Chapter 4She Smashed My Ferrari First

The next morning, I was jarred awake by the sound of harsh, raucous laughter echoing from down the hall.

I slipped on a housecoat and walked into the master dressing room.

Sitting right at my vanity was a short, stout older woman.

She had squeezed her broad, heavy frame into my custom silk robe, stretching the delicate seams until they looked ready to burst. Her sausage-like fingers, caked with grime beneath the nails, were weighed down by my vintage sapphire rings and diamond tennis bracelets.

As I watched in paralyzed disgust, she dug a filthy, calloused thumb into a six-hundred-dollar jar of imported La Mer face cream—and began slathering it aggressively onto the cracked, yellow skin of her bare heels.

Hearing my footsteps, the old woman paused. A sharp, greedy gleam flickered in her small eyes, and she tilted her chin up with theatrical arrogance.

"Well, look who finally decided to roll out of bed," Brenda Kelly sneered. "Your son's savior is sitting in your room, and you don't even have the decency to greet me with a cup of coffee? Where I come from, good families teach their women manners."

A dark, humorless chuckle broke from my chest. I opened my mouth to call estate security, but before I could speak, Dustin strolled in.

He offered me an oily, conspiratorial wink, clearly playing the mediator. "Mom, you remember Mrs. Kelly, don't you? My savior. You're always telling me that a man must never forget his debts. Well, she's here now! This is our chance to truly show our gratitude!"

The midnight plot from hours ago had yielded an invading army by dawn. They certainly didn't waste any time.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe. "And tell me, Brenda. How exactly do you expect me to repay you?"

Brenda’s eyes rolled slyly. "Well, talking about repayment makes it sound so transactional, doesn't it? We’re going to be in-laws soon anyway. Family shouldn't keep score. You don't need to write me an extra check or anything. Just hand over what you've got."

She waved a dismissive hand around the expansive, sunlit master suite. "I like this room. It’s got good light. You can pack your bags and move down to the basement guest room."

She pointed out the arched window toward the driveway. "And that red sports car out there—sign the title over to me. What does an unemployed housewife need with a four-hundred-thousand-dollar machine anyway? You can take the city bus. A luxury car like that belongs to someone with an actual career, like my daughter."

I stared at her, genuinely amazed by the sheer, unadulterated audacity.

For ten years, Brenda had milked her "lifesaving" deed for free rent, tuition payments, and luxury handouts, but she had always maintained a thin veneer of folksy humility. Now, believing I was merely a powerless, disposable stepmother with no real claim to the Stratton estate, the mask had completely come off.

They were wolves who thought they had cornered a sheep.

I turned my gaze slowly toward Dustin. "And you agree with this?"

Dustin stepped forward, his voice dripping with false reason. "Mom, didn't you raise me to be an honorable man? A car is nothing compared to a life. Whatever Mrs. Kelly wants, we should provide."

He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Of course, business is business. Since Courtney and I aren't officially married yet, we need to secure her future. Mom, I want you to add Courtney’s name to the deed of this house. And while you're at it, hand over Dad’s primary corporate expense card to her. She needs to start learning how to manage the estate."