Chapter 6 - The Setup for the Feast
By 5:30 p.m. that evening, the apartment was packed.
Linda had pulled out all the stops, using my kitchen to prepare an elaborate spread, treating the place like her personal estate. Four guests sat in the living room: Jake’s pompous Uncle Richard—a retired corporate lawyer who loved the sound of his own voice—and three of Jake’s former fraternity brothers from college, guys who wore expensive suits, drank scotch neat, and looked at women like they were optional accessories.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment, tying an apron over a simple emerald-green silk dress. My legs still bore faint pink scars from the boiling broth, covered discreetly by the hem of my dress, but the physical pain had entirely transformed into cold, focused adrenaline.
The front door swung open, and Jake walked in, shedding his trench coat and tossing it onto my entryway bench. He walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of wine and leaning against the counter next to me.
“You look nice,” Jake said, his eyes scanning me approvingly. “Good. Try to smile tonight, okay? Uncle Richard is thinking about investing in a new venture with me, and I need him to see that I have a stable, supportive home life. If you pull any of your cold-shoulder stunts tonight, you’ll pay for it later.”
I turned off the faucet, dried my hands on a towel, and looked straight into his eyes.
“Don't worry, Jake,” I said evenly. “No one’s going to be cold tonight. In fact, things are going to get very, very warm.”
Jake chuckled, patting my shoulder condescendingly. “That’s my good girl.”
He walked back out to join the guests in the living room, raising his glass and laughing loudly at one of Uncle Richard’s tedious jokes.
I waited three more minutes. I walked over to the den, opened the locked drawer one last time, and slid the heavy manila folder into a sleek leather portfolio. I took a deep breath, checked my reflection in the mirror, and stepped out into the living room to join the party.
Linda was holding court near the fireplace, regaling the guests with exaggerated stories about how hard she had worked to help Jake plan the wedding.
“Honestly,” Linda sighed dramatically, sipping her chardonnay, “raising a brilliant young man like Jake as a single mother was no small feat. He deserves the absolute best. That’s why we’re so thrilled he’s settling down here, integrating his life into a proper household.”
Uncle Richard nodded sagely. “Family stability is everything in business, Jake. Property ownership, joint assets—that’s how a real man builds an empire. I trust you’ve already put your name on the deed to this place, right? Can't have my nephew living under a woman's thumb.”
The room went quiet for a split second as the men chuckled. Jake puffed out his chest, flashing a confident, arrogant grin.
“Funny you should mention that, Uncle Richard,” Jake said smoothly, stepping toward the center of the room and gesturing toward me as I walked out of the hallway. “In fact, we were just discussing that exact formality. Sarah has been a little hesitant, but as a united married couple, we believe in full transparency. Tonight, we’re making it official.”
Linda beamed with malicious triumph. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a pre-printed property transfer form—a document she had apparently forged or badgered a notary friend into drawing up—and thrust it toward me along with a gold-plated fountain pen.
“Sign it, Sarah,” Linda commanded, her voice ringing with absolute authority. “Sign over half the apartment to my son, right here in front of his family, and let’s finally put an end to your selfish little tantrums.”
Every eye in the room turned toward me. Jake looked smug, expecting me to crumble under the social pressure. Linda looked victorious. The guests looked on with mild amusement, treating my life like a spectator sport.
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I didn't flinch. I didn't reach for the pen.
Instead, I slowly walked over to the coffee table, set my leather portfolio down, and unzipped it.
