Chapter 10
She’d heard the whispers. That she was a schemer. That she’d stolen other person’s place as Mrs. Leon.
But that night… she hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. She had unknowingly drunk the drugged soup.
By the time she realized something was wrong and tried to call an ambulance, Vance had already pulled her into his arms, burning with fever.
Then came those fateful words. “I’ll take responsibility.”
And that was all it took for one night of chaos to turn into six years of emotional exile.
His version of “responsibility” was a marriage license that locked her into a role she never asked for–a gilded cage labeled Mrs. Leon.
And somehow, she’d spent those years clinging to that cage, trying to find happiness inside it.
A quiet, bitter smile tugged at her lips. Her voice was low,
“We’re already divorced.”
eyes flickered in surprise for a split second before rolled them. “You better be.”
‘Estela, soft as a vine and just as clingy, actually daring to divorce Vance? What a joke. If that day ever really came, I’d dance in nothing but heels all night down Golden Avenue,‘ she thought.
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Chapter 10
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Without another word, Thelma turned and got into her car.
Estela turned back to Mervin, managing a strained, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Mr. Patel.”
Mervin offered a polite nod, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. There’s no need to blame yourself, Ms. Warren.”
He didn’t pry further. Once he confirmed her ride had arrived, he gave a courteous goodbye and drove off.
The rain and wind hit her like a wall. By the time Estela got into her car, a pounding headache had set in.
Her body still hadn’t fully recovered from the flu, and now she was shivering uncontrollably, her face deathly pale.
“Miss, are you alright? Should I take you to the hospital?” the driver asked, his voice laced with concern as he stepped harder on the gas.
Estela didn’t respond right away. She was staring blankly at her phone, lost in thought.
Somehow, Rowena had unblocked her–and even posted a rare photo.
In it, Phoebe was smiling brightly, holding Josh and Rowena in her arms. Vance stood behind them, his gaze soft, all his warmth directed at Phoebe.
But what caught Estela’s attention was what all four of them were wearing–matching family pajamas with little teddy bears.
That set of pajamas had been the only thing Estela had ever designed for her own family after stepping away from the
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Chapter 10
fashion world.
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She’d poured her heart into them, tweaking every stitch, every detail, over a hundred times.
But when she’d finally brought them out, proud and hopeful, her children had turned their noses up at them.
“I’m not wearing that. It’s childish,” Josh had said flatly.
“This is so ugly, Mommy! I don’t want it! Waaaah!” Rowena had cried.
Estela had gently tried coaxing them to just try it on, but Rowena had burst into tears.
When Vance came home, Rowena had gone straight to him, pouting in complaint.
He’d taken one glance at the pajamas hanging on the rack, then shot her a cold look. “Estela, how old are you?”
And now, the very pajamas that had once been mocked, rejected, and made her feel foolish–were being worn. By them. With another woman.
Estela felt like she had plunged into an icy abyss. Her fingers, numb and trembling, dialed Rowena’s number.
She just wanted to ask–what exactly is going on?
On the other end, Rowena was cuddled up with her cloth doll, posing for a photo next to Phoebe.
When she saw the caller ID, her delicate brows twitched, a flicker of annoyance flashing through her eyes.
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The phone rang endlessly until Phoebe gently reminded her, “Rowena, it’s your mom calling. Aren’t you going to answer?”
Rowena shook her head. “Mom’s so annoying. If I pick up, she’ll just start nagging again. I don’t want to deal with it.”
With that, she hit the decline button.
Turning to Josh, she grumbled, “See? I told you we shouldn’t have unblocked her. Look how quickly she’s gone back to calling non–stop. I don’t even know why you were worried.”
“I wasn’t worried!” Josh shot back, though there was a trace of irritation in his voice too. “I just said maybe she forgot to tell us something. You’re the one who took her off the block list.”
‘Seriously, can’t Mom have picked a better time to call? She is making me look bad,‘ he thought.
Rowena pouted. “She never forgets anything. Once she starts talking, she never shuts up. It’s exhausting.”
For the past three months in Zrefast, Estela had called them like clockwork–twice a day, every day. Once in the morning during breakfast, and once in the evening around dinnertime. Each call lasted nearly an hour, filled with endless reminders and questions.
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