The Maid Steals My Billionaire Husband - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

When I got back to the villa, Mia was waiting for me with puffy red eyes, looking like a kicked puppy. She kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something, then chickening out at the last second. The way she was acting, you'd think I was the one who'd done something wrong.
Benjamin's icy voice cut through the tension as he came down the stairs. "Mia, come here."
"Go clean the study. This doesn't concern you."
"But sir... I..." Mia shrank like a scared mouse under his glare, finally shuffling off to obey. As she turned away though, she threw me this look - all wounded innocence, like I'd forced her into this somehow.
The study? That was new.
"Benjamin never lets anyone in his study!" Young Eleanor hissed beside me, shooting daggers at Mia's retreating back. "That little gold-digger! She's trying to worm her way into his good graces."
She flipped her hair with absolute certainty. "Not that it'll work. He'd never fall for someone like her. She's just setting herself up for disappointment."
And honestly? I could see her point.
Mia was... well, ordinary.
Next to me, she might as well have been wallpaper. I had the looks, the curves, the elite education - everything a man like Benjamin should want. Yet somehow this plain Jane with her mousy brown hair and thrift-store clothes had managed to capture his complete attention without even trying.
The worst part?
"She's different."
That's what everyone kept saying. Like those two words explained everything.
I stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand, and whispered, "She's different."
The words were so quiet they vanished into the breeze, leaving no trace behind. Yet in the vast silence of our villa, each syllable rang out with painful clarity.
At eighteen, Eleanor had all of Benjamin's love. Secure in his devotion, she never doubted he'd love anyone else.
But at thirty-eight, I was being slowly discarded—left with nothing, then locked away in a mental institution.
The fierce love we once shared had withered over the years, thinning to fragile paper, crumbling at the slightest touch. Once, Benjamin wouldn't even let me carry a heavy bag. Now, I hauled my suitcase with both hands.
"Benjamin won't change."
"He won't."
Eighteen-year-old Eleanor's voice was firm, brimming with absolute faith.
I glanced at her youthful face beside me, swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat. I didn't want to shatter her illusions. But reality wouldn't soften its blows—it would keep cutting into us, deeper and deeper, until the wounds were unbearable.
It hurt.
Young Eleanor was all bright eyes and unshakable hope, her future glowing with promise. Now, those memories stung like slaps, leaving me humiliated, unable to face what I'd become.
I'd ruined her.
I'd destroyed every dream she had.
The realization crushed my chest, stealing my breath. My body trembled, fighting against the searing pain in my heart.
Tears burned, but I forced a smile, my voice raw with guilt. "He… doesn't love me anymore."
"I'm sorry… I failed you."
After that, young Eleanor didn't appear again. I focused on my pregnancy, moving through the villa like a ghost.
My health had always been fragile—sickly since childhood. Finally conceiving made me obsessive. Every day, Mia, our housekeeper, watched me with red-rimmed eyes, guilt and hesitation written all over her.
I ignored her.
Mia kept trying to make amends, bringing pastries and cakes. I refused every time. Benjamin noticed.
He frowned. "Eleanor doesn't like those. Stop bringing them."
Mia's eyes welled up, but she stubbornly lifted her chin, refusing to let the tears fall. Benjamin's gaze darkened, a smirk tugging at his lips as he murmured, "Make them for me tonight."
Clink.
The sound of my fork hitting the plate cut through the room.
Both of them startled. Benjamin turned to me. "What's wrong?"
I answered flatly, "I lost my appetite. It's disgusting."
His expression shifted. "Would you like to try—"