"My wife is home, you know," he cooed into the phone. "Aren't you worried she'll hack you to pieces?"
"If she actually hits you, don't come crying to me."
I stood there as he flirted like I was invisible. The girl on the phone laughed, utterly unbothered.
"You won't let that happen."
"You promised you'd protect me!"
I knew what I was supposed to do.
Stay silent. Let him leave. Give him his space. That's what everyone said—as long as you're Mrs. Sanchez, you'll never want for anything. You can keep living like royalty. Your mother in the hospital will get the best care money can buy.
But I was done.
Done pretending. Done swallowing my pride.
I snatched the phone from his hand. His eyes went wide, but before he could react, I spoke directly into it.
"That's right. Mrs. Sanchez is very violent." My voice was ice. "You set one foot through this door, and you'll leave on a stretcher."
The girl's shrieks exploded through the speaker—shameless bitch, how dare you—but I was already hurling the phone at the marble floor. It shattered with a satisfying crack.
Then I threw open the villa's front door.
She was standing right there. Face flushed. Eyes blazing.
My palm connected with her cheek before she could speak.
The slap echoed across the courtyard.
"Do you know what you are?" My tone was sharp enough to cut, but my expression stayed flat—bored, even. "As long as I'm standing here, holding the title of Mrs. Sanchez for even one more second, you're nothing but a homewrecking mistress who isn't fit to be seen in public."
I grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head against the door frame. The impact rang out like a gunshot.
She screamed—raw, unhinged.
"You're insane!"
"OTIS!"
"OTIS! Are you just going to stand there and watch her do this to me?!"
"Otis!"
I raised my hand, ready to slap her again.
But my wrist was suddenly seized from behind. Otis's voice came from over my shoulder, laced with cold amusement.
"Mrs. Sanchez, that's rather undignified, don't you think?"
His tone stayed light, almost playful.
I heard the warning underneath.
"She's at that age where girls care about their looks," Otis continued. "If you actually damage her face, you'll be the one dealing with the fallout. Why put yourself through that?"
His voice remained mild, indifferent even—but his grip on my wrist tightened, twisting until I had no choice but to release her. Only then did he speak again.