Chapter 3 - The Secret History of Betrayal
I carried my mother up the grand sweeping staircase, bypassing the guests in the living room who froze in terrified silence as they watched the self-made billionaire stride past with tears on his face and his elderly mother in his arms.
I took her to her suite on the second floor—a sunlit, beautifully decorated room I had designed specifically for her, featuring panoramic views of the Los Angeles hills.
I gently set her on the plush velvet bed, washed her face with a warm towel myself, and dressed her in a clean silk robe. Throughout it all, she kept apologizing, whispering that she was a burden, that Victoria was just stressed from managing the household.
“She’s not stressed, Mom,” I said, sitting beside her on the mattress and holding her frail hands between my own. “Tell me the truth. How long has this been going on?”
Margaret lowered her gaze, staring down at the bedsheets, her lower lip trembling.
“Since… since you bought the house, son,” she whispered.
The words hit me like a physical blow.
“Six months?” I asked, my voice barely a breath. “Six months, Mom?”
“At first, she was polite,” Margaret murmured, tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks. “When you were home, she smiled, she kissed my cheek, she told me how much she loved having me around. But the moment your private jet took off for your business trips… everything changed.”
She recounted a reality so cruel, so calculated, that it made my blood run ice cold.
Victoria had systematically stripped away every shred of dignity my mother possessed. She had forbidden the domestic staff from attending to Margaret, threatening to fire anyone who brought her meals in the dining room. She had locked Margaret’s favorite television room, claiming the noise disturbed her friends. When Margaret tried to walk in the garden, Victoria complained that her presence lowered the property’s aesthetic value.
And finally, over the last two months, Victoria had relegated her to the backyard during social gatherings, forcing her to eat leftovers from the dog kennel area while laughing with her senator’s daughter friends about how amusing it was to watch a peasant try to adjust to high society.
“Why didn’t you call me, Mom? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my heart aching with a profound, suffocating guilt.
“Because you worked so hard, Ethan,” she said, looking up into my eyes with an unconditional love that overwhelmed my soul. “You’ve been fighting your whole life to reach the top. I saw how happy you were with Victoria. I thought… I thought if I just endured it, if I stayed quiet, your home would stay peaceful. I didn't want to be the reason your marriage failed.”
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against her knuckles.
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My mother had sacrificed her youth so I could become a billionaire. And while I was busy building an empire of glass and steel, I had unknowingly handed the keys to my kingdom to a monster.
“Your marriage isn't going to fail because of you, Mom,” I whispered, standing up slowly from the bed. A cold, unyielding resolve crystallized inside my chest. “It’s going to end because of her.”
