The Surgeon's Revenge: No More Mrs. Montgomery

Fletcher had been gone for twenty minutes when the doorbell rang. It wasn't the tentative buzz of a delivery driver; it was a long, authoritative press.

Alexa was still in her pajamas, her hair tied in a messy bun. She opened the door to find Cornelia Montgomery standing there.

Fletcher's mother was a vision in Chanel tweed. She wore a hat with a small veil, even though it was a Tuesday morning. Beside her, Martha stood with her hands clasped, looking smug.

Cornelia didn't say hello. She stepped inside, peeling off her leather gloves finger by finger. She ran a bare finger along the edge of the foyer console table. She inspected the tip of her finger, frowned, and then turned to Alexa.

"I hear there is a crisis," Cornelia said. Her voice was like crushed velvet-soft, but suffocating.

"Good morning, Cornelia," Alexa said, pulling her robe tighter. "There's no crisis."

"Martha tells me you and Fletcher were screaming at each other at six in the morning over an animal." Cornelia walked into the living room, claiming the space instantly. She sat on the center of the sofa, her back rigid. "Sit, Alexa. No, don't sit. You'll wrinkle the silk."

Alexa remained standing, feeling like a schoolgirl called to the principal's office. She shot a glare at Martha, who was busy fluffing a pillow that didn't need fluffing.

"Fletcher just got back," Cornelia said. "He is under immense pressure with the merger. He needs a sanctuary, not a petting zoo."

"It's one cat," Alexa said.

"It's a symptom," Cornelia corrected sharply. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a piece of heavy cardstock. "This is the schedule for the week. The gala at the Met is on Thursday. You fired the florist?"

"The quotes were ridiculous," Alexa defended herself. "I can arrange flowers. I have hands."

"We don't use our hands, Alexa," Cornelia sneered. "We employ people. Doing it yourself looks... desperate. It looks cheap. Like you're trying to save pennies from the grocery budget."

"I was trying to be responsible."

"You were being a peasant," Cornelia snapped. "This is the Montgomery family. Appearance is currency. And right now, your stock is plummeting."

Martha cleared her throat. "If I may, Madam... Ms. Emerson also insisted on cooking last night. The ventilation system is still struggling."

Cornelia looked at Alexa with genuine pity. "Oh, honey. You really don't get it, do you? You aren't the help. But you also aren't quite... us."

She stood up and walked over to Alexa. She reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Alexa's ear. The touch was cold.

"Remember who pulled you out of the wreckage, Alexa. Remember whose name protects you from the scandal that destroyed your parents."

The blood drained from Alexa's face. The secret. The lie that kept her tethered. The family claimed her parents were involved in embezzlement and died fleeing the authorities. The Montgomerys had 'saved' her reputation.

"I haven't forgotten," Alexa whispered.

"Good," Cornelia said. "Because as long as you are a burden to Fletcher, you are in debt. And debts must be paid."

She signaled to Martha. "Come, Martha. Let's inspect the guest suites. I want to make sure they are suitable for Felicity when she visits."

They walked away, their laughter echoing down the hall. Alexa stood in the living room, her hands shaking so hard she had to grip the back of a chair. She saw a crystal vase on the table. For one blinding second, she wanted to pick it up and hurl it at the wall.

Instead, she took a deep breath. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. But she marked Martha's face in her mind. That score would be settled.