Page 100 of The Spare

She turns her sharp, predatory gaze directly onto Alexis.

“Tell me, my dear,” my mother asks, her voice mimicking an evil witch from a Disney movie. “Do you know what’s going on here?” She takes a slow, deliberate step into Lexi’s personal space. “Or are you as clueless as you look?”

“That’s enough, Mother.”

Alexis blinks, taking a cautious step closer to me. My confident wife from the podium at the conference has vanished. In her place is a timid butterfly. She looks completely baffled, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I glance at Lexi. She takes my hand, standing taller. We both know what my mother is trying to do. She’s trying to prove our marriage isn’t real. And if that doesn’t work, she’ll do what she does best.

Destroy it herself.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Alexis and I agreed to make this real. The past is behind us. We’re going to make a go of this.

“She doesn’t need to answer to you, Mother,” I snap. “Get out of our house.”

“Oh, poor, Alexis,” my mother scoffs, completely ignoring me as she reaches into her leather purse. “You really have no idea, do you?” She pulls out a crisp white stack of legal papers and holds them out, waving them in the air like a weapon.

“Did he tell you?” she asks, her voice echoing through the candlelit room. “If Sam can convince you to stay married to him for another year, he gets another fifty million dollars from the trust. And another the year after that.” Her lips curl in a devilish smirk that makes all of my hair stand on end.

The room falls silent.

Fuck.

Lexi’s mouth falls open as all of the color drains from her face. She looks so pale. She turns her head slowly, looking at me with unadulterated shock.

And betrayal.

“Lexi, no—” I panic, dropping the old wooden box onto the floor with a thud that echoes through the house. I’m surprised it doesn’t splinter all over the floor. I reach for her, dread twisting within my chest. “No, Lex. Please. It’s not like that. I swear to God, it’s not like that.”

“Don’t believe me? It’s all here in black and white,” my mother taunts.

“Where did you get that?” I bark. Did she manage to pay someone to infiltrate Aaron Sterling’s law office?

Lexi backs away silently, her head shaking as if there’s nothing I can do or say to prove to her my mother is wrong. She doesn’t yell. Alexis merely stares at me. “Sam?” her voice is cracked, heartbroken. Like I’ve lied to her. Betrayed her for the last time.

“Baby, please? Please believe me. It’s not what you think.”

Her eyes land on the documents my mother placed on the kitchen island. There’s no doubt it’s a copy of the original. “Is this real? Why wouldn’t you have told me about this?”

“Let me explain.” I take a cautious step closer, trying to choose my words carefully. “It is real, but I had no intension of staying married. It was a nonissue.”

She flinches. Fuck. That didn’t come out right. But my nerves are shot. It’s hard to think straight with Cruella de Vil looming over us.

But before I can take another step, my wife turns on her heel and marches over to where my evil witch of a mother is standing. Crossing her arms across her chest, she stands taller than I’ve ever seen her. With her chin held high she barks, “Why are you still standing here? I’m pretty sure my husband told you to get out of our house.”

My brows jump to my hairline, a sliver of unexpected hope charges through my veins.

Alexis takes another step forward, her face awash in fierce determination. “You have done enough damage to the two of us. And get it straight, this is no longer your family estate. That would imply you were family. I can’t speak for Sam or Sebastian. But as far as I’m concerned, you forfeited that right the moment you began terrorizing your son. You’re no longer welcome in our home.”

Lexi and Mom both look in my direction, but I’m so overcome with love for my incredible wife, I can’t form words. I just give a curt nod of agreement. Like a simp.

Alexis turns to me, her arms now down by her sides. “I love you. We have a lot to talk about. But not when I’m this emotional. I’ll call you later.” And with that, she grabs her purse, keys, and coat, and heads out the door. My first inclination is to run after her. Beg her to listen. But she’s right.

So I watch her as she walks away. Leaving me standing in the ruins of our life together.

I point to the door. “Get out.” The words rip out of my throat, as sharp as shattered glass.

My mother doesn’t even flinch. She stands there among the flickering candles and the roses that now resemble a funeral parlor. She slips the legal papers back into her purse and slinks toward the door like a snake coiling after a strike.