“You’ll have to serve my husband,” my mother‑in‑law declared, unaware that I was about to expose her filthy secret.
“School? Really?” Margaret Bennett winced as if she’d swallowed a stone. “James could have married someone more respectable.”
I poured tea into fine bone china, careful not to spill. My hands shook with rage, but I kept my composure in front of my mother‑in‑law.
Three months of marriage had taught me one thing: in this house I was always an outsider.
“Dad, stop,” James squeezed my hand beneath the table. “Emily is a wonderful wife.”
“Wonderful?” Edward Bennett sneered, not looking up from his tablet. “You could have taken a daughter from one of our business partners. Instead you brought home … a teacher.”
He spat the last word with such contempt, as if I’d brought shame upon the family. I wanted to rise and walk out, but James held my hand. “Dad, I love Emily. Isn’t that what matters?”
“Love,” Margaret snorted. “In our circle marriages are built on other foundations. You’ve always been a romantic.”
She examined me from head to toe—my plain blouse, my neatly tied hair—her eyes dripping with disdain.
“Emily, dear,” my mother‑in‑law’s voice turned sickly sweet, “what exactly do you teach at your… school?”
“Literature and English,” I replied evenly.
“Ah, literature!” she threw her hands up dramatically. “So you spend your days reading fairy tales to children?”
“Mom!” James raised his voice.
“What ‘mom’? I’m merely curious about your wife’s profession. By the way, Emily, do you understand the kind of family you’ve married into? We have standards.”
I sipped tea to buy time. A lump rose in my throat, but I kept my voice steady: “I understand, Margaret. I try to live up to them.”
“Try?” she laughed. “Dear, you have no idea what it means to be a Bennett wife. This isn’t a typical parent‑teacher meeting.”
Edward nodded. James tightened his grip on my hand.
“That’s enough,” he said firmly. “Emily is my wife, and I expect you to treat her with respect.”
“Respect is earned, son,” Edward set his tablet aside. “So far all I see are the ambitions of a provincial girl who married well.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced a smile. I couldn’t show weakness—that was all they wanted.
“I’m not a provincial girl, Edward,” I said. “I was born and raised in London, just like you.”
“London?” Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Which district, if you don’t mind?”
“Barking.”
The couple exchanged a glance, a triumphant glint flashing in their eyes. To them, Barking meant low‑class. “I see,” Edward drawled. “Well, the main thing is that you understand your place in this family.”
“What place?” James could barely contain himself.
“The place of a wife who must match her husband’s status,” Margaret cut in sharply.
The week passed in tense silence. James apologized to his parents and promised to speak with them, but I knew it was futile. In their eyes I would forever be a upstart from Barking, eyes on their money. Funny, they never guessed I’d fallen in love with James long before I discovered his family’s wealth.
We’d met in a bookshop, argued over Dickens, laughed at the same jokes. Back then he was just a bloke in worn jeans with kind eyes.
One Thursday morning, while I was preparing lessons, Margaret called.
“Emily, come over at four. We need to have a serious talk.”
The tone promised nothing good. I left my last class early, despite the headmaster’s sharp look—midterms were looming. Family, I told myself, was more important, though a knot of dread twisted inside.
The Bennett mansion greeted me with oppressive silence. The staff seemed absent; even the usually bustling housekeeper, Mrs. Clarke, was nowhere to be seen.
Margaret waited in the drawing‑room—perfect hair, an expensive suit, a cold smile.
“Sit down, Emily. Tea?”
I shook my head. My throat tightened so badly I could barely swallow.
“I’ve thought long about how best to say this,” she leaned back, studying me. “You’re not a fool; you must understand—this marriage is a mistake.”
“A mistake for whom?” I replied calmer than I felt.
“For everyone, especially James. He’s the heir to an empire, and you…” she grimaced. “You’re dragging him down.”
Anger surged, a hot wave from deep inside. How much more humiliation must I endure? I stayed silent, letting her continue. “I’m prepared to make you an offer,” Margaret leaned forward. “Five million for a divorce. Quietly, without scandal. Tell James you’ve fallen out of love.”
“No.”
“Ten million.”
“Margaret, I am not for sale.”
Her mask slipped, revealing her true nature. “Then listen carefully,” she said, voice hard as a blade. “If you want to remain in this family, you must be a servant to my husband—cook, clean, fulfil any whim. No claim to inheritance, no children without my permission. You will be a shadow. Understand?”
I stared, unable to believe my ears. A servant? In the twenty‑first century? Inside I boiled with outrage, but my face stayed calm. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I will do everything to make James leave you. I have my ways, believe me. Infidelity can be easily fabricated, especially with a simpleton like you.”
She rose, signalling the end of her performance. I rose after her, legs trembling with rage.
“Think it over, Emily. You have a week.”
Outside the mansion I stood by the car, trying to steady my breathing. My hands shook so badly I could barely fit the key into the lock.
Tell James? He wouldn’t believe me. Even if he did, what would change? Margaret was right—she had power, money, connections.
I drove aimlessly, hoping to clear my head. I turned toward the shopping centre, thinking a coffee might help. As I crossed the car park, I spotted a familiar silhouette: Margaret stepping out of a silver Mercedes.
But she wasn’t alone. A tall, well‑dressed man held her by the waist, laughing as she threw her head back. That was certainly not Edward.
Instinctively I ducked behind a pillar, heart hammering. They walked toward the restaurant entrance, the man whispering something in her ear.
Margaret playfully tapped his shoulder, then pulled him by the tie and kissed him.
My phone was already in my hand. Click, click, click—my camera captured every movement.
They disappeared into the restaurant, leaving me alone with the incriminating footage. Mrs. Morality, lecturing me about decency, now exposed as a liar.
On the drive home I replayed the video. Should I use it? Blackmail? But wouldn’t she do the same to me? Tears stung—not from hurt, but from helplessness. How had I ended up in this nightmare?
Next Friday, the Bennett family dinner loomed. Their tradition—weekly gatherings to discuss business—was usually a chance for me to stay unnoticed, but this time I was armed.
My purse held the phone, my resolve firm.
“Emily has lost a lot of weight,” Edward remarked, carving his steak. “James, aren’t you being hard on your wife?”
“Dad, why say that?” James asked, surprised.
“Just a lot of work,” I muttered.
“Ah yes, school,” Margaret smirked. “By the way, have you thought about my offer?”
I looked up. She sat opposite, the picture of the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect lie. “What
