Shes Not Hired Help
The family gathered around the long marble dining table for dinner.
The sleek, dark-gray room glowed under the layered black pendant light.
Everyone was home tonight. Grandpa Prescott at the head of the table, Rebecca sitting regally to his right, Ivy bouncing excitedly in her seat, Alexander and Jesse still in their crisp work shirts and suit trousers from the office.
The maids had just brought the last of the dishes when Emery entered carrying a large tray of fragrant sesame chicken. Melania followed right behind with a steaming bowl of chicken Alfredo.
“Yeah baby, keep the food coming!” Ivy rubbed her palms together with a grin, clearly starving.
Alexander’s brow furrowed the moment he saw Emery. “Emery, why are you working?”
She set the sesame chicken down carefully and glanced at him. “I…”
“Mom,” Jesse cut in sharply, his intense dark brown eyes narrowing at Rebecca, “are you seriously making her do housework?”
Rebecca lifted her chin, unfazed. “She lives here now. She needs to contribute.”
“Contribute?” Alexander’s calm voice turned colder. “Mom, why? She’s my wife, not the hired help.”
Rebecca set her wine glass down with a sharp clink. “Because she needs to earn her place in this house. We’re not running a charity. She wanted to stay, didn’t she? Then she can work like everyone else.”
Jesse’s jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit. She’s not a servant.”
“Watch your tone, Jesse,” Rebecca warned. “This family has standards. She can’t just sit around doing nothing all day while the rest of us carry the weight.”
Alexander shook his head, clearly frustrated. “Emery, come sit here.” He gestured to the empty chair beside him.
“I can eat later.” she started softly.
“I said come here,” Alexander growled, his voice low but commanding.
Emery hesitated for a second, then walked around the table and sat down beside him, her movements stiff and reluctant.
“You’re not doing any housework again,” Alexander stated firmly, not looking at her as he unfolded his napkin.
“It’s fine,” Emery murmured, keeping her eyes on her plate. “I have nothing to do at home all day. It keeps me busy.”
Alexander stared at her for a long moment, then exhaled heavily and shook his head. “Whatever.”
He picked up his fork and started eating without another word.
Emery served herself only a small portion and began eating quietly. The sesame chicken and Alfredo were both delicious... rich, perfectly seasoned, and comforting.
Grandpa Prescott took a bite of the Alfredo and nodded approvingly. “This is excellent, Emery. Really amazing.”
Ivy moaned around her fork. “Oh my God, this is so good. You have to teach me how to make this, Emery.”
Jesse stayed silent, but when he took his first bite of the Alfredo, his heart swelled painfully in his chest.
He knew this taste. He had eaten her cooking many times before in secret hotel rooms, quiet nights when she would bring him food after long days at the office. The familiar flavors hit him hard.
He glanced at her across the table. She looked so small and fragile sitting next to Alexander, trying her best to disappear.
The dinner continued with awkward small talk, but Jesse could barely focus on anything except the woman he loved, now legally bound to his brother, cooking for the family that treated her like an outsider.
×××××××
After dinner, Jesse slipped outside alone. The night air was cool and still as he stood in the elegant gazebo at the far end of the garden, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
He took a slow drag, the orange glow briefly illuminating his sharp jaw and light stubble, then exhaled a thin plume of smoke toward the dark sky. His eyes stared upward at the scattered stars, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Soft footsteps approached. Ivy walked up the few steps into the gazebo and stopped beside him, leaning against the wooden railing.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
“Hi,” Jesse replied, voice low and rough. He didn’t look at her.
They stood in silence for a long moment, the only sound the faint crackle of his cigarette and the distant rustle of leaves.
“I loved how you stood up for her at dinner,” Ivy finally said.
Jesse clenched his jaw, staring hard at the glowing tip of the cigarette. “Doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered. “Nothing can fix what I did to her.”
Ivy pressed her lips together, sympathy clear in her eyes. “I cannot imagine how hard this is for you… and especially for her.”
Jesse gave a small, bitter nod, taking another drag. The smoke curled around them like a ghost.
“Are you going to tell anyone?” Ivy asked softly.
He shook his head immediately. “God, no. Do you see how Mom treats her already? What do you think will happen after I drop my own bomb?”
Ivy stayed quiet for a beat, then asked the question that had been weighing on her. “Then what? You’re just going to watch her being your brother’s wife?”
Jesse let out a humorless laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Karma.” His voice cracked slightly. “I am a coward. She’s right.”
Ivy shook her head firmly. “You’re not. You were trying to protect her. She will realize that soon.”
Jesse sighed deeply, flicking ash onto the gazebo floor. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion and regret.
“I just want her not to hate me,” he whispered, almost to himself. “That’s all I want right now.”
Ivy reached over and gently squeezed his arm, offering what little comfort she could in the heavy silence.
