Chapter 2

"The woman Sir Darson brought to the mansion is beautiful and kind. I really admire her! Madam Celeste, on the other hand, even after five years in the mansion, is still difficult to approach. She always wants to be greeted and respected. But with Madam Chiarra, we became close right away!"

"Be careful with what you say, Tami. They might think you're taking the mistress's side. Even if Madam Chiarra is kind, we shouldn't support what's wrong."

"Hmp! Why not? I feel like Sir Darson is going to leave Madam Celeste sooner than later. He's not happy with her anymore. But if you look at him now, his happiness has returned with Madam Chiarra! I guess that's just how it is. When a woman lacks something, the man will look for another woman to fill that void."

"For me, Madam Celeste doesn't lack anything. It's just that she can't give birth to a child for Sir Darson. What kind of wife would deny her husband the chance to have a child, right? Honestly, in this day and age, they can use technology to have a biological child. It's just... cheaters are cheaters, and Sir Darson chose to betray Madam Celeste."

"Oh, I don't know! I still find Madam Chiarra kind. Let's go and prepare the food! Madam Priscilla is already downstairs."

Celeste stood by the window, her eyes fixated on the horizon as if the distant sky could somehow absorb the storm raging within her. The conversation between the maids echoed in her mind.

For five years, she had tried to fit the mold of the perfect wife—composed, dignified, and elegant, just as society and her in-laws expected. She had never faltered in her duties, always maintaining her grace in every situation. But now, her efforts seemed futile, overshadowed by the arrival of Chiarra, the mistress who had effortlessly won over not just her husband but the entire household.

Despite the turmoil inside her, Celeste managed to maintain a cold exterior. She had no choice but to endure. The Allegra family had stripped her of everything, leaving her with nothing but the hollow title of "Madam." Her in-laws had taken control of her life, manipulating every aspect of it until she was merely a shadow of the woman she once was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. She knew who it was even before Priscilla spoke.

"What kind of drama are you causing now, Celeste? I heard you've been neglecting your responsibilities and always locking yourself in your room without even eating.” Priscilla's voice was sharp, devoid of any warmth or compassion. The older woman's eyes narrowed as she took in Celeste's disheveled appearance.

Celeste held her breath, forcing herself to remain calm. "Aunt, I understand you," she replied, her voice steady despite the emotions threatening to break through. "Please don't worry about this matter because I've accepted it, and I won't sulk in my room anymore."

Priscilla's gaze hardened, her disappointment evident. "Fix yourself, Celeste, because our family has suffered greatly since we accepted your family into this marriage. Not only did it bring no good to the company, but even in terms of your womb, it's a failure! What kind of disgrace have we encountered!"

"I apologize..." Celeste instinctively placed a hand on her stomach, as if to shield herself from the harsh words.

"It doesn't matter! The Allegras saved the company, and Darson will finally have a child. In some way, we're still blessed from above. So, can you do us a favor and take care of Chiarra while she's pregnant!? I don't want to hear that you're like a drama queen, crying and locking yourself in your room!"

"Yes, aunt. I will take care of her while she's here in the mansion."

"Good. I expect you not to be cruel to Chiarra or think of doing something bad to her. Because I'm telling you, if anything undesirable happens to that woman and her unborn child, I won't hesitate to kick you out of this mansion!"

"I understand, aunt."

“Tsk!”

Priscilla left without another word, leaving Celeste alone on the terrace.

Anna, her loyal maid, entered the terrace hesitantly. "Madam, based on the information I gathered, it's your mother-in-law who pushed Sir Darson to have an affair. She's also been involved with the place where Chiarra came from outside."

Celeste let out a lifeless laugh. So it had been Priscilla all along. She had naively hoped that her mother-in-law, who had defended her during the first year of her marriage to Darson, would stand by her now. But even that small hope was shattered. Chiarra, a woman with no status or name, was welcomed with open arms, while she, the legitimate wife, was cast aside. Celeste was deeply curious as to why Priscilla had chosen this ignorant woman as the mistress. She doubted that Priscilla's intention was merely to mock her; that was not Priscilla’s way of crushing her.

"Sister!" Chiarra's voice broke through her thoughts. The woman appeared at the entrance of the terrace, all smiles and liveliness, as if she hadn’t destroyed another woman’s life. "It's time to eat, sister. Shall we go down together?"

Celeste clenched her fists, fighting the urge to lash out. How could Chiarra act so casually after everything she had done? But she knew better than to show any weakness. Instead, she forced a smile, masking the turmoil inside.

