Chapter 135: Avery's Future

Leonie stands frozen in place. She wants to recoil from Avery's touch, but she's scared Avery will break her fingers. She feels the tendons in her finger strain painfully, and she flushes with anger.

"You're divorcing Evan—he isn't yours anymore," Leonie hisses, "So why can't I talk to you as his future wife? In a couple of days, Mrs. Howel will officially announce my status as a candidate for Evan's new wife, and we all know I'll win—I have more edge than other women."

Leonie's edge is not innate. She'll beat the other woman because she's Mrs. Florence Howel's favorite, and the older woman will do everything in her power to see that Leonie is chosen. Avery stands up and looks down at Leonie. She gives Leonie a condescending look.

"Aren't you concerned about what Evan wants?" Avery asks.

Although Leonie has to look up to Avery, she maintains her arrogance.

"Evan is still in a coma, and his grandfather is furious with you," Leonie says, "Do you think you still stand a chance?"

Leonie shoves Avery heavily. In her weakened state, Avery stumbles and falls onto the bed. Leonie glances at the maids outside the door.

"No one can give her any food or water without my permission," Leonie orders as if she's already the lady of the house.

Leonie slams the door behind her, plunging the room into darkness. The smell of the fresh air soon fades, overwhelmed by the moldy, damp smell of the room. Avery passes the time sleeping restlessly. Though it's been almost three days, she has no sense of how long she's been imprisoned. No one comes to check on her.

Hunger pangs wake Avery. She hasn't had any food or water in three days. Her lips are so parched that they crack and scab. She stretches herself weakly and tries to get up to enjoy the thin beam of sunlight. Instead, she weakly rolls so the light touches her face. Half-dazed, she thinks of Evan's eyes and his pale, arrogant face. In spite of the pain, she smiles.

Her phone was confiscated when she was put into the room, and she has no idea what's happening in the outside world. When she's conscious she wonders if Evan has woken from his coma. The door suddenly opens while she's lost in a reverie. Maureen and two maids barge into the room.

"Time to come out," Maureen shouts, "Mrs. Florence Howel wants to see you."

With perfect coordination, the maids grab her under the arms and drag her from the room. She doesn't have the strength to fight back because she hasn't eaten anything for three days. Reluctantly, she allows them to take her away. Quickly, they arrive at Mrs. Florence Howel's house.

"Mrs. Howel, Avery is here," Maureen announces.

Mrs. Howel is lounging in an antique rocking chair and drinking a cup of freshly made tea. Leonie sits beside her, massaging her leg. She gives Avery a subtle but malicious look.

"Will you admit you're wrong?" Mrs. Florence Howel asks.

Avery wobbles on her feet. Mrs. Florence Howel's voice sounds like it's coming from far away. Avery wonders if it's because she's starving or if something else is wrong with her. Struggling to focus, Avery raises her chin defiantly.

"What difference would it make?" she asks.

Mrs. Howel is satisfied to see how weak and feeble Avery has grown. She stands up slowly, favoring her sore leg.

"It doesn't make a difference anymore," she says imperiously, "I told you that you wouldn't be Evan's wife for much longer."

Avery smiles faintly.

"If I'm not worried about it, why are you concerning yourself?" she retorts.

"I'm not!" Mrs. Florence Howel replies, "But I thought this would be a good opportunity to train you on our house rules. In Evan's absence, I consider it my responsibility. Besides, since you've already signed divorce papers with Evan, you're no longer his wife. That means from now on, you have to obey my rules."

She turns away from Avery and glances at a bodyguard.

"Prepare a maid's room," she commands.

Bodyguards and servants rush from the room, but Maureen returns quickly. She's carrying a neatly folded maid's uniform, and she's smirking horribly.

"Go change into it," Mrs. Florence Howel orders.

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Avery stares blankly at the uniform, refusing to take it from Maureen.

"It's your fault that Evan is in a coma," Mrs. Florence Howel hisses, "I thought that three days in that room would be enough but perhaps I was wrong."

Mrs. Florence Howel gives Maureen a look, and Maureen tries to grab Avery and drag her from the room. Avery's tilts her body precariously, narrowly avoiding Maureen's clutches. Maureen loses her balance and stumbles, and Avery turned to regard her with a cold look. Though pale and exhausted, her expression is fiercely stubborn.

"Mrs. Howel, I hope you've thought this through," Avery says in a harsh voice, "I sincerely hope you don't come to regret your decisions."

Avery knows that Evan's condition isn't her fault, but she can't help but feel guilty. Only she knows how badly she's suffered in the last three days, but she refuses to allow Mrs. Florence Howel to see her suffer. After over three years of torture, Avery is tired of giving in to the older woman's sadistic whims.

"What could I possibly regret, child?" Mrs. Florence Howel asks with a half-smile, "You don't honestly think I'm afraid of you, do you? Who are you? You're nobody without Evan. Honestly, if it weren't for Leonie's big party tomorrow, I wouldn't have let you out of there so soon. As it is, Leonie needs help and we need all the staff we can get. You should thank Leonie."

Avery laughs out loud.

"Are they seriously asking me to work as a staff member at Leonie's birthday?" Avery thinks incredulously, "I'm not one of the maids!"

Avery's frantic laugh frightens Leonie. She gently tugs Mrs. Florence Howel's sleeve.

"I would've done it anyway," Leonie says sweetly, "It's also Avery's birthday."

"So do I have to say thank you?" Avery asks condescendingly.

"There's no need," Leonie says with a warning smile, "As long as you play along and ensure that everything goes according to plan, we'll be fine."

"Sure, I'll play along," Avery says.

Expressionlessly, she reaches out and takes the uniform from Maureen. Mrs. Florence Howel regards Avery with suspicion.

"Search her for any other phones," she commands, "I don't want her taking any photos of videos or communicating with anyone outside of this house, understood?"

Avery sneers.

"Does Florence Howel think this is all I've got?" Avery wonders, "Once again, she's underestimating me. Florence will go to great lengths to discipline me in Evan's absence. Only the most loyal maids serve in this house—every other maid is sent away. If I want to survive in such a hostile environment, I have to be proactive. Not only do I need to find a way to save myself, but I also have to find a way to get Evan away from his grandfather."

Avery hasn't taken a shower in three days. After leaving to change into the uniform, she takes a shower, deliberately taking longer than she needs. By the time she emerges from the bathroom, dressed in the uniform and perfumed with scented lotions, the family is having dinner.

Mrs. Florence Howel demands the finest things in life. Even the maids' rooms are luxurious in spite of their small size. Avery makes her way to the dining room on the first floor. As soon as she pushes the door open the smell of food hits her like a punch in the gut.

Mrs. Howel and Leonie have already taken their seats. Avery walks to the table and pulls out a chair. Before she can sit down, Mrs. Florence Howel scowls at her.

"Who told you you could sit down?" she asks with obvious displeasure, "You have to obey my rules while you're living under my roof. You don't deserve to sit beside me. Now watch Leonie and learn how to be a good wife—assuming you can find another man to marry you, he'll appreciate it."

"You're too kind, Mrs. Howel," Leonie demurs, "Avery has been Evan's wife for a long time. It's me who should learn from her rich experience."

"The only flaw about Leonie is her inappropriate modesty," Mrs. Florence Howel says, "Unlike you, Avery—so arrogant you've lost the honor of being Evan's wife."

Avery looks at Florence and Leonie and tries not to roll her eyes.

"The wealthy are absurd," she thinks, "They talk about marriage like they're hiring an employee."

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