The husband brings his mistress home and yells at his wife: “You don’t deserve to live in this villa”; a few minutes later, she shows the property deeds, leaving the whole family stunned…

——–

A Nor’easter was pounding the Long Island coastline, sending white-capped waves roaring against the steep cliffs behind the mansion. But inside the Harrington family’s 3,000-square-foot living room, an even fiercer storm was brewing.

Elena Harrington, 42, sat in a velvet armchair, a cup of cold Earl Grey tea in her hand. She wore a simple cream cashmere sweater, her bare face showing signs of fatigue, but her ashen eyes were as calm as a winter lake.

The heavy oak door was pushed open.

Her husband, Mark Harrington, entered. He wore a rain-soaked Italian suit, and he smelled strongly of whiskey and women’s perfume. But he was not alone.

Holding his hand was Candy – a 22-year-old Instagram model with bright blonde hair, plump lips, and a tight-fitting dress.

Following behind them was Mark’s mother, Patricia. She gave Elena her usual disdainful look, then turned to smile flatteringly at her son’s mistress.

“Elena!” Mark roared, his voice echoing through the high-ceilinged room. “I’ve had enough. Get up.”

Elena calmly put down her teacup. “Mark, you’re drunk. And who are you bringing home?”

“This is Candy. My future wife,” Mark declared, challenging the young woman by the waist. “And she’s pregnant with my son – the heir you can never give me.”

Patricia stepped forward, waving a hand fan. “Hear that, Elena? Mark needs a worthy wife, someone who is sociable, young, and most importantly, can give birth. You’re just a bland gray rat who brings shame to the Harrington family.”

“Mother is right,” Mark approached, knocking Elena’s teacup onto the expensive Persian carpet. “I’m the CEO of Harrington Holdings. I need a gorgeous woman by my side, not a housewife who only does charity work and reads books like you.”

Elena looked at the tea stain on the carpet. She was undeterred. “Mark, you want a divorce? Fine. Call a lawyer tomorrow morning.”

“Not tomorrow morning. NOW!” Mark shouted, his face red. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his wet pocket. “Sign these divorce papers and get out of here immediately. I want Candy to move into the master bedroom tonight.”

Candy giggled, looking around the gorgeous room with greedy eyes. “Oh Mark, are you serious? I get to stay here? I hate the apartment in Manhattan, it’s so small.”

“Of course, honey,” Mark kissed her forehead. Then he turned to Elena, pointing to the front door where the storm was raging.

“Look at yourself, Elena! You’re old, you’re boring, you’re useless! You don’t deserve to live in this mansion! This is the King’s castle, and I’m the King! Get out of here!”

Patricia added, “Go, Elena. Don’t let the security guard drag you out. Mark bought your car, so call an Uber.”

Elena slowly stood up. She didn’t cry. She didn’t tremble. She walked to the antique desk in the corner, opened a drawer, and took out a crimson file.

“Are you done talking?” Elena asked, her voice soft but cold, sharper than the storm outside.

“What are you going to do? Throw a tantrum?” Mark sneered.

Elena threw the file down on the coffee table. There was a dry thud.

“Mark, you said you’re the CEO of Harrington Holdings?” Elena asked.

“Of course! I’ve been building it for 10 years!”

“Wrong,” Elena opened the file. The first page was a copy of the company’s Articles of Incorporation. “You’re just the Hired CEO. The 100% owner of Harrington Holdings… is the Vanderbilt-Elena Trust.”

Mark paused. “Wh… what?”

“Have you forgotten, Mark? Ten years ago, when your startup went bankrupt and you were in debt, who paid your debts? Me. Who gave you the capital to open a new company under the name Harrington to ease your guilt? Me. But because my father didn’t trust you, he made you sign an agreement: You’re just an employee. All assets belong to me.”

“You’re lying!” Patricia shouted. “My son is a business genius!”

“Genius?” Elena laughed coldly, turning to the second page. “Here’s the audit report I just received this afternoon. Mark, you embezzled $5 million from the company’s funds to buy an apartment for Candy here, buy jewelry, and gamble in Las Vegas. Do you think I don’t know?”

Mark’s face turned from red to white. Candy let go of his hand and took a step back.

“And about this mansion,” Elena picked up the most important piece of paper—the Deed.

“Did you just say I don’t deserve to live here?” Elena stepped closer to Mark, looking him straight in the eye. “Mark, this house has been in the Vanderbilt family since 1920. The deed is Elena Vanderbilt. You have never owned a single brick here.”

“In fact,” Elena continued, her voice sharp, “in the prenuptial agreement you signed—and apparently forgot about in your adultery—there was a very interesting clause: ‘If the husband commits adultery, he shall forfeit his

benefits in all common assets (if any) and the employment contract is terminated immediately without compensation.’

The whole room fell into a deadly silence. Only the sound of rain hitting the glass door could be heard.

Mark picked up the paper with a trembling hand. His eyes rolled like peanuts. His signature was clearly there, from 10 years ago. Arrogance, illusion of power and the habit of never reading contracts carefully had killed him.

“Elena… honey… listen to me explain…” Mark stammered, sweating like a shower. “I… I was just stressed out by work. She… Candy… she seduced me! I don’t love her!”

“Hey!” Candy shouted. “You just said you loved me and would give me half of your fortune!”

“Shut up, stupid woman!” Mark roared at his lover, then turned and knelt at Elena’s feet. “Elena, mother, say something! “I’ll testify for you!”

Patricia, who had been so aggressive just now, now stood in the corner, her face drained of color. She knew that if Mark lost everything, she would also be on the streets.

Elena looked at her husband kneeling at her feet. There was no love left, only pity and disgust.

“Mark, you fired me from your life five minutes ago,” Elena said. “Now it’s my turn.”

She pulled out her phone and pressed a button.

“Security, come in.”

The door opened. Four large men in security uniforms walked in. They weren’t neighborhood security guards, they were private security that Elena had hired.

“Get these three out of my house,” Elena ordered coldly. “Immediately.”

“Wait! I’m pregnant!” Candy screamed.

“Then you better find a place to hide from the rain, because I just blocked the secondary credit card account I gave Mark. The Porsche out there is in the company’s name, the keys are here,” Elena said.

Mark stood up, trying to rush at Elena but was restrained by two bodyguards, who twisted his arms behind his back.

“Elena! You can’t do that! I’m your husband!” Mark screamed in despair as he was dragged out the door.

“Wrong, Mark,” Elena adjusted her sweater, turned and walked towards the fireplace. “You’re my ex-husband. And a former employee who had just been fired for embezzlement.”

The door slammed shut. The screams of the three greedy men were drowned out by the storm outside.

Elena stood by the window, looking through the rain. She saw Mark, his cruel mother-in-law, and his mistress huddled under the eaves, drenched like drowned rats. No car, no money, no home.

Candy was crying and hitting Mark in the chest. Patricia was unconscious. As for Mark, he stood staring up at the warm light from the living room window – where he had just lost the kingdom he never really owned.

Elena sipped her freshly brewed tea. It was warm and sweet.

She took out her phone and called her lawyer.

“Hello, David? Send Mark’s embezzlement file to the FBI. Yes. Tomorrow morning.”

She hung up, smiling. The storm outside was still raging, but the storm inside her had dissipated, giving way to a complete peace of freedom and true power.