Chapter 2 - The Wrong Side of the Door

Revenge, I quickly learned, is a dish best served with absolute, irrefutable evidence.

Destroying Ryan’s financial standing and Lorraine’s social status was satisfying, but it wasn't the killing blow. The killing blow came three days later, orchestrated in the very kitchen where Lorraine had torn my white dress and sealed her own fate.

I was packing my final personal items into a few designer suitcases. The house felt massive, hollow, and peaceful without Ryan's heavy footsteps or his mother’s lingering scent of cheap perfume. Ryan was currently staying in a cheap motel by the interstate, having been forcibly evicted by the private security firm I hired to guard the estate.

The doorbell rang.

I walked to the foyer and checked the security camera. Standing on the porch was a woman. She was young, perhaps twenty-four, with long blonde hair, expensive lip filler, and a nervous energy that radiated through the screen. She was clutching a designer handbag that I instantly recognized—because I had seen the charge for it on Ryan’s hidden credit card statement.

I pressed a button, unlocking the door and letting it swing open.

The girl jumped slightly, peering into the grand foyer. “Hello? Is Ryan here?”

“No,” I said, stepping into the light. “But I imagine you’re looking for me. Come in, Chloe.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “You... you know who I am?”

“I know everything, Chloe. Sit down.” I gestured toward the massive marble island in the kitchen.

She walked in hesitantly, her eyes darting around the luxurious space, taking in the crystal chandeliers and the custom cabinetry. This was the life she thought Ryan was going to give her. The life he had promised her.

“He told me you were separating,” Chloe said defensively, crossing her arms as she sat on one of the barstools. “He told me you were crazy, that you were trying to steal his company, and that his accounts were frozen because of a temporary legal dispute. He said he just needs twenty thousand dollars to retain a lawyer, and then he’ll be back on top.”

I couldn't help but pity her slightly. She was just another pawn in Ryan’s narcissistic game.

“Chloe,” I sighed, sliding a manila folder across the marble island toward her. “Ryan doesn't have a company. He never did. He doesn't have any money. He never did. The only reason he was able to buy you that purse, or pay the rent on your luxury apartment downtown, was because he was stealing from my family.”

She opened the folder. Inside were photographs. Pictures of Ryan and Lorraine sitting in a lawyer’s office years ago. Financial documents showing the exact origin of the funds used to pay her rent. And finally, a copy of the prenuptial agreement Ryan and I had signed.

“He told you he was leaving me for you, didn't he?” I asked gently.

Tears welled up in Chloe’s eyes. She looked at the documents, the reality crashing down on her. “He said as soon as the divorce was final, he would get half of everything. He said we would buy a house in Malibu.”

“Ryan will be lucky if he can afford a studio apartment in a bad neighborhood by the time my lawyers are finished with him,” I said, pouring her a glass of water. “He didn't love you, Chloe. He loved how you made him feel. He loved playing the wealthy benefactor. But the play is over, and the theater is closing.”

Suddenly, the front door rattled. A key scraped against the lock, but failed to turn.

“Let me in! Elena, I know you’re in there!” Lorraine’s voice screeched from the front porch.

I smiled. Perfect timing. I had unblocked Lorraine's phone number exactly ten minutes ago, knowing she would immediately trace my location and come demanding answers.

I walked to the door and pulled it open. Lorraine practically fell into the hallway, looking completely unhinged. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smeared.

“You evil, vindictive little—” Lorraine started, pointing a shaking finger at me.

But then she stopped. She looked past me into the kitchen and saw Chloe sitting at the island, crying over a folder of documents.

Lorraine’s face morphed from rage to absolute confusion. “Who is that? What is going on?”

“Lorraine, meet Chloe,” I introduced them with a theatrical wave of my hand. “Chloe is the reason your son couldn't afford to pay off your third mortgage last month. He was too busy paying the lease on her Mercedes.”

Lorraine gasped, clutching her chest. “Ryan... Ryan would never—”

“He did,” Chloe snapped, suddenly finding her anger. She stood up, glaring at Lorraine. “He spent fifty thousand dollars on me in the last six months alone! He told me you were a leech who was bleeding him dry, and that he was going to cut you off as soon as he divorced his crazy wife!”

The look on Lorraine’s face was worth every single moment of pain I had endured in this marriage. The absolute devastation of realizing her golden boy, the son she worshipped and protected, had been playing her just as heavily as he had been playing me.

“You... you little tramp!” Lorraine screamed, lunging toward the kitchen.

“Enough!” I barked, my voice cracking like a whip. Both women froze.

I looked at Lorraine, the woman who had tormented me, belittled me, and destroyed my property because she thought she held all the power. Now, she was nothing more than a pathetic, broke woman fighting with her son’s mistress in a house she would never set foot in again.

“Get out,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Both of you. Get out of my house. And if either of you ever come near me again, I won't just ruin you financially. I will make sure the police see the fraud files my lawyers have prepared. Goodbye, Lorraine.”