Out with the Trash

A heavy, suffocating week dragged by after Eleanor's somber funeral. The Alderbay estate felt hollow, stripped of the matriarch’s warm presence. Valerie packed her bags in the guest room, preparing to return home and manage the sudden shift in the Sterling family dynamics. She stopped at the doorway, eyeing her cousin with deep concern.

Sloane stood by the threshold, pale and drained, yet a fierce fire burned behind her tired eyes.

"I will return on schedule and cut ties with Oakhaven cleanly," Sloane promised.

Valerie nodded, pulling her into a tight hug before leaving for the airport.

Stepping back into the suffocating silence of the shared Oakhaven villa, Sloane felt the chill of the empty rooms seep into her bones. She walked over to the tall glass windows and stared out at the garden. The purple roses Dorian had planted years ago wilted in their soil. He had sworn they symbolized their enduring romance. Now, they were overgrown, neglected, and dying.

A cold, mocking glint flashed in her eyes.

She marched outside, grabbing a pair of heavy gardening gloves from the shed. She approached the garden beds and gripped the base of the thorny bushes. With a sharp tug, she ripped the plants out by their roots. Dirt scattered across the pristine walkway. She tossed the withered remains into the nearby trash, stripping the garden of its false romance.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she dialed a high-end buyer who had previously shown interest in the property.

"I will accept the price you quoted last time. I want to sign the contract and handle the transfer as soon as possible," Sloane stated.

The buyer agreed without hesitation, eager to secure the deal.

Sloane hung up and headed upstairs. She grabbed a duffel bag and stashed her precious valuables, jewelry, and crucial personal documents inside. She would store them safely at Eleanor's empty cottage across town. After securing her own future, she moved through the sprawling villa. She grabbed trash bags and threw out anything even remotely linked to Dorian. His ties, his watches, his favorite books—everything went into the plastic sacks.

She dragged the heavy bags out to the driveway, dumping them into the overflowing, industrial-sized trash bin.

A sleek sedan pulled up to the curb. Dorian’s harried assistant stepped out, adjusting his glasses. He walked toward the front door, seeking a tailored suit for an upcoming evening party. He stared at the mountain of high-end clothing spilling over the edges of the dumpster.

"Mrs—" the assistant started as Sloane approached.

"It's Ms. Sterling," she corrected sharply.

The assistant ducked his head, looking sheepish. "Ms. Sterling, Mr. Hayes has a party tonight. He sent me to grab a suit. Could you help put an outfit together?"

Sloane crossed her arms. "Why not come get it himself?"

"He just got back from his trip to the neighboring city and went straight to the corporate office for some urgent work," the assistant explained.

"I thought he was too busy enjoying himself to care," she replied with biting sarcasm.

The assistant avoided her gaze, shuffling his feet on the pavement.

Sloane uncrossed her arms and pointed a manicured finger to the trash bin in the driveway. "Dig around in there. Better hurry, or someone else will snatch up the good ones."

Without skipping a beat, she slid into her car, started the engine, and drove off, leaving the man dumbfounded on the curb.

The assistant stared at the departing taillights, realizing she was serious. The property crew arrived, hooking the massive bins to their truck and hauling them down the street. He cursed under his breath and sprinted after the truck. When the bins were dumped at the local collection site, aggressive street scavengers had already swarmed the pile, snatching up the discarded designer clothes.

He threw himself into the chaotic fray, fighting off grasping hands to retrieve a custom wool suit. A stray elbow clipped him hard in the face. Pain exploded across his vision.

An hour later, he returned to Hayes Group headquarters sporting a massive, swollen black eye. Clutching the wrinkled suit, he pushed open the heavy mahogany doors to the executive suite.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Dorian and Lila huddled intimately over a desk. Their heads rested close together as they reviewed project details on a glowing tablet. Lila leaned into Dorian’s side, a soft blush painting her cheeks.

A wave of bitter resentment washed over the battered assistant. He felt a heavy guilt for betraying Sloane's years of loyalty. He had started his career under Sloane. She had guided him, trusted him, and built the very foundation Dorian now stood upon. Yet here he was, taking punches for a cheating boss while Sloane packed up her life.

