The Wife He Traded for Her Sister

2: 2

When I got back to the mansion, every light in the living room was blazing.

Tilda was curled up in Jim's arms, wearing my silk pajamas, eating grapes.

The moment she saw me, she shrank deeper into his chest, all fragile and helpless.

"Sis, you're back… don't blame Jim, it's all my fault, I shouldn't have…"

Her mouth said sorry, but she couldn't hide the challenge in her eyes.

Jim patted her back at once, murmuring something soothing, then turned to me, his gaze going cold in an instant.

"Your things—I had Eleanor Chavez move them to the guest room on the third floor."

"Tillie just moved in. She's timid. Don't make a scene and scare her."

I followed his eyes to the foot of the stairs, where a few battered cardboard boxes were stacked.

The clothes I'd worn over the past three years were shoved inside any which way, like garbage nobody wanted.

So this was what three years of marriage had earned me?

The next morning I skipped breakfast and went straight out.

I was going to find Rudolph Delgado.

He was Jim's closest friend, and one of the few people I'd been able to actually talk to in those three years.

I wanted him to help me figure out what the hell had gotten into Jim.

Before I pushed open the door to the private lounge, I heard a burst of laughter inside.

"Jim, you legend! Swapping one for the other, slipping out of the trap clean—that was a masterstroke!"

That was Rudolph's lazy drawl.

"Three years of holding out, and finally the clouds part and the moon comes through. You're making our sweet little invalid Tilda the official Mrs.?"

An unfamiliar voice picked it up.

"No kidding. The old man always griped that Tilda was a walking medicine cabinet—flat-out refused to let her in the door."

"So Jim took the roundabout route, married the sister first as a shield, and got the old man off his back."

"And now the old man's so sick he can't even talk, so of course it's time to give his sweetheart a real title!"

My hand on the door handle froze, the blood draining back, my limbs going cold.

Jim's flat voice came from inside.

"Shield. That's an ugly way to put it."

"Call it a strategic detour."

Rudolph clicked his tongue.

"That Odette's pretty pathetic too—three years in your bed for nothing, and she still thought you loved her to death."

"What would she know?" Jim's voice was full of contempt.

"Toss her a few little favors and she's so grateful she can't find which way is up."

I stood outside the door, my nails digging deep into my palms.

So that was it!

Love at first sight, couldn't-live-without-me.

The perfect husband, the tender, attentive one.

All of it was a setup he'd built to marry Tilda!

I couldn't hold back anymore. I kicked the lounge door open as hard as I could.

The crash made everyone inside freeze.

Rudolph's cigarette dropped into his lap, and he slapped at it frantically as it burned him.

Jim was sitting dead center on the sofa. When he saw me, his brows drew tight.

"What are you throwing a fit here for?"

I walked up to him and looked down at him.

"Jim, I used to think even a dog was more loyal than you. I was wrong. I shouldn't insult dogs."

"You're just an ungrateful cur that can never be tamed!"

Jim's face went dark. He shot to his feet and grabbed my wrist.

The grip was shockingly hard.

"Odette, watch your mouth!"

"Watch what? Watch how I play along and finish this disgusting show with you?"

I wrenched my hand free and slapped him hard across the face.

The crack of it rang out, and the whole room went dead silent.

Jim's head snapped to the side. He ran his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

He turned back, his eyes vicious enough to frighten.

"You dare hit me?"

"So what if I did? I'm just sorry I dirtied my hand!"

I sounded tough on the surface, but inside I was sneering. This scumbag really had a thick skin.

Jim gave a cold laugh, pulled out his phone, and called his assistant.

"Right now, this second—cancel every supplementary card under Odette's name!"

He hung up and looked at me like I was an insect.

"Aren't you the noble one? Aren't you the one with all that backbone?"

"Let's see how you survive without my money."

"Oh, and one more thing." Something seemed to occur to him, and a cruel smile tugged at his mouth.

"That exhibition slot of yours next week—I've already given it to Tillie."

"She's loved painting since she was a girl. She's more talented than you, and she needs the chance more than you do."

I was shaking with rage.

That slot had taken me half a year to fight for, and he handed it to Tilda with one sentence?

"Jim, aren't you afraid of what's coming to you?"

He settled back onto the sofa and lifted his glass, taking a sip.

"Sign nicely and I promise you'll never want for food or a roof the rest of your life."

"Otherwise, I'll make sure you can't get by anywhere in Bayport."

I couldn't stand to look at that face any longer.

I turned and strode out of the lounge.

At the door I stopped, without looking back.

"Jim, I'll see you in court."

I pushed the door open and walked into the hallway, not once turning around.