile faltered. Just a fraction, but it was enough, and I savored that small crack in her porcelain composure like a starving woman savoring a crumb.

I adjusted the lapels of my robe and looked at the head of the table. "Good morning, Mom. Everyone. Good morning."

I moved to pull out the chair at the far end of the long table - far away from the warmth, the laughter, and the cozy little family unit they were building right in front of my face, as if I were nothing more than unwanted scenery.

"And who asked you to sit?" my mother-in-law’s cold, rasping voice barked out.

I froze, my fingers resting on the high wooden back of the chair. I blinked, turning my gaze toward her. "Excuse me?"

She narrowed her eyes, her thin lips curling into absolute disdain. "You don’t walk in here late, completely unkempt, wearing a bathrobe, and expect to sit at my son’s table like a human being. This is a respectable estate, Elena, not a homeless shelter for ungrateful women."

I felt the burning tightness instantly hit my throat. The hot sting behind my eyelids. The humiliating flush crawling up my neck, spreading like wildfire under my skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare give them a single tear, Elena.

Through the entire verbal assault, Graham remained completely silent. He didn’t look up from his plate. He didn’t raise a finger. He simply took a slow, deliberate sip of his black coffee, as if this were just a casual Tuesday and not the public execution of his wife’s dignity. That silence hurt more than anything his mother could ever say... it always had.

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to remain steady, sharp, and razor-thin. "If I wasn’t meant to sit for breakfast, Graham, why did you have the staff knock on my door? Because unless there’s an actual point to this circus, I’m starving."

Graham finally set his porcelain cup down with a sharp clack. His dark eyes were dead, cold, and entirely unreadable - eyes that used to look at me like I was the only woman in the world, back when we were young and foolish and still believed in forever.

"What was the meaning of your little stunt last night?" he asked, folding his hands over the edge of the table.

I tilted my head, feigning confusion. "My stunt?"

"You disappeared," he said, his tone dropping into that authoritative bark he used on his executives. "You walked out of the gala. Alone. No explanation to the press, no word to my investors. You nearly ruined my reputation in front of the entire board."

A dry, humorless laugh burst from my chest before I could stop it. "Your reputation? Graham, darling, do you honestly believe you still have a pristine reputation when you’re parading your pregnant golfball around high society like a shiny trophy while your wife stands five feet away?"

Lillian gasped softly, pulling back and resting a hand over her chest like a wounded angel.

Graham’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle pulsed beneath his skin. "Watch your mouth, Elena."

"Or what?" I stepped closer to the table, towering over them from where I stood, adrenaline surging through my veins like fire. "What are you going to do, Graham? Toss me out on the street? Just sign the fucking divorce papers already!"

Graham scoffed, leaning back in his leather chair. "Divorce? Is that what this theatrical breakdown is about? You think you can just walk away with half my empire?"

"I don’t care about your stupid money, Graham!" I snapped, the raw truth ripping straight out of my chest, five years of silence finally breaking apart. "Keep your fortune. Keep your board seats. Keep this cold, miserable house. I don’t want a single dime from you. I just want my name back. I just want out!"

My mother-in-law let out a sharp, mocking laugh that cut right through my words. "Oh, please! Listen to the martyr!" She slammed her silverware down, her eyes glaring at me with vicious hatred. "So what made you stay all these years then, hum? What made you marry my son in the first place if not that you’re nothing but an opportunistic, ungrateful gold-digger?!"

I turned my head slowly, locking my gaze onto her withered, angry face, feeling something inside me finally, irrevocably snap.

"Then tell me, Matilda... how much of his gold have I dug?" I asked, my voice dropping into a lethal, crystal-clear quiet that made the entire room freeze. "Tell me. How much? Which offshore accounts have my name on them? Which luxury mansions did I demand he put in my name? Show me the receipts."

Matilda’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"I accepted and married your son because I loved him," I said, each word laced with five years of buried heartbreak and bitter regret. "I loved him when he had nothing but a pitch deck and a dream. I stayed through the eighty-hour work weeks, through the cold dinners, through the hollow promises. But apparently, it was never the same for him. The vows we took couldn’t even stand the test of time... and now you sit there, sipping your tea, lecturing me about morals? Interesting."

I took a slow step toward her, my shadow falling over her plate.

"Instead of worrying over me," I continued, tilting my head toward the end of the table, "you should be worrying over that Botox-filled parasite sitting right next to you. What do you think her intentions are, Matilda? Do you genuinely believe she’s here out of pure, unadulterated love? Do you think it’s just to give you guys a precious heir?"