"Ah! Yes, that lobster something. Anyway! Daddy said he cooked it for me. So I'm excited, sister! Let's share so you can taste it too."

Celeste's heart tightened. Lobster Thermidor—her favorite dish, the one Darson used to cook just for her. Now, he was preparing it for another woman, flaunting his betrayal in her face. She bit her lip, suppressing the tears that threatened to fall. This was her life now—enduring the pain, maintaining her composure, and silently suffering the consequences of a love that had turned cold.

"Ha..." A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

***

Over the past few weeks, Celeste had meticulously ensured that Chiarra wanted for nothing. She orchestrated every detail of her stay in the mansion, from the luxurious wardrobe filled with new clothes and accessories to the elegant room she had personally renovated for her. All the while, she had watched Darson, consumed by work, return home only once or twice a week—each time bypassing her entirely to be with Chiarra.

"Madam, it's almost midnight. Staying up this late isn't good for you, especially when you've been crying so much," Anna's voice broke the silence, gentle yet laced with concern. Anna was the only one left in the mansion who still spoke to Celeste, the only one who hadn't been swayed by Chiarra's presence.

Celeste's gaze remained fixed out the window, her expression serene but void of warmth. "I’m just waiting for Darson’s car. I need to talk to him about something."

Anna hesitated, a sigh escaping her lips. “Alright. But don’t stay up for too long, in case Sir Darson doesn’t come home tonight."

Celeste finally looked at Anna, “Goodnight, Anna. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

Anna smiled. “Goodnight, Madam. I’ll head to bed now.”

Celeste watched Anna leave, the door closing softly behind her. She turned back to the window, her expression cold, unfeeling. The maids had made their choice, siding with Chiarra without a second thought. Celeste had treated them all with dignity, never once raising her hand or voice, but it hadn’t mattered. In the end, she had been the one cast aside, a barren woman with nothing left to offer.

If she had been able to give Darson a child, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps then, she could have held onto something, some remnant of the life she had lost. But it was too late for that now.

The sound of dogs barking and the guard’s voice broke through her thoughts. Celeste’s eyes narrowed as she saw Darson’s car pull up. He handed his keys to the guard. “Park it for me.”

A flicker of something crossed Celeste’s face, but it wasn’t hope. She left her room, walking with measured steps toward the living room, her posture regal, composed. But she halted abruptly when she saw Chiarra descending the staircase, her hand lightly resting on the banister.

“Sis?” Chiarra’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “You’re still awake?”

Celeste’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I was just going to greet my husband."

Chiarra’s smirk was cruel. “Why bother? Do you really think he’ll notice you?”

Celeste met her gaze, the smile never wavering. “Claim him when you’re actually married. That is, if he’ll really marry a prostitute.”

She knew the Allegras well enough to know they wouldn’t dare marry their beloved only son to a woman like Chiarra. After all, it is an embarrassment if this information circulates.

“You poor, deluded woman.” Chiarra’s voice dripped with false sympathy. “The divorce papers are already prepared. Soon, I’ll be his wife.”

Celeste’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Divorce papers?” Her voice was calm, but a crack had appeared in her composure. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?” Chiarra’s smile widened. “Darson loves me now. You’re nothing but a barren old hag. It’s time you accepted that.”

The words struck Celeste like a physical blow, but she didn’t flinch. Her expression remained impassive, though her hands trembled slightly. Before she knew it, she had raised her hand and slapped Chiarra across the face.

Chiarra didn’t recoil. Instead, she laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. “You’re pathetic.”

“CELESTE!” Darson’s voice echoed through the mansion, filled with fury.

Celeste turned, her eyes meeting his, but there was no fear in her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but Chiarra moved first. With a dramatic cry, she threw herself down the staircase, her body tumbling down the steps in a grotesque parody of an accident.

Celeste watched in stunned silence, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. 

“CHIARRA!!” Darson’s scream pierced the air as he rushed to the crumpled form at the bottom of the stairs. Blood pooled around her, seeping into the carpet as Darson gathered her into his arms, his face a mask of horror.

“No!!” Darson’s voice was hoarse as he ran for the door, cradling Chiarra like she was something precious. Celeste could hear him shouting for the car to be started, the desperation in his voice cutting through the night.

Celeste remained at the top of the stairs, her hands gripping the banister so tightly her knuckles turned white. The scene played out in front of her like something out of a nightmare, but she felt nothing. No guilt, no sorrow, not even anger. Only a deep, bone-chilling numbness.

"I didn’t push her," she whispered to the empty room. "She threw herself down. I didn’t do it."

But no one was there to listen.