Chapter 4

After that, Vanessa Thorn seemed to have finally quieted down. She stayed home every day, dutifully resting and preparing for the baby.

Meanwhile, I used every spare moment to hang out with Mom. We went shopping, grabbed lunch, and just wandered around town—on Dad’s dime.

Naturally, Dad noticed the constant drain on his bank account and wasn’t thrilled about it.

So, every time I went back to his house, I made a detour to the Whitestone Antique Market outside the city. I’d pick up the cheapest trinket I could find, have the seller wrap it up like a treasure, and take it home.

Then I’d dramatically inflate the price and rave about how rare and valuable it was.

Boom—instant profit.

But I knew this tactic wouldn’t last forever, so I started plotting a new hustle.

Before I could fully put my plans into motion, Vanessa went into labor.

It was chaos getting her to St. Mary’s Medical Center, but eventually, she gave birth to a bouncing 7-pound baby boy.

Dad was over the moon. He’d been waiting for this moment forever—since I was born. Now, he finally had his long-awaited son.

Fresh out of recovery, Vanessa wasted no time asking Dad to take her to the Denver County Courthouse to make their marriage official.

I sighed. Men like him weren’t just disloyal to one woman—they were disloyal to all women equally.

To be fair, Vanessa had striking features. If she’d gone into Hollywood, she wouldn’t have been overlooked.

But everyone has their priorities, and hers was to play the “trophy wife” instead of chasing her dreams.

Having outmaneuvered all the other mistresses, Vanessa used her “mother of his son” card to climb the ranks and become Dad’s official wife.

Once the papers were signed, her attitude changed. She started lording her new status over me, acting like a queen in her kingdom. She even dared to complain that I was disturbing her precious baby boy.

I seized the opportunity and went to Dad, crying that I wasn’t welcome at home.

Vanessa had just secured her golden position, so Dad granted her every wish. That meant I got the “short end of the stick”—a five-bedroom townhouse in an elite school district and a generous monthly allowance.

Honestly, I wouldn't mind more if this were what “suffering” looked like.

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