Chapter 69 - 0069: Make Sure She Never Comes Back To This House

Chapter 69: Chapter 0069: Make Sure She Never Comes Back To This House

Lillian’s Point Of View

I could barely hold in the scream clawing its way up my throat.

The hallway was dim, the suffocating shadows from the crystal chandelier slicing across the pristine marble tiles like jagged blades. Graham’s arm was wrapped around my waist as we ascended the grand staircase, his grip suffocatingly possessive, almost as if trying to stake a violent claim on me... or perhaps trying to convince himself that he wasn’t trapped in his own hell.

I smiled.

Not the smile of a glowing, happy, expectant woman... no. Mine was colder. Sharper. The kind of smile that slices skin deep before you even feel the first bead of blood. It was the smile of a woman who had just claimed victory in a brutal, unrelenting war of hearts, even as the smoke threatened to choke her whole.

My fingers dug hard into my palms, manicured nails biting into the soft flesh until I felt the dull, throbbing pain, pretending everything was fine. Pretending like my heart wasn’t thundering with a mix of blinding rage and sickening betrayal.

But inside? I was boiling.

That bitch. That filthy, arrogant bitch. The thought hissed in my mind like poison bubbling in a forgotten cauldron.

Even after everything? After every calculated seed I planted, after every tear I squeezed out, after all I’ve sacrificed to build this belly and hold his name? He still hovers near her? Still thinks of her? Still aches for her?

Even with his child... his heir, his precious Sinclair legacy, growing inside my womb... even with Elena pushed out of that master bedroom, out of that bed, locked away in some cold guest room while she wept on the carpet... he still couldn’t stop hovering around her like a helpless moth drawn to a lethal flame.

"Are you alright, Lily?" Graham’s voice broke through the dark silence, low and raspy, heavy with the stench of aged whiskey and raw exhaustion.

"I’m wonderful, baby," I cooed, leaning my weight subtly into his side, letting my silk robe part just enough to brush my bare thigh against his tailored trousers. "Just tired. It’s been such a long, dramatic night."

He didn’t answer. He just tightened his grip on my waist, but his eyes... God, his eyes weren’t looking at me. They were darting backward, tracking the dark corridor behind us, staring at the closed door of the room where his wife was hiding.

I swallowed the foul rise of bile in my throat and plastered a wider, warmer smile on my face as Graham opened the door to their room. My room now. His hand on the brass knob was sluggish, trembling slightly. He looked thoroughly wrecked. But it didn’t matter. He was walking in here with me.

Once the double doors clicked shut behind us, cutting us off from the rest of the mansion, I slowly turned to watch him. He unbuttoned his crisp white shirt with heavy, careless movements, tossing it onto the edge of the plush duvet. The golden lamplight washed over his broad shoulders, his lean, chiseled chest, the taut muscles moving beneath his bronzed skin... the body I used to lay awake at night fantasizing about long before he even knew my full name.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, running both large hands down his face with a ragged groan, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before falling back onto the pillows with a deep, shuddering sigh.

Exhaustion had taken him... mental, emotional, physical. The remnant scent of Elena’s floral perfume still clung faintly to his neck, mixed with his sweat and the sharp bite of bourbon. It made my blood turn to liquid fire.

Good. His exhaustion would make him pliable. That would make things easier.

I kept my expression soft. Polished. Radiant. My voice dipped into its most delicate, velvety register as I stepped closer.

"Let me get you something to drink, baby. Something to settle your nerves."

But inside? I was screaming till my lungs bled.

’You want to mourn her, don’t you?! You want to turn around right now, break down that lock, and crawl into her bed like a lost, pathetic puppy! I should’ve pushed that infertile whore off the balcony when I had the chance!’

I glided over to the built-in mini-bar in the corner of the suite, my movements fluid, calculated, silk whispering against my hips. I reached for the crystal decanter and poured his scotch... neat, two fingers, just the way he liked it.

I remembered. I always remembered every single detail about him... the exact temperature he preferred his coffee, the particular fold he liked in his handkerchiefs, the songs that made his jaw tighten with old grief.

I had studied him the way scholars study scripture, memorizing every verse of his existence until I could recite him in my sleep. I turned and walked back, letting the soft carpet swallow my footsteps, brushing my soft fingers lightly across the warm skin of his chest as I handed him the glass.

"Here, my love," I murmured softly. "Drink this."

