The funeral of William Lucas was a spectacle of grief and hypocrisy. Olivia stood by the graveside, her four daughters weeping beside her, her sorrow profound and genuine. But watching them from a short distance were Charlotte, Ava, and Theodore, all dressed in immaculate black. Theodore was devastated by the loss of his son, but his grief was already mixing with a rigid focus on the heir.
William's death did not bring Olivia sympathy; it solidified Charlotte's power. Theodore now saw Charlotte and baby Ethan as the only thing standing between the Lucas Company and ruin.
Within weeks, the house became a hostile zone. Charlotte and Ava made their mission clear: erase every trace of Olivia's fifteen years as mistress of the house.
Olivia's personal photos were tossed into boxes. Her favorite antique vase was "accidentally" broken. Charlotte had moved into William's suite, and every day, she found a new, petty way to assert her dominance.
The girls, deprived of their father and now living under Charlotte's cruel scrutiny, were constantly tense. Ethan, encouraged by his mother, treated them like servants. Amelia, Charlotte's daughter, watched it all with a bright, innocent-looking curiosity that felt just as chilling.
One afternoon, Olivia walked into the drawing-room to find Charlotte calmly tearing apart a family portrait—a beautiful oil painting of William, Olivia, and their four daughters.
"What are you doing?" Olivia's voice was dangerously low, a rare flash of anger replacing her constant mourning.
Charlotte didn't even look up. She carefully ripped the section featuring Olivia's face right off the canvas. "Making space. Theodore feels it's time to update the decor to reflect the new direction of the family. The old memories are clutter."
"This is still my home. My husband's home!"
Charlotte finally looked up, her smile razor-sharp. "Your husband is gone, Olivia. He chose to leave you here unprotected. And Theodore is tired of your weeping." She rose, stepping close to Olivia. "You have no son, no husband, and no claim. Ethan is the future."
Charlotte dropped her voice to a chilling whisper. "You have forty-eight hours to pack and leave. If you fight this, I will make sure your precious girls are separated—sent to schools so distant and poor you'll never see them again. And when I'm done, I will ensure they never receive a single penny of their grandfather's wealth, not even for tuition. Do you understand?"
The direct threat against her children—all four of them, and the one growing secretly in her belly—broke Olivia's final resistance. She knew Charlotte was powerful enough, and cruel enough, to follow through.
With nothing but a few hastily packed clothes and the four terrified faces of her daughters, Olivia walked out of the towering iron gates of the Lucas mansion. She left everything behind: the wealth, the luxury, and the memories. The city, which had once felt like home, now felt vast and hostile.
Charlotte and Ava watched from the balcony, sipping champagne.
"Good riddance," Charlotte said, watching Olivia gather her girls on the curb. "Now, this house belongs to the true heir."
Olivia, with a silent, iron resolve settling in her heart, found a cheap, cramped room on the city's outskirts. Every day was a struggle for food and rent. The daily humiliations—being turned away from jobs, facing the scorn of the rich—only served to harden her spirit.
She was pregnant with her fifth daughter. But in her mind, this child was no longer just Emily. This child was the only chance to reclaim their dignity. This child was the key to vengeance.