The Billionaire They Kicked Out

Chapter 3: The Master’s Leftovers

The station wagon smelled like stale air and the cheap air freshener I’d bought with spare change. As I pulled back into the Sterling driveway, the trunk was heavy with Victor’s dry cleaned suits. I spent forty minutes meticulously hanging them in his walk-in closet, making sure every sleeve was perfectly aligned. He didn't even look up from his phone when I entered his room. I was just a walking coat rack.

By the time I made it back down to the kitchen, my stomach was cramping. I’d skipped breakfast to run their errands, and the morning interview I’d missed, the one Victor called "selfish" had been my last lead for a while.

I saw Maria, the head cook, plating a beautiful spread of grilled salmon and asparagus for the family’s lunch in the sunroom.

"Hey, Maria," I said, leaning against the counter. "Is there any of that salmon left? I haven't eaten since yesterday."

Maria didn't stop her work. She didn't even look at me. She just kept drizzling lemon butter over the plates with practiced precision.

"The family is eating now, Damien," she said, her voice flat. "There is no room for you at the table. Mrs. Sterling said they are discussing the Kane merger and didn't want any 'distractions' in the room."

"I can eat in here," I said, reaching for a clean plate.

Maria’s hand shot out, grabbing the plate before I could touch it. She finally looked at me, and there was no warmth in her eyes. "These are bone china. If you want to eat, wait until they are finished. There might be some scraps left over. Or you can make yourself a sandwich with the bread in the back of the pantry. The one that’s a day past its date."

I stared at her. Maria had been with the Sterlings for ten years. When I first married Lilian, she used to be kind to me. But she had spent three years watching how the family treated me. She had learned that being mean to me was a way to stay in Miranda’s good graces.

"Scraps?" I asked, my voice low.

"That’s what’s available," she said, turning back to her stove. "Now move. You’re blocking the path to the dining room."

I stepped back, feeling a flush of heat climb my neck. I walked toward the sunroom, staying behind the heavy velvet curtains. I could hear the clinking of silverware and the bright, artificial tone of Lilian’s laughter.

"To the new project!" Victor’s voice boomed.

"And to Ethan," Miranda added. "Honestly, Lilian, having him around is like a breath of fresh air. A man who actually brings something to the table. It makes such a difference in the energy of the house, don't you think?"

There was a pause. I held my breath, waiting for Lilian to say something—anything—to defend our marriage.

"It is... nice to have someone to talk business with," Lilian said. Her voice sounded hollow, but she didn't disagree. "It’s been a long time since I felt like I wasn't carrying everything on my own."

The words stung worse than Victor’s insults. I was the one who stayed up until 2:00 AM proofreading her contracts. I was the one who rubbed her shoulders when she cried from the pressure. But because I didn't have a title or a million-dollar checkbook, I didn't count as "help."

I turned away from the curtain and walked back into the kitchen. Maria was clearing a side table, and she pointed toward a plastic container sitting near the sink.

"There," she said. "The Master left some of his steak. I was going to give it to the dog, but you can have it if you’re that hungry."

She didn't offer me a fork. She didn't offer me a seat. She just went back to scrubbing the counters, whistling a low tune.

I looked at the cold, half-eaten piece of meat in the plastic bin. This was my life. This was the "normal" experience I had traded my inheritance for. I had wanted to see if I could be loved for my heart alone, but I had learned a bitter lesson: in Blackstone City, if you don't have a price tag, you're invisible.

I didn't take the steak. I walked out of the kitchen and toward the back stairs, the ones the servants used.

As I climbed, I passed Sarah, the junior maid, who was carrying a stack of fresh towels. She stopped, looking at me with a mix of pity and awkwardness.

"Mr. Cross?" she whispered.

"It's just Damien, Sarah," I said, not looking at her. "In this house, I don't think I have a last name."

"I... I left an apple and some crackers in the guest wing hallway," she said, her voice barely audible. "My shift is over. I just thought... you looked like you needed them."

"Thank you, Sarah," I said.

It was the only piece of human kindness I’d received in days, and it came from a girl who earned minimum wage.

I reached the guest wing and found the small pile of food she’d left. I sat on the floor of the hallway, eating the dry crackers in the dark. Below me, the house was full of music and the smell of expensive salmon. Up here, I was a shadow in a hallway that didn't belong to me.

I pulled out my old, battered phone. The screen was cracked. I hadn't checked it in hours.

I didn't open any apps. I didn't make any calls. I just looked at my reflection in the dark glass. I looked tired. I looked small.

Is this enough? I asked myself. Have I seen enough of their true colors yet?

I heard Lilian’s voice from the stairs. She was walking Ethan to the door.

"Thanks for lunch, Ethan," she said. "It really helped my father’s mood."

"Anytime, Lil," Ethan replied. I could hear the smirk in his voice. "You know I’d do anything to make your life easier. It’s a shame you have to deal with so much... clutter... at home. You deserve a partner who stands beside you, not behind you."

"I'll see you Friday," was all she said.

The front door closed. Lilian’s footsteps came up the stairs, but they didn't head toward the guest wing. They went straight to our or should I say her master bedroom. The lock clicked.

I was officially shut out.

I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes.

And for the first time in three years, I found myself wishing the storm would hurry up and hit.