Lillian’s face went completely pale, her glossy lips parting in shock.

"Oh, please," I laughed bitterly, rolling my eyes with absolute contempt. "If you guys actually think that, then all of you are not just dumb, but dangerously stupid. She saw a wealthy, desperate man with an aging mother begging for a baby, and she played you both like cheap fiddles. But go ahead... keep feeding her pancakes."

"Elena, shut the hell up!" Graham roared, rising to his feet again, his face flushed with rage. "You will respect my family!"

"This isn’t a family, Graham," I said softly, looking at him with utter pity, a pity that surprised even me with its depth. "It’s a corporate transaction. And I’m pulling my shares out."

Before he could scream at me again, the high-pitched chime of my phone broke the heavy, poisonous air.

I pulled it from the pocket of my silk robe, glancing at the caller ID.

Lexi.

I didn’t hesitate for a single second. I swiped the screen, brought the phone to my ear, and softened my expression into the brightest, most seductive purr I could muster, my heart pounding with a reckless thrill I hadn’t felt in years.

"Hey, baby," I chirped, twirling a loose lock of hair around my finger. "Good morning. I was just thinking about you."

The dead silence in the dining room became absolute.

On the other end of the line, Lexi’s thoroughly confused voice crackled through the speaker. "Baby? What the hell is wrong with you, Lena? Did you forget to take your medication this morning?"

I completely ignored her confusion, leaning casually against the back of the dining chair, biting back a wild, giddy laugh. "Oh, I miss you so much more, baby," I purred, watching Graham’s brows violently pull together.

Lillian’s face drained of every remaining drop of color. My mother-in-law froze with her hand hovering over her glass, staring at me like I had lost my mind.

Lexi, still utterly bewildered on the other end, tried again. "Wait... Lena, is someone holding a gun to your head? Who is this?"

"I’d absolutely love to see you today," I cut her off smoothly, my voice echoing loudly in the quiet room. "Send me the location. And by the way, I’m starving, so you better be taking me somewhere that serves those divine Belgian waffles. You know how spoiled I get when you treat me right. If I get used to this kind of pampering, I swear I’m going to end up completely addicted to you."

Lexi let out a sharp, confused laugh over the line. "Um... okay, I don’t know what kind of drama you’re pulling right now, but I’m actually at the cafe near..."

"I love you more, baby," I whispered softly into the receiver, completely drowning out her sentence. "See you in twenty minutes."

I ended the call with a deliberate tap of my finger.

Dead. Pure. Suffocating silence.

The tension in the dining room was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. I looked up slowly, meeting the stunned, horrified eyes of everyone at the table, and for the first time in years, I felt something close to triumph.

Graham’s jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. Lillian looked like she had just witnessed a murder. And my mother-in-law... her jaw was practically resting on her chest.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Matilda finally managed to screech, her voice cracking with outrage. "Are you openly parading an affair in my son’s house?!"

I blinked, looking at her with wide, mock-innocent eyes. "An affair? But Mom... didn’t Graham inform you about our new marital arrangement?"

Her mouth gaped open. "What? What arrangement?!"

"Yes," I nodded softly, turning my gaze to Graham, whose face was rapidly draining of blood. "He explicitly told me that he needed his freedom. He said he was tired of waiting for me, tired of my useless womb. He said he deserved to be happy, and that Lillian made him feel alive. Isn’t that right, babe? You told me a man with your status deserves whatever he wants."

Graham didn’t utter a single word. He just stared at me, his eyes wide with a dangerous mix of shock and rage.

I stood up slowly, smoothing down the emerald silk of my robe, pushing the heavy chair back with a long, deliberate scrape against the marble floor. A strange calm settled over me, the kind that only comes after you’ve finally stopped caring what people think.

"Well, I’m just following the new Sinclair family motto, aren’t I?" I smirked, looking straight into Graham’s dark, furious eyes. "Live. Love. Lie."

I turned on my heel and began walking out of the dining room, my slippers gliding over the polished tiles, my head held high, my posture unyielding, five years of swallowed pride finally straightening my spine.

I stopped right at the archway, pausing for a brief second, and glanced back over my shoulder with a wicked, devastating smile.

"Besides..." I whispered, letting my voice carry back to the table, "my new lover actually knows how to satisfy a woman."

And with that, I walked away, leaving them all choking on their breakfast, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt like I could finally breathe.