He took it, his knuckles brushing mine, but he didn’t bring the glass to his lips. He just stared into the swirling amber liquid, his dark brows creasing tightly, his jaw muscles twitching as if he were holding back a roar of agony.

"She looked at me like she hated me, Lily," Graham suddenly rasped out, his voice cracking, entirely unprompted. He wasn’t even talking to me. He was talking to the phantom of her. "She looked at me like I was a complete monster."

I froze, my smile straining at the edges, a spike of cold fury driving straight into my chest.

"She’s just trying to hurt you, Graham," I whispered, keeping my tone soothing, placing a comforting hand on his knee. "She’s bitter. She knows she failed you, and now she wants to make you suffer."

"No..." Graham muttered, a dark, tortured chuckle escaping his throat as he finally took a heavy gulp of the scotch. "She didn’t fail. I broke her. I pushed her until she built a wall so thick I can’t break through it. And now... now she claims there’s someone else."

He slammed the glass down on the nightstand, the heavy crystal thudding against the mahogany. His eyes burned with an unhinged, terrifying obsession as he stared blindly at the wall.

"If another man lays a finger on her, Lily... if he touches her waist, if he tastes her mouth, if he hears the sound she makes when she loses control... I will tear him apart. I will drag him into the street and kill him with my bare hands. She is my wife. Mine. She belongs in my bed, next to me."

Every word out of his mouth felt like a physical slap across my cheek. I stood there in the shadowy warm glow of the room, my arms folded tightly beneath my chest, staring down at the man I had sacrificed my reputation for, listening to him confess his violent, incurable addiction to another woman. My throat tightened with something dangerously close to tears, but I refused to let them fall. Tears were for weaker women. Tears were for Elena.

It hadn’t always been this way. My mind drifted back, clawing through the bitter memory of how this nightmare began.

I remembered the very first time I saw Graham Sinclair.

It was three years ago at a charity gala downtown... towering velvet curtains, dripping golden chandeliers, expensive champagne, and smooth jazz floating through the air. He wasn’t even the host... just a high-profile guest, but the second he stepped through those grand double doors, the energy in the entire ballroom shifted. Power walked with him. Grace trailed lazily behind him. Women turned their heads so fast their diamonds caught the light; men immediately straightened their spines and adjusted their cuffs.

And me? I froze. My breath hitched in my throat.

He was married, of course. To Elena. The quiet, graceful, effortless beauty who stood at his side looking like a queen who didn’t even have to try.

Graham had walked into that gala like he owned the ground everyone walked on. Power didn’t just cling to him; it poured from his skin, rich and intoxicating. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Everyone wanted his time, his money, his favor.

And I... I wanted everything.

I wasn’t a nobody back then. Lillian Monroe didn’t play second fiddle to anyone. I was a socialite. Refined, gorgeous, worshipped by men in our social circle. But standing next to Graham Sinclair, I felt small. I felt invisible. It was a feeling I had not known since childhood, since the days my own mother compared me endlessly to my prettier, more accomplished cousins. I hated it. I hated him for making me feel it again.

Until he finally looked at me.

I had strategically maneuvered myself into his path near the champagne tower, stepping right into his line of sight. When our eyes met, my heart hammered like a trapped bird.

"Mr. Sinclair," I had purred, extending a delicate, gloved hand, tilting my head just right so the light caught the diamonds at my throat. "I’m Lillian. Lillian Monroe."

Graham had paused, his tall, broad frame looming over me. He took my hand, his grip warm, firm, and completely professional. He gave me a polite, distant smile - the kind of smile a king gives a subject.

"Miss Monroe," he had said, his deep, baritone voice sending a shiver straight down my spine. "A pleasure. You look very elegant tonight."

"Just elegant?" I had teased softly, stepping half an inch closer, letting my eyes flutter up to his lips. "I was aiming for unforgettable."

Graham had let out a smooth, polite chuckle, but his dark eyes remained completely unbothered, utterly devoid of heat. "Unforgettable is a dangerous standard, Miss Monroe."

Before I could say another word, before I could lean into his space or use the charm that had brought lesser men to their knees, Graham’s gaze drifted right past my shoulder.

Elena was walking toward him, holding a small plate of appetizers, her laughter soft and genuine.

The moment Graham saw her, his entire demeanor changed. The cold, impenetrable businessman melted away. His eyes softened with a sickening, raw devotion.

"If you’ll excuse me, Lillian," Graham said casually, dropping my hand without a second thought. "My wife is waiting."

