My husband of fifteen years left me for his younger colleague, then moved her into what they thought was his dream home. But when they invited me to dinner to flaunt their perfect life, his new wife discovered the truth about who really owned the mansion they were living in, and their smug smiles vanished in an instant.
The evening air was crisp with early autumn, carrying the scent of pine and expensive perfume through the open French doors of the sprawling Victorian mansion. Crystal glasses clinked amid polite laughter as waitstaff in pressed uniforms circulated with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The golden glow from antique chandeliers bathed everything in warm light, highlighting the ornate moldings and original hardwood floors that had made me fall in love with this house five years ago.
I stood at the edge of the party, my fingers wrapped tightly around the stem of my untouched champagne flute, wondering what cruel impulse had possessed Richard to invite me here tonight. Fifteen years of marriage, dissolved in a text message six months ago, and now this—an invitation to the housewarming party for what he kept calling "our dream home" in the series of emails I'd initially ignored.
"There she is! The woman of the hour finally decided to grace us with her presence!"
Richard's voice cut through the ambient chatter, deliberately loud enough to draw attention. Several heads turned toward me, curious eyes assessing the ex-wife who had dared to show up. He approached with his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of Vanessa, the marketing director twenty years his junior who had been his "just a colleague" until she wasn't.