The Billionaire’s Notorious Villainess Stepmother Chapter 05
The Charity Tea Massacre
I opened the door. Still in my robe. Coffee in hand.
“Your son was choking mine and trying to destroy Clara’s things,” I said. “Be grateful I only put him in a cellar.”
Her face went white. Then red.
“If you ever touch my child again—”
“If your child ever touches mine again, a wine cellar will be the least of his problems.”
I shut the door in her face.
Behind me, I heard something I had never heard in this house.
Sebastian was laughing.
Cassandra couldn’t beat me alone, so she went to Lady Margaret.
Two days later, Lady Margaret summoned me to the east wing parlor.
The room was all cream silk and orchids. Twelve women sat in a perfect circle, teacups raised, hats pinned, pearls layered. A charity high tea for Manhattan’s elite.
Lady Margaret sat at the center, wearing a sage Chanel suit, her cane tucked beside her chair. Cassandra stood behind her like a loyal dog.
“Ah, there she is.” Lady Margaret smiled at me, then turned to her guests. “Ladies, this is Vivienne. Alistair’s new wife. She’s been helping with the household.”
Helping. Like I was hired staff.
A silver teapot sat on the side table. Lady Margaret gestured toward it.
“Vivienne, dear. Would you pour for us? The girls are parched.”
Twelve pairs of eyes watched me. Waiting.
This was not a request. This was a performance.
*Pour the tea like a good little servant. Know your place.*
I smiled.
“Of course,” I said. “I’d be happy to.”
I picked up the teapot. Heavy silver. Perfectly polished.
I walked to the first woman. Poured her cup. She didn’t thank me.
Second woman. Third. Fourth.
By the fifth, I started talking.
“Mrs. Hartwell, isn’t it?” I said, filling her cup. “I love your necklace. Is that the same one from the Sotheby’s auction last spring? The one your husband bid on right after his second bankruptcy filing?”
The color drained from her face.
I moved on.
“Mrs. Crane. Beautiful hat. I heard your daughter’s wedding was gorgeous. Three million dollars, wasn’t it? Funny, since your family trust was overdrawn by four million that same month.”
Mrs. Crane set her cup down hard.
I kept pouring. Kept walking.
“Mrs. Aldrich. I’ve always admired your charity work. Especially how your foundation reported two million in donations last year but only distributed three hundred thousand. The rest went to… what was it? A villa in Tuscany?”
Mrs. Aldrich stood up. “How DARE you—”
“Oh, sit down. I’m only making conversation.”
I reached the last woman. Poured her tea with a steady hand.
Then I set the teapot down on Lady Margaret’s side table and turned to face the room.
“Ladies. I’m not your servant. I’m not your entertainment. And I am certainly not pouring your tea.”
I looked at Lady Margaret.
“In this house, I sit at the table. I don’t serve it.”
Lady Margaret’s face was stone. Her grip on her cane was white-knuckled.
Three women were already grabbing their bags. Two more followed.
Within five minutes, the parlor was empty. Tea cooling in abandoned cups. Petit fours untouched.
Lady Margaret’s legendary charity circle—the one she had cultivated for forty years—had just walked out in horror and fury.
She would not recover from this. Not socially. Not ever.
Cassandra rushed forward. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Those women control half the charity boards in Manhattan—”
“Good,” I said. “Then they’ll think twice before coming back here to watch an old woman humiliate her grandson’s wife.”
Lady Margaret slammed her cane against the floor.
“You are a vile woman,” she said.
“I know.” I smiled. “That’s why they married me into this family.”
I walked out of that parlor and didn’t look back.
Behind me, I heard Cassandra hiss at Lady Margaret: “We can’t just let her—”
“Enough,” Lady Margaret cut her off. “I need to think.”
Good. Let her think.
That night, I tucked Clara into bed. She grabbed my hand as I was leaving.
“Are you going to stay?” she whispered. “They won’t make you go away?”
I squeezed her fingers. “Kid, the only way I’m leaving this house is in a box. And I’m very hard to kill.”
She smiled. Sleepy.
Down the hall, Sebastian’s door was open. He was sitting up in bed, reading. When I passed, he looked up.
He didn’t smile. But he nodded.
From Sebastian, that meant everything.
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