Chapter 3

With the card frozen, Eleanor stayed quiet for two days.

But only two days.

On Friday evening, my company hosted an important gala, and as a department head, my attendance was mandatory.

I had specially picked out a stunning black backless gown and done my makeup meticulously.

The moment I stepped out of my bedroom, I froze. Eleanor was standing in front of the full-length mirror, posing and preening in my designer gown.

The backup outfit I had prepared was thrown on the floor, covered in dirty shoe prints.

Carter stood beside her, utterly entranced. "Mom, that dress looks like it was custom-made for you. You're gorgeous."

Blood rushed to my head. I stormed over and grabbed the fabric. "Eleanor! Take it off right now!"

Eleanor jumped, scurrying behind Carter like a startled kitten.

"Chloe, why are you screaming? I just thought it looked pretty and wanted to try it on!"

"Try it on? Did you ask for my permission? That is my dress for tonight's gala!"

Carter frowned. "It's just a dress! If Mom likes it, you should just give it to her. Honestly, you don't even wear it half as well as she does."

I stared at the man in sheer disbelief, my brain buzzing with rage.

"Carter, are you blind? That is a backless gown! She is your mother! What kind of sick game are you two playing?!"

Eleanor bit her lip, playing the pitiful victim:

"Chloe, are you shaming me for being old? Carter says I look like his sister, not an old woman."

"Besides, there will be so many men at that gala. Wearing something so revealing... who are you trying to seduce? I'm doing you a favor, saving you from unwanted attention."

As she spoke, she deliberately pushed her chest forward.

I was so furious I ended up laughing. Grabbing a pair of heavy fabric shears off the counter, I stepped forward.

"Ahhh! She’s going to kill me!" Eleanor screeched, scrambling backward.

Ignoring her, I grabbed the backup dress on the floor and shredded it to pieces right before their eyes.

"Since you love wearing other people's clothes so much, go ahead and keep it. But word of advice: that waistline is tight. Try not to pop those cheap silicone implants of yours!"

With that, I changed into a sharp tailored business suit and slammed the front door behind me.

Behind me, Carter’s voice was still screaming: "Chloe! You're completely psychotic!"

At the gala, despite my business suit looking out of place among the evening gowns, my sharp professionalism helped me close two massive enterprise deals.

Meanwhile, my phone kept buzzing with notifications.

Carter had posted on Ins.

In the photos, Eleanor was wearing my designer gown, clinging to Carter’s arm at a greasy late-night food stand eating cheap street barbecue.

The caption read: "[This is what real life is about. No one understands me like my mom.]"

The comments from our mutual friends were blowing up.

[Wait, that’s your mom? Her body is insane?]

[Carter, dude, isn’t this too much? Isn’t that your wife’s dress?]

I stared coldly at the screen, gave the post a like, and dropped a comment:

"[You can keep the dress. After all, secondhand rags belong with a secondhand man. A match made in heaven.]"