He didn’t even look back at me. He just walked away, sliding his arm around Elena’s waist, pulling her flush against his side, whispering something in her ear that made her throw her head back and laugh.

I stood there alone by the champagne tower, my hand still tingling from his touch, humiliation burning hot in my chest. He had brushed me off like a speck of dust on his lapel. He was completely uninterested in me. To Graham Sinclair, I was nothing more than a brief interruption in his evening.

I watched him from across the crowded room for the rest of the night. I watched the way his thumb stroked Elena’s bare back. I watched the way he leaned down to kiss her temple. I watched the absolute, unbreakable grip he had on her. Every gesture was a fresh wound, and yet I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop cataloguing each intimacy like a starving woman pressed against a bakery window.

That night, something inside me broke and reformed into something dark and ruthless. It wasn’t a simple crush. It was hunger. It was an obsession.

’I will have you, Graham,’ I had vowed in the dark of my limousine that night, staring at my reflection in the tinted glass, my chest heavy with venom. ’I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what I have to destroy. You will look at me the way you look at her. I will never give up.’

I didn’t just want him. Not just the man. I wanted into his life, his legacy, his empire. His money, his name, and above all... his heart. I wanted to own every single piece of him the way Elena did. That insipid, undeserving, infertile woman didn’t even know the true value of the titan she was holding.

So I waited. I played the long, treacherous game.

I became his "friend." I positioned myself as his confidante. I laughed at his jokes at corporate dinners, lingering at the edge of his world, building trust brick by brick. I showed up at every gala, every charity launch, every private art auction - places Elena slowly stopped attending as her spirit waned under the pressure of not conceiving.

I whispered in elite circles Elena could never reach. I wrapped myself in silk, diamonds, and endless patience. Some nights I went home and wept from the sheer exhaustion of pretending, of smiling at a man who barely registered my existence, but I never once considered stopping. Quitting had never been in my nature.

And when the subtle cracks in their picture-perfect marriage finally began to show? I was right there. Listening. Comforting. Nudging. Planting venomous seeds of doubt about her loyalty, her competence, her ability to fulfill his legacy. I poured water on those seeds every time he complained, letting them grow into a thick forest of resentment.

And now?

Now I was inside his house. Living under his roof. Sleeping on the bed that used to belong to her. I was carrying his child - his blood was literally growing inside my body. That should have sealed the deal. That should have been the final spike in Elena’s coffin.

But no. Even now, after I forced him to his knees down at the bar, even after he promised to let her go... his soul was still chained to her. When she walked into a room, his eyes searched for her like a starving man looking for a drop of water.

She was a disease in his blood. And I was going to cure him of her if it was the last thing I ever did. But first... I had to obliterate her. Entirely. Not just from his bed, but from the face of his earth.

She was out of this room. Step one complete. The next step? Throwing her out of this house, out of his mind, out of his life, and straight into the dirt where she belonged.

My feet carried me quietly into the adjoining marble bathroom, the soft sound of the running sink water muffling the subtle creak of the door. I glanced back through the crack; Graham had finally drifted off, his breathing slow, heavy, and steady as the alcohol took its toll.

I turned and stared at myself in the vanity mirror. I looked pale, but my eyes were bright with a terrifying, triumphant fire. I placed my palm gently over the soft curve of my round belly, feeling the subtle warmth beneath my skin.

"I now have you, Graham," I whispered to my reflection, my lips curving into a ruthless, beautiful sneer. "You’re mine now. I am never, ever losing you to that bitch. You’ll love me. You’ll have no choice once she’s gone forever."

My heart pounded with a dark, thrilling adrenaline. I wiped my hands, reached for my phone resting on the marble counter, and unlocked it. I brought up a contact saved under an innocent, fake name.

I hit call. It rang twice in the quiet room before a low, gruff voice answered on the other end.

"Talk," the voice rasped.

I didn’t bother with pleasantries. I leaned close to the microphone, my voice dropping into a low, icy, calculated whisper that dripped with pure malice.

"She’ll be driving East tomorrow morning," I said, my words sharp and clear. "Heading out to launch that pathetic little independent deal she’s been working on. Probably all smiles and sunshine, thinking she’s finally free."

I paused, glancing through the cracked door one more time to ensure Graham was still deeply unconscious. His soft, heavy snore confirmed it.

My lips curled into a toxic grin, my voice trembling with suppressed excitement.

"I want her car sabotaged. I want her gone, do you understand me? Make it look like an accident, make it look like a tragedy... just make sure she never comes back to this house."