Eight Years of Maybe One Day of I Do—Bride Swapped Deal With It novel Chapter 48

Chapter 3

I started packing, but honestly there wasn’t much to pack.

I’d lived in this so-called home for three years, and the things that actually belonged to me were pathetically few.

The walk-in closet was huge.

The left side was filled with Dominic’s custom-tailored suits, and the right side had a few locked cabinets where the jewelry and designer bags

were kept.

The keys and fingerprint access? Elena had them.

Every time I needed to attend an event, I had to ask Elena for permission like I was borrowing props, and when I was done, I had to return everything.

Once, I accidentally got a hem dirty on one of the dresses.

Elena made me write a three-thousand-word apology letter in front of the housekeepers and even docked my next month’s “allowance.”

Dominic stood there watching, cool as ever, and said:

“Elena’s just trying to teach you a lesson. This stuff’s expensive. You can’t afford to replace it.”

Yeah. I couldn’t afford it.

I was nobody-a working-class kid, trash in their eyes.

I opened my little corner of the closet.

A few pilled sweaters, some jeans so faded they were practically white, and the only decent thing was that white T-shirt I wore three years ago

when I married into this family.

Back then, I wasn’t Mrs. Thorne yet.

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I was the youngest graduate student in the Physics Department at Ashford University, a prodigy with a bright future.

Dominic said he liked how sharp and composed I was.

“Hadley, marry me. I’ll give you a home.”

And I believed him.

I gave up my chance to study abroad and ignored my mentor’s pleas for me to stay.

I played house, lived in this golden cage, and turned myself into a joke.

I pulled off the “cheap clearance rack” shirt Dominic always sneered at and put on that yellowed white tee instead.

The jeans were a little loose now. I’d lost twenty pounds in three years.

I dragged out an old suitcase and packed a few books, some photos, and Dad’s urn.

That was it.

Everything else in this mansion had nothing to do with me.

I walked downstairs.

The housekeeper, Pepper, was polishing a vase.

When she saw me dragging my suitcase, she rolled her eyes.

“Running away from home again?”

“Mr. Thorne said if you walk out that door this time, don’t bother coming back.”

“Oh, and he wants soup for dinner. Don’t forget to make it.”

In this house, even the help looked down on me.

Because they knew I didn’t even have the authority to pay their wages.

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