“Congratulations. Now you can finally prove you belong in this family.”
My husband laughed.
And that was the exact moment I stopped wondering whether marrying him had been a mistake.
The woman Patricia fired was Maria.
She had worked in the Whitmore mansion for eleven years.
Maria stood beside the kitchen doorway clutching her handbag, her eyes wet with embarrassment.
“You can leave now,” Patricia said coldly. “We have someone younger to take over.”
Then she turned toward me.
I was still wearing the silk robe Daniel had given me for our honeymoon.
“Breakfast is served at seven. Laundry every Monday. Bathrooms twice a week. Daniel prefers his shirts pressed.”
I looked down at the apron lying near my feet.
“You fired Maria because you expect me to replace her?”
Patricia smiled.
“You married into a wealthy family, sweetheart. Surely you didn’t think your role was simply to sit around looking pretty.”
Daniel leaned casually against the counter.
“Mom’s traditional. Just go along with it.”
I turned toward him.
“Go along with it?”
He lowered his voice.
“Emily, don’t start drama two days into our marriage.”
That sentence told me everything I needed to know.
During our eleven-month engagement, Daniel had always described his mother as “difficult but harmless.”
He had also promised that after the wedding, we would move into our own home.
Instead, the morning after the ceremony, he announced that living in Patricia’s mansion “for a few months” would help us save money.
I hadn’t argued.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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