Chapter 2
Grace's POV
After arranging the meeting place with William, I composed myself and returned to the living room.
When I entered the dining room and saw the scene before me, anger and disgust filled everything.
I watched Richard pile Emma's plate with her favorite mac and cheese while Laura beamed at them from across the table. They looked like something from a family magazine cover—picture perfect and utterly fake.
"Emma, sweetie, tell Daddy what you did in art class today," Laura prompted, her hand casually resting on Richard's forearm.
Emma bounced in her seat. "I made a family portrait! Ms. Parker said it was the best in the class."
"That's my talented girl," Richard said proudly, ruffling her hair.
I sat in silence, poking at my untouched salad. Since I sat down, they hadn't even glanced my way. I was a ghost in my own home—a home that had never truly been mine.
Richard cleared his throat. "By the way, Grace, I think it would be good if Laura stayed with us for a while."
I looked up sharply. "Why would she need to stay here?"
"Emma's been having some behavioral issues," he explained, not meeting my eyes. "She needs her teacher's consistent guidance. Laura's expertise would be helpful."
Laura nodded earnestly. "Children at this developmental stage need stability. Emma's behavioral issues are a classic manifestation of emotional insecurity."
They exchanged glances—a split-second of shared understanding that confirmed what I already knew. This was all carefully choreographed.
"Behavioral issues?" I echoed, "Like what?"
As if on cue, Emma's face scrunched up in anger. "I don't want her sitting here!" she suddenly screamed, pointing at me.
Before I could react, she grabbed her glass of grape juice and deliberately threw its contents across the table. The purple liquid splashed across my cream-colored designer dress.
"Emma!" Richard's reprimand lacked any real conviction.
Laura immediately jumped up and wrapped her arms around the smirking child. "Grace. This is just how she expresses anxiety. She doesn't have the emotional vocabulary to articulate her feelings yet."
When she glanced at me, the condescension in her tone made my blood boil. From college roommate to home-wrecker to amateur child psychologist—her resume had really expanded.
I dabbed at my ruined dress with a napkin, calmly studying the three of them. A perfect performance prepared especially for me, I thought coldly.
"I'm sorry about dinner," Richard said later as he followed me into the master bedroom. "Emma's been difficult lately."
I pulled off my stained dress and tossed it into the trash. No point in saving it now.
"Laura staying here is just temporary," he continued, watching me change with that possessive gaze I once found flattering.
"It's fine," I replied, surprising him. "I don't care if she stays."
Richard visibly relaxed. "You're... very understanding."
"I want ten percent of Harrison Group's shares," I said, turning to face him directly.
His expression instantly shifted from relief to shock. "What?"
"You heard me. Ten percent ownership as compensation for my work on the upcoming IPO."
"Grace, that's impossible," he sputtered. "The company's about to go public. We can't restructure ownership now."
Looking at his hesitant demeanor, I inwardly scoffed. I remembered how I'd given up my advanced training opportunity and offers from major companies to help save his startup when it was struggling.
In just two years, I had helped multiply his company's profits dozens of times over. In a few more months, he would complete the company's IPO, and its asset value would reach $2 billion.
Richard's jaw tightened. "The board would never approve—"
"Then find a way to make them approve," I cut in. "Or I might reconsider how much I'm willing to help with the IPO preparations."
He stared at me, clearly blindsided by this new version of his usually accommodating fake wife. After a moment, he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen several times.
"I've transferred two million dollars to your account," he said. "This is your compensation."
I glanced at the notification that appeared on my phone. Two million dollars. Six years ago, this amount would have changed my life. Now it felt like an insult.
"We'll discuss the shares after the IPO," Richard added, his tone making it clear the conversation was over.
I nodded, choosing to retreat temporarily, knowing he would never hand control of the company over to me.
"Let's go to bed early then," he said, starting to take off his clothes.
"I think I need to sleep alone tonight," I pointed to the bandage on my head. This perfectly gave me a reason to refuse any physical contact with him. After seeing him intimate with Laura, I felt nauseated.
He left the room disappointed, while I just kept smirking coldly.
The next morning, I came downstairs to find Richard, Laura, and Emma gathered around the breakfast table, laughing together as if they'd been doing this all their lives. The scene was sickeningly domestic—Laura pouring coffee while Richard arranged freshly baked croissants and blueberry muffins on a plate.
"Oh my goodness, are those blueberry muffins?" Laura exclaimed with exaggerated delight. "My favorite breakfast!"
I froze at the bottom of the stairs. During college, I had mentioned to Richard that Laura loved blueberry muffins for breakfast. A trivial detail I had forgotten until this moment.
"Only the best for you," Richard said, touching her arm with casual intimacy.
I watched them, feeling like an intruder in what was clearly their morning routine. Emma sat between them, happily munching on a croissant, looking more relaxed than I had ever seen her.
"Good morning," I said, forcing a smile as I joined them at the table.
Three heads turned toward me with varying degrees of emotion. Emma's scowl instantly returned to her face.
"Grace," Richard said. "Coffee?"
I nodded, taking the empty seat that felt miles away from their cozy triangle.
"Richard is always so attentive," Laura said.
I reached for a muffin. "Yes, he's quite attentive to every woman in his life, isn't he, Richard?"
Richard choked on his coffee. "Grace is joking," he quickly told Laura, whose smile had turned brittle.
"Always joking, that's me," I replied lightly.
The atmosphere at the table became strange.