Dorian glanced up from the screen. He frowned, taking in the assistant's disheveled state and bruised face. "Did Sloane do that to you?"

Lila gasped softly, pressing a hand to her chest as she faked a sympathetic look.

The assistant clenched his jaw. He wanted to scream the truth, but he quietly covered for his former boss. "No. I accidentally bumped into something."

Dorian let out a short breath, seemingly relieved by the answer. "Be careful out there."

Before the assistant could say another word, representatives from several high-end fashion brands walked into the office. They pushed rolling racks filled with a dazzling row of custom gowns, transforming the executive space into a private showroom.

Lila's eyes widened in sheer excitement. The gloomy, serious atmosphere of the office vanished in an instant.

Dorian arched an eyebrow. He pivoted to invite the starry-eyed, blushing Lila to the evening's elite industry event. "Choose a dress. You are joining me at an event tonight."

Lila stared at him with admiration. "Really? Are you sure that is alright?"

"Of course," Dorian said. He reached over and affectionately tousled her hair.

Given the green light, Lila hurried over to the racks and started browsing the silks and chiffons. The fashion reps fawned over her, offering endless compliments.

The assistant bit back his bitter words and quietly slipped out of the office, closing the door on the sickening display.

Later that evening, the city glowed under the streetlights. Sloane drove to an exclusive auction gala, bypassing the crowded main hall to head straight for the upper level. She walked into a dimly lit, opulent VIP box and met her loyal childhood friend, Harper.

Harper worked as a professional in corporate mergers and acquisitions. Sloane needed her expertise for an under-the-table valuation, aiming to unload all her Hayes Group stock without tipping off the market.

Sloane sat down on the plush velvet seat, passing a thick folder of financial documents across the low glass table.

Before Harper could open the folder, a grating voice drifted clearly through the thin, sliding wooden walls from the adjacent suite. The VIP boxes were separated only by movable panels designed to connect rooms for larger parties.

A sleazy corporate friend spoke up loudly. "Dorian, you really know how to enjoy life. Wedding's next month, and here you are with a stunner like Ms. Mercer keeping you company. She's all sweetness and light, happy to tag along without any strings. It doesn't shock me one bit. But spill: how do you juggle the wife back home? Give your buddies some pointers."

Sloane froze, her hand hovering over a delicate porcelain coffee cup on the table.

"Even if Dorian schooled you, you would never pull it off without his charisma. Sloane's crazy about him; she'd die if he left her. No chance she'd rock the boat," another sycophant bragged.

A chorus of obnoxious laughter echoed through the wood.

"A guy's gotta be like Dorian: solid red flag waving at home, while the rainbow ones fly free outside," a third man crowed.

Harper slammed the folder shut. Her face flushed crimson with rage. She jumped up from her velvet seat, her fists clenched tight at her sides, ready to storm next door and cause a scene.

Sloane reacted instantly. She reached out and calmly yanked Harper back down by the wrist. The sudden movement caught the edge of the saucer. Sloane knocked the delicate porcelain coffee cup off the table.

It shattered against the floor with a sharp, echoing clatter. The noise pierced the low hum of the gala.

Dorian's low, commanding voice broke through the wall from the other side, slicing through his friends' crude jokes. "Cut the crap. Let's just enjoy the auction pieces."

Harper sat rigidly on the velvet cushion, breathing heavy. She scowled deeply, turning her head to study Sloane's face. She searched for any sign of heartbreak, tears, or shock. Instead, she found a serene expression. The calm, icy acceptance in Sloane's eyes made Harper realize with a jolt that Sloane had known about the affair all along. This was not new information.

"And you're okay with just swallowing this?" Harper demanded in a furious whisper.

Sloane picked up a linen napkin and dabbed a stray drop of coffee from the glass tabletop. She leaned back against the plush velvet, her posture relaxed but dangerous. Pitching her voice to carry clearly through the thin dividing wall, she answered in an even tone. "Life serves up shit sandwiches now and then. If you don't play it cool and handle it fast, what, you gonna broadcast to everyone that you've got a mouthful?"

Next door, the boisterous room instantly fell to a pin-drop quiet.