The Billionaire They Kicked Out

Chapter 2: The Empty Chair

The next morning wasn't any different. The sun crawled through the narrow window of the guest room, hitting the pile of laundry Miranda had "left out" for me to fold. In the Sterling house, my morning routine didn't start with coffee; it started with chores that weren't mine.

I walked into the breakfast nook, the smell of expensive dark roast and maple syrup filling the air. Victor and Miranda were already seated, their heads bent over a set of blueprints spread across the table. Lilian sat to the right, typing furiously on her tablet.

There were four chairs at the table. Three were occupied. The fourth, the one usually meant for me, was covered in Miranda’s designer shopping bags.

"Morning," I said, my voice sounding raspy in the quiet room.

No one looked up. It was as if I hadn't spoken at all.

"If we can secure the corner lot on 5th," Victor said, pointing at a blue line on the map, "the Sterling Plaza becomes the crown jewel of the district. We just need the final signature from the planning board."

"Lilian, you should take Ethan to that charity gala on Friday," Miranda said, ignoring the business talk for a moment to fix her daughter with a pointed look. "His father is golf buddies with the board director. One word from Ethan, and that signature is as good as ours."

"I have a lot of work, Mother," Lilian murmured, though she didn't say no. She never really said no to them anymore.

I walked to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee. As I reached for the pot, Miranda finally spoke, though her eyes never left the blueprints.

"Damien, don't use the porcelain mugs. Those are for guests. Use the plastic travel cup in the pantry."

I paused, my hand inches from the handle. "It’s just coffee, Miranda."

"It’s an heirloom set," she snapped, finally looking at me with that familiar expression of a person looking at a smudge on a window. "And since you didn't contribute a cent to this household this month, I’d prefer you didn't risk chipping my things. Also, you're blocking the light. Step back."

I moved. I didn't get my coffee. I just stood by the refrigerator, feeling like a ghost haunting my own life.

"Father," Lilian said, looking up from her tablet. "I was thinking about the 5th Street lot. The drainage issues there are significant. We might need to…."

"I’ve already discussed it with Ethan," Victor cut her off, his tone dismissive. "He says his engineers can handle it. We don't need to worry our heads about the technicalities. We just need the deal."

"But…." Lilian started.

"Lilian," Miranda interjected, her voice sugary-sweet but firm. "Let the men handle the heavy lifting. You just focus on looking your best for Friday. A woman’s influence is in her grace, not her spreadsheets."

I watched Lilian’s shoulders slump. She was a brilliant architect, but in this room, her voice was only slightly louder than mine which was to say, it wasn't heard at all. She looked over at me, a flicker of something like apology in her eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. She didn't stand up for herself, and she certainly didn't stand up for me.

I was invisible furniture. A coat rack. A footstool.

"Damien," Victor said suddenly.

For a second, I thought he was going to include me. My heart gave a pathetic little hop.

"The dry cleaner called," he continued, still looking at the blueprints. "My suits are ready. Take the old station wagon, don't touch the Mercedes and go pick them up. Then drop Lilian’s car off for a detail. And make sure they use the scentless wax. I can’t stand the smell of cheap lemons."

"I have a job interview at ten," I said quietly. It was a position at a local firm, something that could finally give me a steady check to help Lilian.

Victor finally looked at me. He didn't look angry; he looked amused. It was worse.

"An interview? Doing what? Hauling boxes? The suits are more important, Damien. They cost more than you’d make in a year at whatever 'job' you’re looking for. Don't be selfish. Support your wife’s family for once."

He went back to his maps. The conversation closed over me like water over a drowning man.

I looked at Lilian. She was staring at her tablet, her thumb scrolling aimlessly. She heard him. She knew I had been trying to find work for weeks. She knew how much this interview meant to my dignity.

"Lilian?" I asked.

She didn't look up. "Just get the suits, Damien. Please. I don't want to hear them complain all day."

I stood there for a long moment, the silence of the room ringing in my ears. I wasn't a husband. I wasn't even a servant. A servant gets a salary. I was just a shadow that did errands.

"I’ll get the suits," I said.

Nobody thanked me. Nobody even acknowledged I was leaving. As the kitchen door swung shut behind me, I heard Ethan’s name mentioned again, followed by the sound of Victor’s booming, appreciative laughter.

The door clicked shut, and I was on the outside looking in. Just where they wanted me.