The blonde woman’s hand tightened around her wine glass.

Julian looked at Clara.

“What does she mean?”

Clara slowly stood.

Her knees were bruised.

“She made me clean this house because she thought I had nowhere else to go.”

The woman snapped,

“She’s a maid.”

Julian turned toward her.

“No.”

His voice was quiet now.

“She’s my wife.”

The wine glass slipped slightly in the woman’s hand.

Clara closed her eyes.

Julian stepped closer.

“And this house?”

He looked around the enormous mansion.

“It belonged to Clara’s mother.”

The blonde woman went pale.

“That’s impossible.”

Julian pulled a folded document from his coat.

“Your husband never bought it.”

He placed the paper on the table.

“He forged the transfer after Clara’s mother died.”

Clara stared at him.

“You found it?”

Julian nodded.

“Everything.”

The blonde woman backed away.

Then Clara looked down at the stain she had been forced to scrub.

Her voice trembled.

“She poured that wine on the floor because I asked for my mother’s room back.”

Julian’s jaw tightened.

But Clara raised one hand.

“No.”

She looked directly at the woman.

“I don’t want revenge.”

The blonde woman almost smiled.

Then Clara finished,

“I just want you to clean it.”

She dropped the cloth at the woman’s feet.

“And when you’re done…”

Her eyes lifted toward the front doors.

“…get out of my house.”