Chapter4

I turned around to face Bianca's mocking expression.

"You're asking if I sent those things?" My voice rang out clearly in the empty lounge. "Of course not. Because they were mine to begin with. Legally, in my name. And that Daniel you say loves you, who supposedly gave you everything—he's my husband. Legally. My only husband."

The smile on Bianca's face froze instantly. Her eyes widened for a moment before she burst into even more exaggerated, even more grating laughter. She even bent over, slapping her thigh.

"Oh my God! Margaret, did you hear that?" She was laughing so hard tears were forming in her eyes as she pointed at me. "She's actually claiming she's Daniel's wife! This delusion is beyond help! What's next, is she going to say the bank is hers too?"

Margaret's face darkened. Her lips moved, and finally, instead of looking away, she stared directly at me with cold, irritated eyes. "Elena, are you done making a scene? Do I have to spell it out for you? In my heart, the one who deserves Daniel, who brings real joy and a future to our family, is Bianca. She's the daughter-in-law I recognize. This clinging of yours—it's pathetic."

Bianca stopped laughing, wiped the corner of her eye, pulled out her phone, swiped through it quickly, then thrust the screen right in my face, practically pressing it against me.

"Look closely, you crazy woman." Her voice dripped with triumph and malice.

The screen displayed photo after photo. Daniel and Bianca clinking glasses at an upscale restaurant, Daniel with his arm around her watching the sunset from a yacht deck, the two of them lying head-to-head in bed taking selfies... The latest one was a close-up of Bianca's hand, a massive diamond ring on her ring finger, with Daniel's blurred figure in a bathrobe in the background.

"This is his 'token of commitment' to me." Bianca waved the phone. "He put it on my finger himself. He told me some old baggage should've been thrown out long ago. What are you? How dare you call yourself his wife? Where's your marriage certificate? Show us. Or did you Photoshop one yourself?"

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy hand. The visual impact of those intimate photos cut sharper than words. But I stood my ground, didn't move.

At that moment, James, the account manager who'd been standing nearby looking uncomfortable, seemed to feel he had to intervene. He reluctantly stepped forward, his voice dry as he addressed me. "Mrs. Anderson... uh, regarding your safe deposit box inquiry, we'll continue that later. However, regarding asset permissions... this Miss Bianca, she... she does indeed hold authorization documents signed by Mr. Daniel Anderson, allowing her to accompany Mrs. Margaret into specific storage areas and... handle certain related matters. This has been verified."

Bianca shot James an approving look, then regarded me like a victorious peacock. "Hear that? Authorization documents. I'm officially permitted to be here. And you? Besides standing here shrieking like a bitter housewife, what do you have?"

Margaret chimed in, "Manager James is right. Bianca has our family's approval. Elena, if you keep making unreasonable scenes like this, I'll have to ask security to escort you out. Keep some dignity for yourself."

Family approval. My mother-in-law, admitting with her own mouth that this woman—wearing the diamond ring my husband gave her, flaunting my assets—had "family approval."

All the blood seemed to rush to my head, then drain away in an instant, leaving behind an almost numb coldness. I could no longer endure this absurd conversation with these two women.

I pulled out my phone, found Daniel's number, and called. Put it on speaker.

The phone rang four or five times before he answered.

"Elena?" Daniel's voice came through with noisy background sounds, like he was in a restaurant or bar. "What is it? I'm in the middle of something important."

"Daniel," I cut him off, my voice flat, "I'm at the trust bank right now. Your girlfriend Bianca is here, along with your mother Margaret. Bianca is showing me the diamond ring you gave her, plus photos of you two at the beach and in bed together. She's claiming you love her, that you gave her gold bars and property. Margaret says she's the recognized daughter-in-law. I want to hear you explain this yourself."

The other end of the line went silent. Even the background noise seemed to cut off.

Several seconds of dead silence.

Then Daniel's voice came through, low but laced with barely suppressed anger and irritation. "Elena! What the hell are you doing at the bank?! Have you lost your mind? What kind of nonsense are you spewing there!"

"Answer my question, Daniel," I said.

He fell silent for another two seconds. When he spoke again, his tone had turned ice-cold, impatient, even threatening. "Fine, you want to hear it? Yes, I'm with Bianca. Mom likes her, what's the problem? Those things—I can give them to whoever I want. It's not your place to question me! Now get out of there immediately! Don't embarrass me in public, don't make everyone look bad! Whatever you have to say, say it at home! You hear me?"

Every word was like a hammer, shattering the last shred of hope in my heart. He'd admitted it. He didn't even bother hiding it—instead, he was accusing me of "embarrassing" him.

Bianca heard the phone conversation, her face blooming into a brilliant, triumphant smile. Margaret turned her head away, seeming somewhat surprised by her son's blunt admission, but she didn't object.

I listened to Daniel's heavy breathing on the phone, and the faint background music that had appeared in Bianca's videos.

"I heard you," I said into the phone, then hung up.