"Earn Your Dinner": The Arrogant Wife’s Cruel Demand and the Ultimate Revenge
The mansion on the hills of Westlake looked like a picture of perfection from the outside. Its neoclassical facade stood tall against the evening sky, surrounded by immaculately manicured gardens and tall wrought-iron gates that kept the noisy world at a distance. Inside, polished marble floors reflected the warm glow of elegant, multi-tiered crystal chandeliers. A beautifully framed American flag stood proudly beside the massive stone fireplace in the grand foyer, while another flag fluttered peacefully outside the towering floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the twilight breeze. Everything about the home whispered wealth, success, and absolute respect.
It was a sanctuary built on the pinnacle of modern achievement. But behind those luxurious, soundproof walls, a heartbreaking secret was quietly unfolding—one that money could never wash clean.
Lying comfortably on a cream-colored designer velvet sofa, Claire scrolled endlessly through her phone. Her attention never left the glowing screen in her hands. She smiled lazily at curated social media posts, completely ignoring the living reality happening just inches away from her feet.
On the cold marble floor beside her sat an elderly woman.
Her silver hair was neatly tied back in a modest bun. Deep, canyon-like wrinkles covered her exhausted face, mapping out a life spent enduring the harshest elements of survival. Every movement she made revealed years of relentless sacrifice, hardship, and physical pain. Her swollen, arthritic hands rested quietly in her lap as she struggled to hide the steady tremor running through her aging body.
Without even lifting her eyes from her phone screen, Claire stretched out both legs toward the elderly woman, her posture dripping with casual entitlement.
Her voice was calm. Cold. Demanding.
"Massage my feet."
The elderly mother froze. Her trembling fingers tightened together as hot tears slowly filled her tired, sunken eyes. She swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat, before gathering enough courage to whisper a plea.
"My hands... they hurt."
May you like
There was no sympathy in the air. No hesitation. Claire simply rolled her eyes in annoyance, still staring straight at her phone as if the woman who had birthed her husband didn't even deserve the dignity of eye contact.
"Then use both hands."
