Not Her Home Anymore

The black Bentley sped away from the underground parking garage, leaving the oppressive concrete structure behind. Callista remained curled against the premium leather upholstery of the back seat. Her pulse thudded a steady rhythm against her ribs. The lingering, intense gaze of the stranger in the parked Maybach still sent a strange chill tracing down her spine. The heavy silence inside the moving vehicle stretched tight, thick with unspoken hostility. It was continuously interrupted by Dominic’s defensive, irritated explanations.

Dominic’s knuckles were stark white as he gripped the steering wheel. He glared at the slick road ahead, his patience visibly fraying with every passing street block.

"You know exactly how my friends are, Callista. They never think before they speak. Do not take their words seriously. There is nothing going on between Bianca and me," Dominic stated firmly. His tone carried a hard edge of authority, demanding instant belief.

Callista kept her gaze fixed on the passing city lights blurring past the tinted glass. "Right. You and Bianca are just a pair of innocent souls," she replied. Her voice dripped with dry sarcasm.

"I am trying to explain myself to you here. Do you have to be so sarcastic about this?" Dominic snapped back. His jaw clenched tight.

A hollow ache settled in Callista’s chest. If there was truly nothing between them, why did he react with such fierce protection? He had practically dragged her out of the club like a common criminal. He only rushed her out because he was terrified she might cause a public scene and embarrass his precious first love.

"Understood. Are we done talking now?" Callista asked. Her voice dropped to a flat, deadpan register.

"I have been clear from the very beginning. You are my wife, and that will not change anytime soon. But if you want this marriage to work, drop your little tricks right now. I will not play these games," he warned.

Callista stared at the back of his head. He was convinced that her recent, shocking mention of divorce was merely a desperate, dramatic plea for his attention. He saw her as a pathetic woman clinging to his coattails, throwing a tantrum to win back his affection.

"Don't become someone I resent, Callista," he added. His voice lowered into a dark threat.

She offered no response to his arrogance. She simply turned her bruised face toward the cold glass of the window, shutting his voice out.

Taking her silence as submission, Dominic sighed. He assumed a tone of generous concession. "I ordered the estate staff to move all your belongings back into our shared master bedroom. If you want to stay with me, just say so. There is no need for all this attitude."

He expected her to soften at the gesture. He waited for a quiet murmur of gratitude. Instead, Callista closed her eyes and let the rhythmic hum of the engine drown him out.

The Bentley rolled to a smooth halt in the sprawling courtyard of Obsidian Estate. Callista pushed the heavy car door open and stepped out into the cool night air. She walked through the grand double doors of the villa, only to freeze in her tracks.

A jarring, horrifying transformation had taken over the interior. The warm, sophisticated elegance she had meticulously curated over the past three years had been eradicated. The sleek modern furniture and neutral tones were gone. In their place stood an overwhelming, tacky pink decor. Frilly rose-colored curtains blocked the tall arched windows. Gaudy, velvet cushions cluttered the seating areas. Excessive floral arrangements spilled from oversized vases on every available surface. It perfectly mirrored the suffocating aesthetic of the Thorne Residence. Bianca’s territorial influence was splashed across every square inch of the living space.

Martha, the head housekeeper, stepped out from the dining room. She offered a stiff, forced nod.

"Mrs. Vance. You have returned. Have you eaten your supper?" Martha asked. Her eyes darted nervously toward the garish pink sofas.

"Yes, thank you," Callista answered quietly.

Martha offered a tight smile before scurrying around the corner. Callista watched the housekeeper’s retreating back. She knew exactly what was happening. Martha was secretly phoning Eleanor on her cell. Her mother-in-law had always openly despised Callista, viewing her as a plain nobody unworthy of the Vance family name. Callista’s recent, publicized infertility diagnosis only fueled Eleanor's aggressive desire to push through a rapid divorce. Eleanor wanted Dominic to marry someone who could produce a proper heir, and Martha was her loyal spy inside the estate.

Dominic strode into the brightly lit living room a moment later. He anticipated an argument, ready to smooth over the invasive redesign. He walked toward Callista, lifting his arms to bridge the physical gap between them. He reached out for a comforting embrace.

Callista calmly and smoothly dodged his hands. She reached down, effortlessly slipping a large throw pillow between their bodies as a firm physical barrier.

Dominic’s empty arms fell to his sides. His jaw tightened in frustration.

Callista looked around the ruined room. "Can you have everything returned to how it was?" she asked. Her voice remained flat and devoid of emotion.