Above them, the stars kept shining, indifferent to the quiet heartbreak unfolding in the Prescott garden.
×××××××
After the maids had cleared the dinner table, Alexander found Emery in the bedroom. She was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window again, arms wrapped around herself as she stared out into the dark garden.
The lights in the room were dim, casting long shadows across the gray bedding and black marble surfaces.
Alexander closed the door behind him with a quiet click and walked further into the room. He loosened his tie and tossed it onto the leather armchair before speaking.
“Emery,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you cannot keep being a dumb doormat all the time.”
She turned slowly to face him, her stormy eyes widening slightly at his blunt words. Her hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, and the bangs framed a face that still looked tired and fragile from the day.
Alexander continued, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. “I saw how Harper speaks to you. I heard the way my mother talked down to you. You stood there and took it without saying a single word back. You let them treat you like hired help in your own home. That has to stop.”
Emery lowered her gaze to the dark wooden floor, her fingers twisting together nervously. “I… I cannot talk back to your mother and sister, Alexander. They’re your family. This is their house. I’m just—”
“No,” he interrupted, his tone sharpening just enough to make her look up again.
“You are my wife now. Whether any of us like it or not, that comes with a position in this family. You cannot be a doormat and let everyone walk all over you. If you keep silent every time someone deprecates you, they will never respect you. They will keep pushing until there’s nothing left of you. ”
Emery swallowed hard, her voice small. “But your mother… she’s already made it very clear how she feels about me. And Harper… she’s angry about what happened with Camilla. I don’t want to make things worse by arguing with them.”
Alexander exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. His clean-shaven face remained composed, but there was a flicker of something almost protective in his calm, observant eyes.
“You have to,” he said plainly. “You have to speak up. Not rudely, but firmly. If you don’t set boundaries now, they will push you out of this house sooner than you think.
This family respects strength, Emery. Not silence.
Not endless compliance. If you keep letting them treat you like an outsider who has to earn every meal and every kind word, they will never stop. ”
He paused, letting his words sink in before adding more gently, though still without much warmth, “I’m not asking you to start fights. I’m telling you to stop letting them walk over you. You’re living here now. You’re my wife. Act like it.”
Emery stood there for a long moment, processing his words. Her fair cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and quiet resolve. She nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
“I’ll… try,” she whispered.
Alexander studied her for a few seconds longer, then gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good.”
He turned toward the bathroom to change for the night, leaving Emery standing by the window once again, the weight of his advice settling heavily on her shoulders.
She had a lot to think about.
×××××××
The Prescott garden was silent under the silver moonlight. Everyone in the grand house had long gone to sleep, but Emery couldn’t find rest.
She sat alone on the cold stone bench in the gazebo, wrapped in a thin cardigan Ivy had lent her. The night air carried a chill that seeped into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the cold ache inside her chest.
Tears streamed silently down her fair cheeks as she stared at the dark sky. Her eyes, usually soft and expressive, were swollen and filled with quiet despair.
She cried for her fate.
She cried for the heartache that pierced her every time she saw Jesse. The way her heart twisted when he looked at her, the way his voice still made her stomach flutter even as anger and betrayal burned through her veins.
She cried because the man she had loved for three years was now her brother-in-law, and every glance in his direction felt like a fresh wound.
She cried for all the twists life had thrown at her.
Orphaned before she even took her first breath, her parents killed in an accident while her mother was still carrying her.
Miraculously saved, only to be raised by an uncle who loved her in his own way but could never fill the void.
Treated as second-best by her cousin Camilla, who never missed a chance to remind her she was living on borrowed kindness, wearing hand-me-down clothes without complaint.
She had worked part-time jobs all through college just to feel a little independent, then landed a small, quiet position at Prescott Real Estate, never imagining it would lead her here.
She had fallen in love with a man too cowardly to announce her to the world. Three beautiful, secret years, stolen nights, whispered promises, and desperate passion, all hidden behind closed hotel doors.
And when she finally found the courage to demand more, he had pushed her away with cruel words and a break she never asked for.
Now she was a replacement bride. Forced to stand at the altar in someone else’s veil, say “I do” to the wrong brother, and live in a house where she was treated like an unwelcome guest who had to earn every meal by scrubbing floors and cooking meals.
Emery hugged her knees tighter to her chest, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Fresh tears rolled down her rosy-toned cheeks and disappeared into the fabric of her cardigan.
It didn’t end for her.
No matter how many times she thought the pain had reached its limit, life kept twisting the knife deeper. She wondered if it would ever stop. If there would ever come a day when she didn’t feel like a ghost drifting through someone else’s life... unwanted, unseen, and quietly breaking.
The garden remained still around her, the moonlight indifferent to the young woman weeping alone in the shadows of a world that had never truly been kind to her.
She whispered brokenly into the night, voice barely louder than the breeze:
“Why me…?”
×××××××