Chapter 3 Bitter Tea
Jane: POV
I pushed open the door to our Upper East Side penthouse, my shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
The confrontation at the hotel, Ethan's proposal, Lucas's threats—it was all too much for one day. All I wanted was a hot shower and a moment of peace to clear my head.
Instead, I found Isabella Shaw perched on our Italian leather sofa like a queen on her throne, designer handbag placed precisely beside her, scrolling through her phone with manicured fingers.
Great. Just fucking great.
I plastered on the polite smile I'd perfected over the past year of marriage—the one that never reached my eyes.
"Mrs. Shaw," I said, closing the door behind me. "What a surprise. Lucas isn't home yet. Probably still... busy with work."
Or busy with Serena in another hotel room. The bitter thought flashed through my mind as I set down my purse.
Isabella looked up, her perfectly Botoxed face barely creasing as she smiled.
At fifty-two, she maintained the polished appearance of a woman fourteen years younger, her brown-streaked hair styled in an elegant bob that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.
"Jane, darling. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by."
"Let me make you some tea," I offered, retreating to the kitchen where I could at least breathe for a moment.
As I waited for the water to boil, I gripped the marble countertop until my knuckles turned white.
Isabella Shaw was the last person I wanted to see today.
For the past year, she'd been complicit in Lucas's charade, pretending our marriage was perfect while knowing full well he was carrying on with Serena.
They all treated me like some ornamental vase—pretty to look at, useful for social occasions, but ultimately hollow and without purpose. The Shaws had never seen me as anything but a decorative addition to their family portfolio.
I arranged some imported biscuits on a plate, placed everything on a silver tray, and returned to the living room, the perfect daughter-in-law performing her duties.
"Here we are," I said, pouring the tea with steady hands despite the storm inside me.
Isabella took a delicate sip.
"Mmm, lovely. Now tell me, how are things between you and Lucas? I saw on Page Six that you two were spotted at the Celestial Hotel for some kind of... intimate party?" She raised an eyebrow. "Lucas always did have a wild streak. His father was the same way."
I nearly choked on my tea. The audacity of this woman! I was so tempted to say, "Actually, I was there to catch your son in bed with Serena, your darling goddaughter. The only 'intimate party' was the one I interrupted."
Instead, I took a deep breath, the teacup trembling slightly in my hand. "The media always exaggerates, you know that."
"Well, a little excitement keeps a marriage fresh," Isabella said with a knowing smile. "William and I have been married for thirty years. I could tell you stories..."
Please don't, I thought.
As Isabella prattled on about marriage wisdom she was woefully unqualified to dispense, I made my decision.
I was done with the lies, done with being the Shaw family's puppet. They deserved to know exactly what kind of man Lucas was.
"Isabella," I interrupted, setting down my cup with a decisive clink. "There's something I need to tell you about Lucas and me—"
The front door opened, and Lucas strode in, still in his tailored suit from earlier.
His eyes widened slightly at the sight of his mother.
"Isabella, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice controlled but with an edge of tension.
I stared at him in disbelief.
Lucas was actually home? Not with Serena? In the year we'd been married, he'd spent more nights away than here.
This house had never felt like a home—just an expensive cage where I was expected to wait patiently for my jailer to return.
"I was in the neighborhood," Isabella replied, rising to kiss her son's cheek. "Jane has been keeping me company."
Lucas's eyes darted to me, a silent warning in them. He knew exactly what I might have been about to say.
"How nice," he said, his hand suddenly on my shoulder, fingers digging in slightly. "Jane is always the perfect hostess, isn't she?"
I twisted away from his touch, my skin crawling.
"Isabella," I said, determined to finish what I'd started. "Lucas and I—"
"—are doing wonderfully," Lucas interrupted, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me against him. His grip was tight, possessive. A warning. "Aren't we, darling?"
I looked into his eyes, seeing the cold threat there. My brother's therapy. My father's surgery. Both dependent on the Shaw family's money and connections.
"Sure," I said flatly.
Isabella beamed, oblivious to the tension crackling between us.
"That's wonderful to hear. By the way, Thomas's daughter—you know, about your age—just had her first baby."
"You two have been married a year now, and there's still no sign of a little one. You should be trying harder, dear." She looked pointedly at me. "I've been dying for a beautiful, well-behaved grandchild."
I took a sip of ice-cold lemon water to calm the sudden surge of disgust.
This old bat had no idea her son hadn't touched me since our wedding night.
The thought of having a child with Lucas now made my stomach turn ever since I found out he was cheating on me. I would never, ever sleep with this man again, let alone bear his child
But I couldn't tell her that. Not yet. Not with Michael's medical care and my father's surgery hanging in the balance.
Once Ethan helped transfer them to another facility, I'd tell the Shaws exactly where they could shove their family legacy.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me. The stress of the day, the lack of food, the emotional whiplash—it all crashed down at once. I gagged involuntarily, pressing my hand to my mouth.
Isabella's eyes widened. "Jane? Are you alright?" Then her expression changed to one of delighted suspicion. "Oh my goodness, you're not already pregnant, are you?"
I opened my mouth to deny it, but before I could speak, Lucas grabbed my arm and practically dragged me toward the bathroom.
"Excuse us for a minute, Mother," he called over his shoulder, his voice strained.
Once inside, he slammed the door and turned on me, his face a mask of rage and panic.
"Are you fucking pregnant?" he hissed, keeping his voice low so his mother couldn't hear. "Whose is it? Who's the guy you've been sleeping with behind my back?"
The irony was so thick I could choke on it. I stared at him in disbelief. After a year of him cheating on me, he had the nerve to accuse me?
I was about to tell him I wasn't pregnant—how could I be when he never touched me?—when a sudden, reckless idea formed in my mind.
"What if I am?" I said softly, watching his face.
Lucas's expression darkened dangerously, his complexion turning ashen. For a moment, I thought he might hit me.
"You little whore," he whispered. "You think you can cuckold me? Make me raise another man's bastard? I'll destroy you before I let that happen."
Outside the door, Isabella knocked softly. "Is everything alright in there? If Jane is pregnant, we need to go to the hospital right away to confirm it. This is such wonderful news!"