Dominic shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He moved to defend the kitschy redesign. "Let us not make a massive issue out of this. You will get used to the way things are around here. Try to see it from her perspective just this once, Callista. After everything she has been through these past few years, all Bianca wants is to feel like she truly belongs somewhere."

Callista squeezed the ridiculous pink pillow in her hands.

"She has nobody else in the world. Is it really so hard for you to just be a little more compassionate?" Dominic pleaded. Frustration seeped heavily into his tone.

"Funny," Callista replied. Her tone dropped to an icy, cutting whisper. "I was under the distinct impression that my adoptive parents were still alive and well."

She knew the painful truth intimately. The wealthy Thorne family had spent the last three years obsessively catering to Bianca's every single whim. They flew overseas to Valerios for every minor birthday and holiday. They abandoned Callista. They even skipped Callista's own wedding to Dominic, leaving her to walk down the aisle alone, just to fly overseas and be by Bianca's side because the woman complained of loneliness.

"Now that you made it out of that dead-end town, you should be the last person to let Bianca sink into it," Dominic shot back, oblivious to the sheer depth of her pain.

Callista looked at his handsome, stubborn face. The final ember of hope in her heart extinguished into cold ash. Dominic was brainwashed by his first love. He would never take her demands for a divorce seriously on his own. He would just keep dismissing her pain as petty jealousy. She silently resolved to use Eleanor's growing impatience and hatred to her advantage. If Dominic refused to let her go, his mother would gladly sever the ties for him.

Without another word, Callista turned her back on her husband. She retreated upstairs to the master bedroom, leaving him standing in the sea of tacky pink decor.

Later that evening, Callista sat in the dark master bedroom. Her clothes took up half the massive closet again, a mocking reminder of her trapped status. The fragile quiet of the house shattered when the heavy front doors banged open downstairs.

Bianca had returned to the estate.

Callista walked toward the heavy oak door, listening to the loud commotion echoing up the grand staircase. Bianca’s voice whined through the corridors. She reeked of strong liquor even from a distance, swaying unsteadily on her feet and stumbling over the expensive rugs.

Dominic’s heavy footsteps rushed out from the first-floor study. He moved to steady the staggering woman.

"You have had far too much to drink. This isn't good for you," Dominic murmured. His voice carried a thick layer of genuine worry.

"I couldn't help it," Bianca sobbed loudly. She perfectly played the tragic part of a drunken, heartbroken mess. "It is the only thing that dulls the ache in my chest."

Callista rested her hand on the cold metal doorknob. She listened as the footsteps drew closer to the second-floor landing. As Bianca’s knees buckled, Dominic smoothly scooped her into his muscular arms. He carried her up the remaining stairs.

"I have always regretted it," Bianca cried out, burying her flushed face deep into his chest right outside the master bedroom. "Letting my foolish pride push you away back then was the biggest mistake of my life. Let us try again, Dominic. Please."

Just as Bianca tilted her tear-streaked face up toward his, their lips mere inches away and about to meet in a passionate kiss, Callista turned the handle.

The heavy oak door of the master bedroom swung open with a loud click.

Callista stood framed in the doorway in her silk pajamas. She stared down at the intimate embrace happening right in the hallway, maintaining a blank, unreadable expression.

A rare, intense look of sheer panic flashed across Dominic's handsome face as he realized his wife was watching them. He scrambled to justify the compromising position, his arms still wrapped tightly around his former lover.

"Callie, Bianca is just drunk," he stammered. His voice pitched much higher than usual. "I am just taking her back to her room to sleep it off."

Still draped heavily around Dominic's neck, Bianca slowly shifted her head. She met Callista’s eyes directly over Dominic’s broad shoulder.

In an instant, the sloppy, drunken tears vanished from Bianca's face. The tragic sorrow evaporated into thin air. They were replaced by a cool, calculating, sober, and triumphant smirk meant only for Callista to see.

Callista’s mouth curved into a dark, humorless smile. The malicious performance left her unfazed.

"Yes, and you're drunk too," Callista replied flatly to her husband.

Without waiting for another pathetic excuse, she took a deliberate step back inside. She slammed the heavy bedroom door shut right in their faces.

The sharp, decisive turn of the metal lock echoed loudly down the hall.

Standing alone in the dark room, Callista clenched her fists at her sides. Her blood boiled at the nauseating thought of sleeping in the same bed as Dominic. She knew with certainty that her blinding, protective rage would consume her mind if she was forced to lie beside him for the rest of the night. She turned away from the locked door, the sharp sound of the deadbolt signaling her absolute refusal to ever let him touch her again.