The Ex-Wife He Can’t Have novel Chapter 18

Not long after she arrived home, Sienna burst through the door.

She was dressed in a pristine black coat and stilettos, a limited-edition Birkin gripped tightly in her hand, radiating absolute fury.

Mrs. Zeller, likely guessing exactly why she was here, rushed to open the door and eagerly took the handbag, shooting Jillian a deeply satisfied, mocking look.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Sienna sneered.

Jillian hadn't had the chance to change yet. She was wearing a casual blazer, light blue denim jeans, and basic white sneakers.

Sienna adhered to elite couture standards. She refused to be seen in anything under a thousand dollars. In her mind, a woman had to exude elegance no matter where she was—heels, designer bags, high-end jewelry, and signature perfume were absolute necessities.

Anything less was simply pathetic.

Jillian's casual outfit trampled directly over every single one of Sienna's rules.

Not wanting to reveal that she had a job, Jillian answered calmly, "I went out today."

"Just because you go out doesn't mean you can dress like this. Look at yourself."

Sienna sat down and launched right into her lecture.

"You play the frugal housewife at home, but you casually throw away a necklace worth millions of dollars. Does Killian know how vicious you really are?"

"Natalie is young and impulsive. She likes to play pranks. As the older one, shouldn't you be a bit more forgiving? If you're this petty, how are you ever going to raise Connor properly?"

Every word out of Sienna's mouth was meant to degrade her.

Mrs. Zeller respectfully poured Sienna a glass of water, standing off to the side, thoroughly enjoying watching Jillian get torn apart.

Finally running out of breath, Sienna picked up the glass and took a sip.

The front door clicked open. Killian walked in, with Connor following close behind.

Jillian was surprised; she assumed Killian was spending the night with Sylvia, just like Natalie had boasted.

The second Connor saw Sienna, he ran over and eagerly climbed into her lap.

"Grandma, what are you doing here?" he asked brightly.

Dragging her injured leg toward the dining table, she accidentally bumped into a chair.

Mrs. Zeller rushed over and pulled the chair out for her. "Careful now, Mrs. Quincy."

Jillian didn't react, sitting down with a blank expression.

Killian looked up, his dark eyes swirling with sudden annoyance.

"Mrs. Zeller, don't ever call her Mrs. Quincy again," he ordered coldly.

"She can do her own chores. I brought you here to enjoy your retirement, not to serve as her personal maid."

Mrs. Zeller wiped her hands on her apron, perfectly playing the innocent old woman. "I'm sorry, Mr. Quincy. I'm just an old lady used to old habits."

Jillian stirred her soup, a bitter, self-deprecating smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She truly didn't belong in this elite world. Everyone here was a master at playing their assigned role, effortlessly smiling to someone's face while plotting behind their back.

She was the only one who was rigid and dull—incapable of acting, incapable of wearing a mask, and seemingly incapable of ever defending herself.