When I returned home, Mason Anderson was tenderly tucking a blanket around Zoe, like she was his precious
princess..
The moment I stepped through the door, both their smiles froze.
Mason frowned. “Didn’t I tell you not to come back today?”
I smiled softly, keeping my tone even. “You told me to come back early.”
“You said you needed to talk to me about something.”
He paused, clearly having forgotten what he’d said.
He cleared his throat, mumbling to cover his tracks: “It doesn’t matter now. We need to start preparing for the
annual family dinner–Zoe’s hosting this year.”
I froze.
I’d been in charge of this pre–Thanksgiving dinner every year. The menu, seating arrangements, lighting setup–I even had to approve the vintage of champagne we served.
Because I was the mistress of the Anderson family. It was my responsibility.
And Mason would critique everything like he was reviewing an employee’s work report.
But now that Zoe was here, it all belonged to her.”
I forced a smile. “Of course. It’s your house, your call.”
Mason frowned, like he’d been expecting me to fight back.
He let out a soft snort. “You’ve been much more agreeable lately. At least you know your place now.”
He turned to Zoe, his voice melting like butter:
“Baby, if you need anything, just tell me, okay? Don’t push yourself.”
Zoe gave him a shy smile, and Mason’s expression grew even softer.
They started discussing the guest list, floral arrangements, and dessert options, completely forgetting I was still standing in the room.
Carson sat on the couch, grinning as he rubbed Zoe’s belly:
Chapter 3
“This dinner is for my little brother!”
The scene looked exactly like a holiday greeting card: smiles, pregnant woman, child, fireplace, gentle man.
And me–just irrelevant background scenery.
I said nothing and headed upstairs.
For the next few days, I stayed locked in my room. They seemed perfectly happy with the peace and quiet.
The entire estate buzzed with preparations for Zoe’s family gathering. Florists, chefs, event planners streamed in and out like she’d already taken over the manor.
But this wasn’t her strong suit.
She quickly became overwhelmed.
One evening, I overheard her from the stair landing, sobbing softly in Mason’s arms:
“I can’t even handle one dinner… Am I totally useless?”
Mason held her tight like she was a frightened animal:
“You’re doing great, baby. This is your first time–nobody expects you to be perfect.”
The next evening, Mason knocked on my door for the first time in ages.
I opened it, and he cut straight to the point:
“Zoe can’t handle it. She’s pregnant, and this event is too complicated for her… Could you help her out?”
I laughed.
“The first time I organized this dinner, I was over eight months pregnant.”
He looked surprised, like he was just noticing this fact.
Back then, I worked until dawn every night, hand–writing invitations to guests. Nobody asked if I needed help, or even cared if I could handle it.
And now? Suddenly he understood compassion.
The trace of guilt on his face felt light as dust to me–worthless.
I cut him off before he could finish: “I’ll handle the behind–the–scenes arrangements. She can keep managing the front–of–house and head table.”
“This is her first time hosting. Let her be the star.”
13:45
His Rival’s Babu in My Rolle While Hove Babu 16ng li
Chapter 3
Mason blinked, like he couldn’t quite grasp my intentions:
“You’re really… willing to let her have the spotlight?”
After all, this annual dinner had always been “the lady of the house’s battlefield.”
I nodded calmly:
“She’s carrying the next Anderson heir, isn’t she?”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more. But I’d already gently closed the door.
He stood outside without moving, silent for several seconds.
Maybe he finally realized I was no longer the woman desperately trying to win his favor or fight for my place.
Maybe he finally understood: I didn’t need him anymore.
12-15
