The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire

Elisa stepped out of the high-rise lobby and onto the sidewalk. Before she could hail a cab, two massive black SUVs screeched to a halt in front of her. Four men in dark suits stepped out, effectively boxing her in. "Mrs. Chambers. The matriarch requests your presence," the lead guard said. It wasn't a question. Elisa tightened her grip on her suitcase. She climbed into the back of the armored car. The SUV sped out of Manhattan, driving deep into the heavily guarded estates of Long Island. They pulled up to the century-old Chambers family mansion. Elisa dragged her suitcase up the stone steps and into the grand parlor. The air was thick with the suffocating smell of aged sandalwood and expensive perfume. Germaine Chambers sat at the head of a long mahogany table, sipping tea with three other Upper East Side socialites. Germaine didn't look up. She let Elisa stand in the center of the room for ten agonizing minutes, a blatant display of power. The socialites whispered behind their teacups, their eyes raking over Elisa's chopped hair and cheap coat. Finally, Germaine set her porcelain cup down. She picked up a gold-embossed menu and threw it onto the floor at Elisa's feet. "This is the menu you approved for the charity gala?" Germaine barked. "It is vulgar. It lacks class. But I suppose I shouldn't expect a hospital nurse to understand high society." Germaine sneered, her wrinkled face twisting with malice. "You reek of cheapness, Elisa. You always have." Elisa looked down at the menu on the floor. She didn't bend down to pick it up. She looked Germaine dead in the eye. "Le mariage de la truffe blanche avec cette sauce est une insulte à la gastronomie," Elisa said. Her voice was smooth, her accent a flawless, aristocratic Parisian French. The socialites gasped. Two of them nearly dropped their cups. "C'est la preuve d'un goût de nouveau riche, une tentative désespérée de cacher un manque de culture par l'excès," Elisa continued, her words flowing like liquid silver, cutting through the room's tension. She just told them their menu was a desperate, new-money attempt to hide their lack of culture. Germaine's face turned a violent shade of purple. She didn't speak French, but she understood the absolute superiority in Elisa's tone. Elisa switched back to English. "Since this family finds me so useless, consider my obligations terminated." Germaine slammed her hands on the table. "How dare you!" Elisa turned her back on the matriarch and walked out the front doors. She stood in the driveway, took a deep breath of the crisp Long Island air, and ordered an Uber. The car took her straight to the city hospital. Elisa walked past the ER, ignoring the stares of her coworkers, and marched directly into the Human Resources office. She slapped a printed resignation letter onto the HR director's desk. "I quit. Effective immediately," Elisa said. The director blinked in shock. "Elisa, you can't just leave. We are short-staffed. You need to give two weeks-" "Check the labor laws," Elisa interrupted, her voice hard. "At-will employment. Process it." Under the weight of Elisa's icy stare, the director swallowed hard and stamped the paper. Elisa unclipped her plastic ID badge and dropped it on the desk. She walked out of the hospital doors. Her phone buzzed. Jewel: The safe house is secure. Kayden is eating ice cream. Elisa smiled. A real, genuine smile. The nurse was dead. The wife was dead. Faye was awake.