The Stand-In's Sweetest Revenge

The guest house was an upgrade. It was a sleek, modern bungalow with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a private garden and a small, serene pond. For the next week, my life was blissfully peaceful.

I swam in my private pool, I experimented with new recipes in the state-of-the-art kitchen, and my only contact with the main house was the daily delivery of Connor's meticulously planned meals.

I continued to monitor his health remotely through the smart watch I' d insisted he wear, and every morning at 5 AM, before Bella woke up, he would sneak over for his training session in the guest house's private gym.

It was during these sessions that I got the unfiltered reports from the front lines.

"She's driving me insane," Apollo, the house manager, muttered one morning as he dropped off a crate of organic kale. His usually immaculate suit was rumpled, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"What's she done now?" I asked, sipping my coffee.

Apollo ran a hand over his face. "Yesterday, she demanded I fill her bathtub with rose petals. Not just any rose petals. They had to be 'the color of a lover's blush at sunset.' I showed her three different shades of pink. She threw them at me."

I tried not to smile. "And?"

"Then, she decided she would only eat food that a 'tragically misunderstood heroine' would eat. I asked for a list. She told me to read the first twelve chapters of a book called 'The Duke's Forsaken Bride' and figure it out. Apparently, it involves a lot of toast and weak tea."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Connor' s gastritis is acting up again. He can't live on toast and tea."

"I know," I said, glancing at the data on my tablet. His stress levels were through the roof. "Just keep sneaking him my meals."

"Then she found the Fabergé egg in the display case," Apollo groaned. "She smashed it. Said it was a 'symbol of our broken love' and that it 'had to be sacrificed' for us to heal."

I winced. That egg was worth more than my original salary.

"I'm glad I'm over here," I said honestly.

A sense of foreboding prickled at the back of my neck. This peaceful arrangement felt too good to be true. It was.

The following afternoon, my front door was thrown open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Bella stood there, her face a mask of fury.

She marched in, her eyes scanning the luxurious interior of the guest house. She spotted the high-end espresso machine, the Diptyque candles, the Frette linens on the bed visible through the open bedroom door.

Her eyes landed on me, lounging on the sofa in a silk robe, reading a book.

"I knew it!" she shrieked. "He didn't fire you! He's hiding you here! This is the 'secret love nest' chapter!"

I slowly closed my book and set it down. "Ms. Salazar, I am a remote employee. This is my company-provided housing."

I decided to try logic again, a foolish endeavor. I walked to my desk, picked up a file, and handed it to her. "This is my employment contract, revised as of last week. Perhaps seeing it will clarify the situation."

She snatched it from my hand. Her eyes scanned the document, widening in shock as they landed on the salary section. The number, written out in full, seemed to vibrate on the page.

"One million dollars?" she screeched, her voice cracking. "He's paying you one million dollars?"

Her mind, steeped in the toxic brew of dime-store romance plots, could only process this information in one way.

"This isn't a salary," she hissed, her face contorting with rage and jealousy. "This is a retainer. He's keeping you. You're his mistress!"

The accusation, so vile and so baseless, hit a nerve. My professional integrity was everything to me. It was the foundation of my career, the justification for my salary.

"That's enough," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerously low tone.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Connor's number. He answered on the first ring.

"Connor," I said, not bothering with pleasantries. "Your… friend is in my house, screaming insults at me. I suggest you handle this, or our discreet arrangement is over."

I could hear him sigh on the other end. "Put her on, Clementine."

I held the phone out to Bella. "He wants to talk to you."

She sneered but took the phone, putting it on speaker. "Connor, darling, I've found her! She's been living in luxury right under our noses-"

"Bella," Connor's voice was firm, devoid of its usual patience. "Leave her house. Now."

"But she-"

"I said now. Go back to the main house. We'll talk later."

The change in Bella's expression was immediate. The haughty fury drained away, replaced by a flash of genuine fear. She snapped the phone out of speaker mode, her face pale as she listened to whatever he was saying.

A moment later, she hung up and threw my phone onto the sofa. She glared at me, her eyes filled with venom.

"This isn't over," she spat, before turning on her heel and storming out.

I picked up my phone, a sudden thought occurring to me. I should probably ask Connor for emotional distress compensation. Another hundred thousand a year seemed fair.

To avoid another confrontation, I started having Apollo pick up Connor's meals from the edge of the property. For a few days, there was peace.

Then, one evening, Apollo showed up looking more stressed than ever. He was holding a thick, cream-colored envelope.

"This is for you," he said, handing it to me. "It's an invitation."

I opened it. It was a formal invitation to a welcome home party for Bella, hosted by Connor. My name was on the guest list.

"Absolutely not," I said, tossing it on the counter.

"Connor insisted," Apollo said quietly. "He said… he'd pay you a fifty-thousand-dollar appearance fee."

I paused. Fifty grand to attend a party for a few hours.

I snatched the invitation back up off the counter.

"You know," I said, putting a hand over my heart and looking at Apollo with utmost sincerity. "Connor has done so much for me. It would be rude of me not to go and personally welcome Ms. Salazar home. It's the least I can do to show my support."

Apollo just stared at me, then slowly shook his head and walked away, muttering something about needing a very strong drink.