SEND GIFT
COMMENT
Chapter 113
Eva’s POV:
It had been a week since Irene had left, and the house had finally fallen into the rhythm I preferred–a rhythm that suited me, not her. Her absence left a vacuum that I was more than happy to fill, tuming her carefully curated home into something that resonated with my style, my taste. She had her dance to make this place hers, and she’d failed. Now, it was time to make it my own.
And I will not waste any more time in doing that.
With Damien too preoccupied with his work and Lenora’s fragile state, there was no one to question my decisions. The house was mine to shape as I pleased. I strolled through each rodin, inspecting everything with a discerning eye, thinking of all the ways I could erase her presence from every corner of this place. Irene had left her mark everywhere–light, airy colors, soft fabrics, and little sentimental knick–knacks that only a person like her would care for. It was all painfully quaint and far too soft.
That morning. I’d called in a team of interior decorators to redesign the entire place. They arrived with fabric swatches, paint samples, and notebooks, eager to bring my vision to life. I mean when money was speaking everyone just had to bow. I could feel the power in the air as I directed them through each room, pointing out what had to go and what I wanted in its place.
“First of all, the living room,” I started. I could see their eyes scanning the space, taking in the white walls, the gentle blues. and those delicate floral curtains she’d chosen. “All of this–I gestured to the pale, neutral décor-“has to go. We need rich. darker tones. Something dramatic.”
I love dramatic color, something that resonated with me unlike The Boring Irene
The head designer nodded, scribbling notes. I pointed to the pale, textured couch Irene had insisted on, something she said. brought “light and peace” to the room. I wanted anything but peace. “Replace this with something bold–velvet, in a deep emerald green, maybe a smoky grey. And I want a statement rug, something with an intricate pattern, not these light, lifeless colors.”
We moved into the dining room, and I was equally horrified by her choices there. The polished wood table and her understated choice of silverware felt sterile. There was no grandeur, no luxury in the space she’d created.
How can we be living in a mini mansion and not even feel like it?
She can never understand how the rich work. Which is why I will always be the perfect match for Damien
“I’m thinking a crystal chandelier,” I suggested, tilting my head back and imagining it sparkling above. “Something decadent. with more charm and opulence. Irene had never understood the appeal of extravagance–she wanted things to be imple and “tasteful.” I wanted people to be impressed when they walked in, to feel as if they were in the home of someone who understood real sophistication
In the kitchen, I spent extra time. It was her favorite room, and her touches were everywhere. Everything was natural wood and clean lines, the countertops were just a simple polished marble, and her plants–oh, those ridiculous plants–sat in the comer by the window. I found them unbearable, a reflection of her earthy, grounded personality.
I hated her. And so I hated them.
“These plants have to go, I announced with a wave of my hand. The designers glanced at each other, but I didn’t care. “Replace them with a set of sleek, metallic vases. Or maybe even a sculpture. I don’t want a jungle inside my house.”
“And what about the cabinets?” one of the designers asked.
I traced my fingers along the simple wooden surface, shaking my head in a mix of disgust and annoyance. “Glossy cabinets in a dark. modern shade,” I instructed. “And replace these appliances with something top–of–the–line. I want this kitchen to look like it belongs in a high–end culinary magazine, not some cozy family home.”
Fri, Nov
14:27
Chapter 113
As I wrapped up with the designers, I felt a swell of satisfaction my chest that brought a sweet and wide grin to my face. Everything was finally falling into place. The house would no longer be a testament to Irene’s bland tastes. Instead, it would. reflect me, and who I truly was–a woman of elegance, of decisiveness, someone who wasn’t afraid to take control.
I glanced around one last time as the decorators filed out, carrying their notes and sketches, already brimming with plans to
lines, execute my vision. I imagined the way the house would look once everything was changed: bold colors, sharp luxurious finishes. It would be exactly as it should have always been–under my rule.
It would be me.
It would be mine. All mine.
My grin widened at that sudden realization. When I planned that fake accident and suicide attempts, I wasn’t so sure where all of my plans would lead to. I just knew then that I had to always take advantage of any given situation or opportunities. And now, that single has brought me here. To this stage of victory.
But as I closed the door behind the decorators, feeling a heady rush of triumph, I heard the familiar creak of the front door opening. Turning around, my stomach dropped as I saw her standing there, a smirk dancing on her face.
Irene.
She looked confident, calm, as if she knew exactly what she’d interrupted. She had her hair pushed back, her outfit was perfectly tidy, and a frustratingly triumphant look was in her eyes.
“I’m back,” she announced in a sing–song tone, her playful voice tinged with a hint of sharpeneas.
The words werelike a punch to my throat, crushing the silence and slicing through my sense of control. For a brief moment, my mind raced as i searched or the right words to say. Anything at all to regain my composure.
But nothing came. My mind blanked and dread filled me up.
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