The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 14

Erasure

At ten past eight, Alina forced herself down to the first floor.

She didn’t want to hide in her room like a prisoner ashamed. She didn’t want to give Clarissa and Margaret the satisfaction of seeing her broken. If she had to live in this mansion in this luxurious prison–she would live with her head held high.

At least until the door truly closed.

The breakfast Mr. Harris brought this morning was still untouched on the tray–cold toast, scrambled eggs that had hardened, chamomile tea that no longer steamed. Alina hadn’t touched it at all. No appetite. No desire to survive today.

But sitting alone in her room would drive her crazy. So she went downstairs.

When Alina reached the dining room, her steps stopped at the doorway.

The large mahogany table that was usually the place for family breakfast had been cleared. No plates. No tablecloth with spring flower motifs that Alina chose last month. No vase of white lilies that Alina usually changed every three days.

All of it gone.

Replaced with a modern crystal centerpiece that was cold and impersonal–Margaret’s choice.

Mrs. Helen stood near the pantry with an uncomfortable face. Upon seeing Alina, the old woman immediately approached with a small tray in hand.

“Ma’am…” Mrs. Helen whispered, her voice full of guilt. “Would you like to eat something?”

Alina shook her head. Her gaze was still fixed on the dining table that had changed.

“What happened?”

Mrs. Helen couldn’t meet her eyes. “Mrs. Margaret gave new instructions this morning. She said… the main dining room for the ‘core family‘ needs a new atmosphere during young master’s adjustment period with Mrs. Clarissa.”

“Core family?”

Alina repeated in a soft voice, almost like whispering to herself.

Mrs. Helen looked at the floor. “Mrs. Margaret also said… it would be better if Ma’am ate in the small kitchen. For the time being. Until the situation with young master is more stable.”

Small kitchen.

The room for staff. A cramped room with a folding table and plastic chairs, without large windows or crystal chandeliers.

And now, the room for Alina, because she wasn’t part of the core family.

Something cracked in Alina’s chest—small, but enough to make her breath catch for a moment.

Five years she lived in this mansion. Five years she woke up every morning to arrange flowers on the dining table. Five years she sat in the same chair–the chair next to Junior, not too close to Daniel, not too close to Margaret—the chair that was right for “a stepmother who knew her place.”

And now she wasn’t even worthy enough to sit there.

“I understand,” Alina said in a surprisingly steady voice. “Thank you, Mrs. Helen.”

There was something in Mrs. Helen’s eyes-

a mixture of pride and heartbreak. “Ma’am is too good for this family.”

Before Alina could respond, the old woman quickly turned, returning to the pantry with slightly trembling shoulders.

Erunt

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Alina walked through the pantry, turned left, entered the small kitchen.

The room was smaller than her private bathroom. Plain white walls. Folding table with formica surface. Four mismatched plastic chairs. One small window facing the backyard.

Now, this would be Alina’s dining room.

From the main dining room, she could hear faint sounds–Margaret’s authoritative voice, arranging something with staff. Then Clarissa’s voice laughing–light, musical, like a woman who just won the lottery.

Alina’s tears flowed without her realizing.

This was only the first day.

And she already didn’t know how she could survive until the tenth day. The hundredth. The thousandth.

Alina chose to leave after knowing the place where she would eat in the coming days. Alina walked to the library–her favorite place in the mansion, where she used to read with Junior every afternoon. The place where Junior first learned to spell his name. The place where they had their “storytime” ritual before bed.

But when Alina opened the library door, she froze.

The children’s bookshelf in the corner of the room–which used to be full of colorful storybooks that Alina collected over five years–was now empty. No “Where the Wild Things Are.” No “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” No storybooks with worn covers that Junior asked to be read repeatedly until Alina memorized every sentence.

All gone.

Replaced with Clarissa’s books–coffee table books about fashion, biographies of famous designers, literary novels that were pretentious and clearly for show, not for reading.

Junior’s favorite blue bean bag that was usually in the corner near the window? Gone. Replaced with an elegant but uncomfortable velvet chaise lounge.

The colorful alphabet poster that Alina put on the wall to teach Junior letters? Gone. Replaced with monochrome abstract paintings.

The Transformers robot that Junior usually left on the small table after playing? Gone.

All traces of Junior–all traces of Alina and Junior–erased.

As if they never existed.

Alina stood in the middle of the suddenly unfamiliar library, feeling her breath starting to shorten. Her chest tight. Her hands trembling.

They erased us.

Not enough to just take Junior from Alina’s arms. Not enough to just forbid her to interact with the child she raised. They also had to erase every evidence that Alina and Junior ever had a bond. Ever had moments. Ever had a family.

The library door opened. Clarissa entered–already back from taking Junior, changed into casual but expensive Chanel loungewear, hair still perfect.

The woman stopped when she saw Alina, then smiled a sharp and calculated smile.

“Oh, Alina. You’re here.” Clarissa walked confidently to her new bookshelf, picking up a coffee table book, flipping pages without really reading. “I renovated this library this morning. Too… childish. A mansion this big needs a more mature aesthetic, don’t you think?”

Alina didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Afraid that if she opened her mouth, what would come out was a scream.

Exersund

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