The Rejected Live-in Husband Returns

Part X: A Shattered Ego

The echo of Eleanor’s shriek seemed to hang in the plush hallway long after the sound had faded. 

Elara stumbled back, her shoulder smarting from the impact, but before she could even process the shock, a steadying hand was on her arm. 

Leo had moved with a quiet, fluid speed, positioning himself slightly in front of her, a human shield against his mother-in-law’s venom.

“That’s enough, Eleanor,” Leo said, his voice low and dangerously calm. It wasn’t a plea; it was a command. 

“There is nothing improper between us. Your theatrics are unnecessary.”

Eleanor let out a derisive snort, her eyes blazing with contempt. “Nothing improper? And yet you bring her to a hotel penthouse? Do you take me for a fool?”

Elara, her heart hammering but her voice steady, found her courage. “He brought me here to see the apartment. To offer me a place to stay. It’s not what you’re implying.”

For a moment, Eleanor just stared at her. Then, a slow, condescending smile spread across her face, followed by a peal of laughter that was as sharp as broken glass. 

She looked at Elara with sheer, unadulterated amusement. 

“Oh, you poor, stupid girl,” Eleanor finally managed, wiping a mock tear from her eye. “He brought you here to see the apartment? And you believed him?” She shook her head, her laughter subsiding into a patronizing chuckle. 

“You’ve been conned, darling. Absolutely duped. This man,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at Leo, “is a penniless loser my daughter just kicked to the curb. He doesn’t own a pot to piss in, let alone a penthouse in the Aurelian! He was living off my daughter’s success, playing househusband. How could he possibly afford a key to a broom closet here?”

She turned her back on them, preening for her audience of friends. “Now, the apartment my new son-in-law has prepared… that’s a different story altogether. Now that’s a man of substance. He understands what it means to provide for a woman of caliber.”

Elara opened her mouth to retort, to tell this vile woman exactly who Leo really was—a man of immense, quiet power who commanded respect with a word. But Leo placed a gentle hand on her arm and gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head. The fight wasn’t here. It wasn’t with her. He pressed the elevator call button.

The doors slid open immediately. As they stepped inside, Eleanor’s voice followed them, smug and arrogant, believing their retreat was a admission of defeat. “That’s right, run along, you little brat! You got lucky this time. Next time I see you, I’ll tear that pretty skin right off your bones!”

The elevator doors closed, mercifully cutting off her vitriol and sealing them in a cocoon of silence. Elara leaned against the wall, her body trembling with a mixture of rage and residual shock. “How can she… how can she say those things? She has no idea who you are.”

Leo’s expression was unreadable. “She knows the version of me I allowed her to see. That’s on me.” He looked at her, his gaze softening with apology. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“Don’t be,” Elara said, her jaw tightening. “She’s the one who should be sorry.”

---

Back in the hallway, Eleanor’s friends fluttered around her, a chorus of nervous energy.

“Eleanor, dear, was it really necessary to pick a fight with them?” Beatrice asked, her voice laced with a hint of unease. “Let’s just see this magnificent apartment of yours. That’s what we’re all here for!”

Miriam nodded in vigorous agreement. “Yes, let’s not let that… unpleasantness… spoil the moment.”

Eleanor, smoothing down her designer blouse, allowed a mask of false modesty to settle back onto her face. The encounter had only heightened her sense of superiority. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s beneath me.” She pulled a sleek, black key card from her purse, holding it up like a holy relic. “Julian gave me this. The master key to the penthouse.”

She led her gaggle of friends down the hall to a set of double doors more ornate than the others. “I told Julian so many times not to go overboard,” she simpered, playing her part perfectly. “I said, ‘Julian, my Amelia isn’t a materialistic girl. Just a simple, comfortable space for the two of you is enough.’ But he insisted! He said, ‘Mother Coote, it wouldn’t be a home if you weren’t there with us. I want you to move in so I can take proper care of you in your golden years.’”

The women sighed in unison. “So filial!” Miriam breathed. “What a catch!”

Beaming, Eleanor swiped the key card against the reader. A small red light blinked. Nothing happened.

A flicker of confusion crossed her face. She swiped it again, more deliberately. Blink. Blink. Red.

“Oh, these electronic things are so finicky,” she said with a forced laugh, her cheeks beginning to flush. She tried again, jamming the card into the slot. Blink. Blink. Blink.

The awkwardness in the hallway became palpable. Her friends shifted their weight, avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Perhaps it’s the wrong door?” Beatrice suggested weakly.

“It’s the right door!” Eleanor snapped, her patience fraying. She began frantically swiping the card, over and over, her movements becoming jerky and desperate. “It has to work! Julian gave it to me himself!”

In her panic, she started slapping the card against the reader, then pounding on the metal plate with her fist. “Open! OPEN, you stupid thing!”

Suddenly, a different light on the panel flashed—a bright, angry blue—and a shrill, piercing siren erupted throughout the floor, so loud it felt physical. The blaring alarm was instantly joined by the sound of heavy, running footsteps.

Panic truly set in. The sisters, their desire to see a luxury apartment evaporating, tried to back away and slip down the hall, but it was too late. A team of four stern-faced hotel security guards rounded the corner, their expressions grim, batons held at the ready.

“Remain where you are!” the lead guard boomed over the siren.

Eleanor stepped forward, trying to reclaim her dignity, her voice shrill. “Now, see here! This is all a terrible misunderstanding! I am the mother-in-law of the owner of this penthouse! My son-in-law, Julian Thorne, gave me this key!”

The lead guard wasn’t impressed. He glanced at the key card she was still clutching, then back at her. “Ma’am, that is a standard guest key for a junior suite on the fourth floor. It does not grant access to the penthouse level, and you have triggered a security breach. Now, I need all of you to move to the wall and assume a squatting position. Now!”

“A squatting position? How dare you! Do you know who I am?” Eleanor shrieked.

The guard took a step forward, his baton held in a firm, two-handed grip. “I will not ask again. Against the wall. Now.”

Humiliation, hot and complete, washed over Eleanor. Under the cold, unforgiving gaze of the security team, with the alarm still screaming its accusation, she and her flustered friends were forced to comply, sinking into an undignified squat against the opulent wallpaper, the promised tour of her

golden future ending in the most spectacular and public failure imaginable.